There was a time when 112 Oz. Chocolate Pudding was King of the Kitchen. He had been bought and left intact, then put up on the pedestal that is the top of the cabinets. After all, he was sitting on Mount Crown Molding. It doesn't get much more kingly than that. His reign was long and strong. He kept the mice from attacking Dry Cereal and Macaroni Pasta. He could bring Box of Jello up to his chambers whenever he had an itch that needed to be scratched. Paperback Book would flap her pages and knock down the spider webs and dead flies that accumulated along the Mount. No one had tried to best him or knock him from his perch, although Cereal Bowl sometimes shook the manual can opener in his general direction in an angry manner. 112 Oz. Chocolate Pudding thought his ruling over the kitchen would never end. And then one day, he saw twitchy Sheriffs Hat peek up over the edge of Mount Crown Molding. 112 Oz. Chocolate Pudding wasn't scared, not at first. He bravely puffed up his tin chest and dared Sheriffs Hat to make the first move. But before he knew what was happening, 112 Oz. Chocolate Pudding was yanked from his place of prestige and plopped unceremoniously onto the kitchen table. He saw Cereal Bowl grinning maniacally as he slid the manual can opener in Sheriffs Hat's direction. The portly king had barely the time to shudder before Sheriffs Hat had shoved the manual can opener deep into his top, piercing his chocolatey soul. The rending scream of metal was heard from Mount Crown Molding to the Stair Stacks of Xbox Games. Something called Spoon, never before seen in the King's memory, was shoved deep into Pudding's guts, stirring him until he felt dizzy, light headed. Whole chunks of himself were being taken away, memories lost with every dip of Spoon into his mass. He felt a breeze, and then the bright sun upon his label, as he mercifully passed out, his kingdom forgotten.
When he awoke, 112 Oz. Chocolate Pudding found himself in a place he had never before seen. The lights were hot and bright. A makeup brush tickled his face. A sea of chairs flowed out from a nearby shore. Beside him, a black cloth sat, lumpy but immobile. He heard voices, laughter, microphone feedback. Before he could get his bearings, the black cloth beside him was whipped away, revealing a ponytailed human head, its jaws moving and grinding. The torturous Spoon was back. 112 Oz. Chocolate Pudding could only weep soundlessly as he saw his remaining essence being shoved into the drooling, black maw of the head. As the jaw closed upon Spoon, the forgotten king thought his last thought before winking out of existence: why?