- I believe I could kill a pudding.
- Kill a pudding, sir? I'm not sure you can kill a pudding.
- Of course you can, don't be silly. And I want you to get me one.
- Really, sir? Well, as you wish. But I'm afraid you won't be able to kill it.
- Don't think I'm tough enough, do you?
- No, sir, it's not that. It's just that no one can kill a pudding.
- So you keep insisting. Tell me, why can't anyone kill a pudding?
- Well, sir, one of the main features required to be killed is to be alive.
- Ah, and you're going to say pudding isn't alive next, are you not?
- Yes, sir.
- That's where you're wrong, you see. Pudding is just as alive as apples, tomatoes, squirrels and bread. Ordinary stuff I use to kill.
- Squirrels, sir? Is that not rather cruel?
- Well no, not squirrels. I'm not Elvis, you know.
- If you say so, sir. But even though apples and tomatoes are alive in some sense, I'm not sure you can call bread alive.
- It's full of yeast, and yeast's as alive as your next dog.
- Perhaps, sir. But pudding doesn't normally have yeast in it.
- But you can have apples in it, that's nice. Apple pudding.
- But, sir, are not the apples killed when you create the pudding?
- Oh, they don't have to be. You can be careful, can't you?
- I suppose so, sir.
- And there you have it. Now go get me some apple pudding. I could kill some right now. And by kill I mean eat.
- Eat, sir? ... Ah, I see.
- Well, what did you think? I left my gun at the manor, and I'm bloody well not going to strangle pudding -- it's way too smeary.