Never mind asteroids, the greatest danger facing mankind are those tinned sponge puddings - the sort you cook by putting the unopened can in a saucepan of boiling water - they are not to be trusted...
The first time this happened to me was back in '82 or so. There were a bunch of us getting quietly stoned while watching the Blues Brothers, and as it finished I suddenly remembered that I'd put one of those damned puddings on to boil before the film started. I let out a startled cry of "Pudding!", which caused everyone to look at me rather strangely, except for a guy called Jim - who wasn't into drugs and so reacted faster - who did a classic double-take "Pudding ? Pudding !" before leaping to his feet and charging off.
The sound of his footsteps could be heard as he ran down the stairs, then just as they stopped there was a dull thump as the pudding exploded. There was a pause, then we heard footsteps slowly returning back up the stairs, and Jim appeared in the doorway with one side of his body covered in steaming bits of treacle and sponge.
I was laughing so much it nearly didn't hurt when he kneed me in the groin. . .
Two years later I made the same mistake again. This time I wandered into the kitchen having completely forgotten about the two puddings I'd put on earlier and came face to face with the damned things myself. They'd already boiled dry and the tins had swollen up until they were nearly spherical. They were jumping around in the saucepan, with droplets of solder sweating on the seams. I took one look at this vision of hell, ducked below the top of the cooker and scuttled out of the kitchen in blind panic. I ran into the living room where Jim was reading and shouted "Pudding !" at him. His book went flying, he jumped up and ran into the kitchen with me following close behind, and there was another cartoon moment as he rushed up to the cooker, peered down into the saucepan then tried to back away hurriedly only to collide with me as I arrived. After a moment or two of sliding about on the floor we managed to turn the cooker off before they exploded.
"What the fuck did you call me for ?!"
"Don't fucking ask me ! Pudding, man ! Pudding !"
It was decided to give puddings a miss after that. Jim told everyone that I couldn't be trusted anywhere near one, and even I couldn't deny that I'd panicked and run round like a headless chicken.
Some months later, I arrived back at the flat to be met at the door by Jim.
"Don't come in"
"Why not ?"
"Don't ask. Just bugger off for a few hours"
Behind him, I noticed the kitchen ceiling was liberally covered with strawberry pudding. After all the shit I'd put up with he'd gone and done it himself. Revenge was sweet ;)