A statement on behalf of Demi Moore on the ongoing trend of chocolate bar 'shrinkflation'

There follows an official statement from the actress Demi Moore regarding the wanton and consistent reduction in size of her favourite confectionery. Ms. Moore will be making no further comment at this time.

I’VE held my tongue for too long. But I refuse to be silenced. It is time to speak my truth. And my truth is this: is it just me, or are KitKat Chunkys getting smaller?

The answer is an emphatic YES. And it doesn’t stop there. This conspiracy goes all the way to the top. I assume, I have no way of knowing. But that is why I’m using my considerable platform – and the publicity I’m getting from that yukky film where I get my tits out – to say enough is enough.

Ever since I broke into Hollywood, I’ve eaten chocolate by the truckload. Mars Bars, Bountys, Revels. I’ve never met a Curly Wurly I don’t like. That’s not clay in Ghost, it’s a bucket of melted Caramacs.

But now dark forces are at work. ‘Big Chocolate’ have been making our chocolate bars smaller for years. They set the prices and shrink the bars. They’re no better than a drug cartel, although I admit Freddos tend not to cause the same social problems as crack.

First, they came for our Snickers – and we said nothing. Then it was our Biscuit and Raisin Yorkies. Then those creeps put less Maltesers in a bag and thought we wouldn’t notice. But we did. Did that stop them? 

No. They made the gaps in Toblerones bigger, and expected us to bend over and take it. Not literally, I’m not suggesting they’re sodomising us with triangular Swiss chocolate. Although, ironically, that was one of the few deleted scenes in The Substance.

Well today we take a stand. We’re onto you, white collar chocolate crooks. If you think we won’t be counting the number of M&Ms in each bag and entering the data into our ongoing Excel spreadsheet, you’re dead wrong. 

Try and sneak a couple less segments into our Terry’s Chocolate Orange. See what happens. You’ll have a riot on your hands. We will tear America down in an orgy of violence not witnessed since the Battle of Gettysburg. 

Do what you like with Twixes though – I’m not keen on the biscuity bits.

Mash Blind Date: 'I didn't realise he came with his own dedicated stalker'

CAN 28-year-old Helen Archer enjoy the company of Tom Logan, aged 32, without his stalker ex arriving and threatening her with a butter knife? 

Helen on Tom

First impression?

Handsome. I was concerned about the baseball cap and wearing sunglasses in February, given that he’s not a hungover celebrity avoiding paparazzi, but assumed he had his reasons.

How was conversation? 

Guarded and conducted in hushed tones, which again I found peculiar. I also didn’t understand why we’d met in a Pizza Express in St Albans when we both live in Stoke Newington, nor why he insisted we have a table ‘not visible from the street’.

Memorable moments?

When a woman came in screaming that she was married to him and holding up a photo of a baby she said was theirs even though it was clearly torn from a magazine. Tom was in the toilet so I told her she’d have to wait a few minutes. They were awkward minutes.

Favourite thing about Tom? 

He’s excellent at explaining things. Admittedly, explaining that Jessica’s been stalking him for two years might have been useful to hear earlier, but he gave good capsule description. Even more impressive done simultaneously with ducking crockery and calling the police.

A capsule description? 

Comes with baggage.

Was there a spark? 

Only when she tried to pull the lamp off the wall to swing it at him bolo-style.

What happened afterwards? 

The police were very sympathetic. Tom told me that he thought I looked lovely and not at all like an ‘unhinged fossilised slapper with a smile like a smack addict on the slab’, as Jessica had earlier indicated.

What would you change about the evening? 

The stalker, as discussed. And I’d have worn a less cleavagey dress.

Will you see each other again?  

At the court date I’m told I must attend as a witness. Which is really the wrong kind of date, but he’ll look handsome in a suit.

Tom on Helen

First impression?

A f**king idiot. Why? Why would you post a photo of garlic bread on your Instagram stories, tagging me in and giving the location of the restaurant? Who does that? Nobody wants to see garlic bread except an insane stalker ex.

How was conversation? 

Difficult at first, given that my circumstances did not permit me to answer questions like ‘So how long have you been single?’, ‘Why did your last relationship end?’ and ‘Why do you keep checking for exits and flinching at sudden sounds?’

Memorable moments?

When Helen laughed at a joke and I felt like I could still function socially, despite everything. Then when she looked at her phone and said ‘Ooh, 47 likes for my story and someone named Jess says the restaurant looks great and she can’t wait to come here herself’. I’ll admit I regret screaming and hiding in the toilets.

Favourite thing about Helen? 

She’s pretty. She doesn’t look like ‘a sex worker’s deceased remains’ at all.

A capsule description? 

A woman, but not dangerously insane. I was overwhelmed by that. I haven’t seen that very often since 2023.

Was there a spark? 

I saw a few stars when the salt shaker bounced off my head. God, she’s accurate!

What happened afterwards? 

My regular policeman Dave showed up. It was nice to see him. We had a chat about how far he’s got in The West Wing since last week, while Jessica was dragged into the van.

What would you change about the evening? 

We should have chosen a restaurant further away, maybe 200 miles. Somewhere in the countryside. Away from travel links. Down a dirt track. No wifi.

Will you see each other again?  

No, but I’m pretty confident I’ll see Jessica again.