the horror........... the horror..............................
i have not updated and i should have because my past week or so has been grand. but i will summarize with the tragedy of the night before last.
the eve began after classes, as many eves do. attended a taping of scrambled squares and then to boone saloon with kristen for the first time since its reopening.
belly full of expensive beer, smiles abound, encountering good friends inside, outside, sidewalk. kristen calls forth to the happy crowd "onward! the shop of eternal delectables calls our name!" and we set foot on the treacherous journey towards daylight donuts, an entire half-block away.
outside, the aroma of sugar and dough comes wafting out in waves, weakening our logic and reason like lustful sirens calling out to delusional sailors strung out on cabin fever. the donut siren behind the counter sings the flavors and varieties to-night's case entails: sprinkles! piped filling! old fashion or original! meanwhile, our heads sway, our gazes become vacant, and our wallets open blindly. 80 cents evaporates from our possession each and teleports into the floury palm of the voodoo donut temptress. and empty grin curls upon my face, as she reaches in the florescent glass treasure chest, and presents a tissue-wrapped glob of sugar-glazed sin, to which, i can only murmur, half-consciously, drenched in bewilderment... "for here....."
we perch outside and feast hungrily on our booty (yar!), licking our fingers and coating our mouths with the wax of high fructose corn sprinkles and delight. alas, it is as if my donut has vanished before i even realized, for where has it gone so quickly!?
throwing my tray aside, i begin to salivate; the insatiable hunger has only just begun, and i violently jolt and rotate my torso to eye the window behind me. i careen out of my stool, and lay my body upon the storefront glass, smearing my greasy hands on the fragile thin transparent barrier which separates me and my prey. a cloud of condensation forms where i have pressed my fiery cheek, as i pant in uneven tempo to the rhythm of desire. i beckon for more.... more...... MORE....
and... what do i see?
an ordered gridwork of raw, virgin donuts, sitting innocently on a grate, in neat 3 by 4 rows, contemplating how to best lure in the next vulnerable crowd of drunken college students. my eyes gleam with anticipation. break the glass? use the shards to kill donut temptress and steal them all? to make a daring escape to gorge myself on all-you-can't-eat-but-i-can raw donuts? no... no. just wait. they're not yet ripe, these ones. let them develop, let them bake, let them rise and then be christened with the fine lace of a crusty sugar-crown. for then they will become my holy (hah) princes!
but alas!! my dream is shattered!
lumbering out from behind a stainless steel oven, a grotesque excuse of a man-sealion approaches, lazily patting his soiled apron, yawning, and then stretching his hairy arms above his balding head to reveal yellowy-green pit stains which i can smell just by observing this creature. he scratches his belly, glances around through half-opened eyes, and then spies the dough-babies. my legs quiver, i consider darting around the corner to rescue by prize, but there is a road-block of unsuspecting conversing friends in my way. instead i watch steadily, and can barely believe the terror that follows.
he clasps his grubby paws over the wire of the donut-baby grated throne, and with a dull, apathetic expression on his face, the barbarous dream-crusher submerges the entire crate into a vat of scouring hot oil. the horror makes me wince in disgust; it is so unbearable i can barely watch on. i try to scream but only a wimper comes out. and o! how they writhe! they cling together in a futile attempt to resist the sizzling flesh-frying torture. the mustached sealion beats them apart with a stick, not even showing one ounce of mercy in the last minutes of their tender, young lives. he systematically kills each and every last one in the completion of a sick, sadistic massacre.
the flesh sizzles until there are no more bubbles to escape my dough-babies' skin. now bored, the sealion raises the grate and lifts the corpses out of the death pool and sets them back in place. such disrespectful irony could only be executed by such a sick, sick beast as the sealion.
i rush to tell my fellow comrades of the abomination i have just witnessed, and it is as though they can barely hear me- they are still all drunk on the siren's donut fumes. i shake them by their shoulders and still they are unstirred, like lifeless zombies. my joints buckle, and in panic, i bolt away. i tear through the streets wailing in disbelief and run to eric's apartment, the closest safe harbor i can think of, bursting into his bedroom for an emergency meeting. i must warn him about the flesh-thirsty sealion!
i can barely collect my thoughts from the shock, and i manage to squeeze out a few words between deep breaths and heaved gesticulations to describe the scene. eric rolls his head toward my direction, gets up, and steadily puts his hands on my shoulders. without reacting to my panic, he calmly picks up a guitar and says in a low, soothing voice, "cassie, i'm going to sing you a song. it's called the truth about donuts."
i didn't listen for long. the song was out of tune and nowhere near pleasant. between fumbled chords and eric's cracking voice i couldn't make sense of it. i left his room mid-song to find my friends once again, sobering up from the donut effect in the living room. they begin to observe as my own disbelief transform into an epiphany. i realize:
donuts, my sweet succulent savory love for donuts, has been a lie my whole life.
donuts, my friends, are fried.
