It was in the middle of the Great Fudge Recession that Fudgie Fudgerson decided he needed to do something about the fudge crisis that was hampering the government’s efforts to boost the country’s morale. Fudge prices were at an all-time high. They had invaded neighbouring countries for their Weapons of Mass Fudging, only to find their supplies had dwindled too. The government had even attempted to change the national dish from fudge to Jaffa Cake. This was met with indignation and outcries and xenophobic rallies fearing the country had gone all biscuity. He met with the government and spoke before the Houses of Fudgerment, in an attempt to quell the mass disquiet in society.
Fudgie had a plan. He said that we needed to revamp the image of fudge. We needed to make it sexier. We needed to give it a new spin. All the while we could replace actual fudge supplies with a synthetic alternative his company had been developing, which was 60% fudge and 40% Club bar. He proposed that the revamp could lead to membership of a ‘Fudge Club’, which could be used to bring joy to the masses, through belonging, through games, and through a nation-wide fudge club league of national fudge-eating contests.
Fingo Fudge was dubious.
‘Listen, Fudgerson, I don’t like these new fangled ways you’re coming out with. Fudge has been fudge for the last 2000 years. It is our heritage. We change it now and we lose everything we had been striving towards for the last 2000 years. What will our ancestors have fought for in the Sugar Wars of 1306, or the Fudge vs Twix Wars in 1994 that led to all our crops being destroyed and fudge-famine throughout the land.’
Fudgerson was prepared for dissent, especially from fudgy-duddies like Fingo. He lived in the olden days when you could buy fingers of fudge for 10 pence. This wasn’t 1979 anymore. This was 2007. Fudge needed a brand-upheaval. He fixed his eyes on Prime Minister Fudgery.
‘Prime Minister… I put it to you that Fingo Fudge is a fudgy-duddy… Do you want a third term in government? You need to smarten up Fudgery. You need to move with the times…’
And so the Fudge Club was started, and the masses were fooled and the synthetic fudge was bought in droves. The country’s spirits were at an all-time high, and Prime Minister Fudgery was enjoying the heights of success that he had never dreamed were possible. Something bothered Fingo Fudge though. He was still unhappy with the way things were going. He noticed a change in the people, a change in their attitudes, in their well-being, in their temperaments… They were singing more… they were singing songs like ‘If you like a lot of chocolate on your biscuit, join our club’. Their shapes were changing. They were becoming more rectangular. They were walking around with the words ‘Fudge Club’ tattooed on their chests. And as time went on, the word ‘fudge’ began to fade till it just read… ‘club’. Fingo Fudge was not happy. There was a conspiracy going on. There was something wrong with the fudging country.
He did some background research into Fudgie Fudgerson. He took to spying on him one night in his flat. And as Fudgie Fudgerson undressed, the truth was made clear… He was a fruit and nut Club bar posing as simple fudge. That mother-fudger…
Furious, Fingo Fudge took his finding to the Prime Minister. Prime Minister Fudgery was a proud man though. He was enjoying the heights of popularity. He was happy. His country was happy. He was up for a surefire win in the next reelection. But the truth haunted him like a particularly stale Crunchie bar. He made the hardest decision of his fudgy life…
He had Fingo Fudge arrested and sent to the 5 pence bargain basement aisle. He could not have the truth leaked. Fingo Fudge was sold to an obese child who choked to death on his stale fudginess. As Fingo passed through the dying child’s digestive system, his final thoughts were, ‘I’ll get you Fudgerson… in this fudging lifetime or the next… I’ll get you…’ Fudgie Fudgerson was promoted to Captain of the Fudge Club. The price of fingers of fudge rose to 20 pence whilst club bars were given away for free on the NHS. The club takeover had begun.
And the moral of the story is, trust old fudge, at all costs, trust old fudge…
Yam Boy (Nikesh Shukla) is an author, song-writer and Saved By theBell enthusiast caught between the cityscapes of Bombay and thelow-swinging chariots of London. His writing has been featured on BBC2, Radio 1 and 4, Resonance fm, Tell Tales and he has performed at Apples and Snakes, Soho Theatre and Glastonbury. He recently completed his first collection of short stories, I’ve Forgotten My Mantra, aswell as a full-length novel. He records under the name Yam Boy, and with the group The D’Archetypes. He plays guitar and mandolin. He recently spent a year in Kenya, where he produced a solo folk album, tentatively titled ‘Superheroic’ as well as an Arts Council-commissioned book of poetry. Read Yam Boy’s weekly blog on http://www.myspace.com/yamtastico every Friday.
