On the twenty sixth day of March in the year twenty fifteen, two of the chaps met with chapette at the Paramount for the usual gastronomic pleasure, conversational repartee and cheeky hi-jinx. Jelly passed Mayonnaise while entering the complex, having just traversed the automatic doors on the complex's south entrance, Jelly entering the building, Mayonnaise leaving. Jelly paused and looked at Mayonnaise, puzzled.
"Wrong way?"
"No", Mayonnaise replied, "I'm going to buy my lunch from a competing, non-Paramount food outlet across the street."
To which Jelly enquired, "No Chine Express?"
No further comment was made. Mayonnaise strode out, Jelly strode on, and descended to the bowels of the Paramount via the southern escalator.
At the food court, Jelly found Peanut seated in front of Chef Wanka's, the old favourite, smug and cosy, shit- (or rather cheap bain marie produce-) -eating grin on his chops. "The old favourite spot", said Jelly. "Yes, the old favourite spot", said Peanut. Jelly mentioned running into Mayonnaise upstairs, and her snooty refusal to partake of Paramount wares. Jelly clarified that Johnny Turncoat Mayonnaise was off to buy food from the glass ceilinged, open air, contemporary, atrium food court, Paramount's nemesis. Harpee!
Perhaps to explain Mayonaiss's defection (nay, defecatation?) Jelly noticed an absence of rice at Wanka's. "Running low on rice today, isn't he," Jelly muttered. "Yes, he's been churning out the Sri Lankan delicacies today," Peanut muttered. "The Paramounters can't get enough of Wanka today. It's like an adolescent convention!" And they laughed and laughed, until tiny spots of normal yellow wee wee pipped upon their Depend adult undergarmants.
Eventually, Mayonnaise came in with a paper cup, inside of which were rice noodles, red onion chunks (Jelly thought they looked a bit conspicuous) and liquid, which Mayonnaise revealed to be soup. "Soup?" enquired Jelly". "Yes," answered Mayonnaise.
Earlier, while waiting for Mayonnaise, Butter and Jelly had looked upon the grand stairway, a topic usually reserved for their exit from Paramount festivities, and discussed how such a resplendent passage could be utilised by a member of the female gender, such as Mayonnaise, to recreate scenes from 1980s Brat Pack-esque adolescent comedies, where Butter and Jelly could stand at the foot of said stairway, besuited and anxious, in Tony Danza (father) / Anthony Michael Hall (nervous-horny-prom-date) guise, while Mayonnaise slowly, sensually, in saucy puffy ball gown, descends the stairs in soft focus slow motion, in Molly Ringwald (nerdy-ignored-high-school-girl-rendered-beautiful-by-removal-of-spectacles-amidst-air-of-horny-adolescent-prom-date-get-laid-expectancy) guise.
Alas, such romantic hopes were quashed, Mayonnaise slinking in grumpily via the southern escalator, sloshing a cup of cheap Vietnamese chain store soup.
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