FRIED.
sorrow ensues, and kristen takes me under her arm and makes me feel better by reminiscing about tubgirl, goatse, and wtftit dot jpeg on derek's computer. exhausted, we head home. i lay my head on my pillow and drift into a tearful sleep, knowing...
i can never eat donuts again.
the eve began after classes, as many eves do. attended a taping of scrambled squares and then to boone saloon with kristen for the first time since its reopening.
belly full of expensive beer, smiles abound, encountering good friends inside, outside, sidewalk. kristen calls forth to the happy crowd "onward! the shop of eternal delectables calls our name!" and we set foot on the treacherous journey towards daylight donuts, an entire half-block away.
outside, the aroma of sugar and dough comes wafting out in waves, weakening our logic and reason like lustful sirens calling out to delusional sailors strung out on cabin fever. the donut siren behind the counter sings the flavors and varieties to-night's case entails: sprinkles! piped filling! old fashion or original! meanwhile, our heads sway, our gazes become vacant, and our wallets open blindly. 80 cents evaporates from our possession each and teleports into the floury palm of the voodoo donut temptress. and empty grin curls upon my face, as she reaches in the florescent glass treasure chest, and presents a tissue-wrapped glob of sugar-glazed sin, to which, i can only murmur, half-consciously, drenched in bewilderment... "for here....."
we perch outside and feast hungrily on our booty (yar!), licking our fingers and coating our mouths with the wax of high fructose corn sprinkles and delight. alas, it is as if my donut has vanished before i even realized, for where has it gone so quickly!?
throwing my tray aside, i begin to salivate; the insatiable hunger has only just begun, and i violently jolt and rotate my torso to eye the window behind me. i careen out of my stool, and lay my body upon the storefront glass, smearing my greasy hands on the fragile thin transparent barrier which separates me and my prey. a cloud of condensation forms where i have pressed my fiery cheek, as i pant in uneven tempo to the rhythm of desire. i beckon for more.... more...... MORE....
and... what do i see?
an ordered gridwork of raw, virgin donuts, sitting innocently on a grate, in neat 3 by 4 rows, contemplating how to best lure in the next vulnerable crowd of drunken college students. my eyes gleam with anticipation. break the glass? use the shards to kill donut temptress and steal them all? to make a daring escape to gorge myself on all-you-can't-eat-but-i-can raw donuts? no... no. just wait. they're not yet ripe, these ones. let them develop, let them bake, let them rise and then be christened with the fine lace of a crusty sugar-crown. for then they will become my holy (hah) princes!
but alas!! my dream is shattered!
lumbering out from behind a stainless steel oven, a grotesque excuse of a man-sealion approaches, lazily patting his soiled apron, yawning, and then stretching his hairy arms above his balding head to reveal yellowy-green pit stains which i can smell just by observing this creature. he scratches his belly, glances around through half-opened eyes, and then spies the dough-babies. my legs quiver, i consider darting around the corner to rescue by prize, but there is a road-block of unsuspecting conversing friends in my way. instead i watch steadily, and can barely believe the terror that follows.
he clasps his grubby paws over the wire of the donut-baby grated throne, and with a dull, apathetic expression on his face, the barbarous dream-crusher submerges the entire crate into a vat of scouring hot oil. the horror makes me wince in disgust; it is so unbearable i can barely watch on. i try to scream but only a wimper comes out. and o! how they writhe! they cling together in a futile attempt to resist the sizzling flesh-frying torture. the mustached sealion beats them apart with a stick, not even showing one ounce of mercy in the last minutes of their tender, young lives. he systematically kills each and every last one in the completion of a sick, sadistic massacre.
the flesh sizzles until there are no more bubbles to escape my dough-babies' skin. now bored, the sealion raises the grate and lifts the corpses out of the death pool and sets them back in place. such disrespectful irony could only be executed by such a sick, sick beast as the sealion.
i rush to tell my fellow comrades of the abomination i have just witnessed, and it is as though they can barely hear me- they are still all drunk on the siren's donut fumes. i shake them by their shoulders and still they are unstirred, like lifeless zombies. my joints buckle, and in panic, i bolt away. i tear through the streets wailing in disbelief and run to eric's apartment, the closest safe harbor i can think of, bursting into his bedroom for an emergency meeting. i must warn him about the flesh-thirsty sealion!
i can barely collect my thoughts from the shock, and i manage to squeeze out a few words between deep breaths and heaved gesticulations to describe the scene. eric rolls his head toward my direction, gets up, and steadily puts his hands on my shoulders. without reacting to my panic, he calmly picks up a guitar and says in a low, soothing voice, "cassie, i'm going to sing you a song. it's called the truth about donuts."
i didn't listen for long. the song was out of tune and nowhere near pleasant. between fumbled chords and eric's cracking voice i couldn't make sense of it. i left his room mid-song to find my friends once again, sobering up from the donut effect in the living room. they begin to observe as my own disbelief transform into an epiphany. i realize:
donuts, my sweet succulent savory love for donuts, has been a lie my whole life.
donuts, my friends, are fried.
FRIED.
sorrow ensues, and kristen takes me under her arm and makes me feel better by reminiscing about tubgirl, goatse, and wtftit dot jpeg on derek's computer. exhausted, we head home. i lay my head on my pillow and drift into a tearful sleep, knowing...
i can never eat donuts again.