If, with improbability, I was made Secretary of Defence in the new government and, with somewhat more improbability, I was thrown into a war against thousands of insurgent, malnourished, enemies whom the only way to kill was to overfeed them, I would surely require a weapon of mass consumption (WMC). Something so hideously moorish that once our sworn enemies get wind of the tempting feast, they would consume until they expired in an explosion of intestines.

Perhaps you might consider a jam roly poly to be perfect WMC. Sweet, claggy and truely delicious. But its clagginess could be its downfall. After a few bowls of the poly, the distended stomachs of our unfortunate enemies would say no more and they would stop eating. Also, the sticky pudding does not lend itself to being air dropped, particularly if you include custard.

Perhaps bars of Snickers, Kit Kat Chunkys or Boosts? No, they’re all too sweet and our enemies would just chunder.

No, it’s clear to me, as the decision maker in this war, that there is only one way to successfully beat the enemy. There is only one worthy weapon that will so enrapture our enemies that they will consume until they explode. That is the dangerously addictive tub of Pringles.

In a single air drop millions of tubs could be harmlessly rained upon our enemies. The label on the outside could be replaced with “Important Medical Supplies” or something, but once they popped open that lid, their fate would be sealed. Mr.Infadel would peer inside expecting bandages and plasters. But inside would only be strangled double curved, thin as you like potato chips. He’d grunt and cautiously proffer one to his mouth. Not overly excited by the pleasure he would never-the-less proffer another to his mouth, and another and another, unable to control his urge for another. He would continue, beginning to place two at a time, then three at a time until each grab was enough to force his cheeks out and make it hard to chew. At the end of the tub, despite having a raging thirst and a stomach ache, he would fight his mother for her tub and begin chowing down another entirely different flavour that tasted exactly the same as the last one.

Soon all our enemies would be embroiled in a civil war, rioting and looting taking place just for another cylindrical tub of salty chips. Near the end only a couple of our enemy would be left; waddling around searching for either another tub or a bathful of water to drink. They would eventually expire as giant salt crystals popped out of their ears and the war would be won.

Handle weapons of mass consumption with the utmost care.