*~YOUR MORNING DEVOTIONAL, MORTALS~*
Abruptly, the lights dim around you.
You're not sure where all these candles came from either, but they certainly are making you terribly fucking hungry. This hunger prompts you to shut the hell up and stop whatever you're doing as a powerful albeit pleasantly bromantic voice fills your head:
THE GOLDEN LORD SAID UNTO THE CONSUMER, DO NOT LOOK UPON HIS FROSTED EXTERIOR OR THE SIZE OF HIS CAKE, BECAUSE I HAVE REJECTED HIM. FOR THE LORD SEES NOT AS MAN SEES: MAN LOOKS ON THE OUTWARD APPEARANCE, BUT THE LORD GAZES INTO THE CREAMY CENTRE.
Bon appétit.