So my name is Jay Melder – your new cuffist, and this is my dream: I desperately want to be a Krispy Kreme Donut. Nothing too fancy, just a regular glaze. Oh, sweet release.
To be dripping in yummy, sugary goodness … lick me. Knead my doughy flesh into a plump, round, pastry masterpiece.
Dip me into your oil; hot and soothing. Tan my skin honey brown, then baptize me in the river of glaze. “Rise again. Reborn of the truth and of the light! Sweet Jesus take me home!” Sorry. I get a little excited sometimes.
Ya know, sometimes late at night when I can’t sleep I drive my station wagon down Siegan Lane until I see the heavenly glow of the Krispy Kreme sign. There is no resisting the light my friends; the truth. Ah, a great parking spot, surprising for 3 a.m.
Out of breath from the short, but brisk walk (I walked up the wheelchair ramp, inclines are tough) I open the door and enter the spotless wonderland that is Krispy Kreme.
I’m often surprised not to find Gene Wilder, wielding a cane, beckoning me with his siren song, “Come with me and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination.”
I run to the counter to grab my crown; the paper hat bearing the name of my kingdom, “Krispy Kreme.”
Then, I joyfully dart to the viewer’s window that allows us, mere mortals, to gaze upon the divine journey of the glazed donut.
Certainly a scene enjoyed by sight lovers, but only truly understood by the philosophers. (It is commonly known that Krispy Kreme donuts partake more closely in the idea of donutness, more so than any other)
With my chubby cheeks pressed excitedly against the glass, occasionally pulling back to wipe away the fog created from my heavy breathe, I watch my army of fried dough mobilize. I’m fat…I know.
Regardless, I stare with lustful eyes as the doughnuts armor themselves under the waterfall of glaze-the climax.
How amazing would it be to have warm sugar glaze poured over every inch of your body, probably more amazing than taking a bath in mayonnaise…well that’s a toss up.
Now, moaning and slowly running my fingernails across my sweaty face, I pace back towards the counter.
While wiping the drool from my chin, I breathlessly ask the cashier for a sample of the fresh batch of glaze.
The first bite, savoring every second while the sugar dissolves in my mouth.
The second bite…gone.
“What’s that!” I point somewhere behind the cashier.
She looked, I can’t believe she looked.
I grab a generous handful of fresh doughnuts, press them against my bosom, and make a break for it. They’re mine, they’re mine, they’re all fricken mine!
Barely escaping disaster sprinting back down the wheelchair ramp. (Declines, they’re tough)
Back in my wagon now, I speed through the parking lot and back on to Siegan Lane.
And in my best evil laugh I say, “hah hah hah…hahaha!”
I’m really not as fat and pathetic as I sound.
Ok, maybe I am.