jovanka

The Deadly Donut
This morning I strolled in to the local donut shop on Queen Street for a shot of their special brand of super-caffinated, rancid coffee. It's one of those divy little joints owned by an Asian family, none of whom speak any english. We use the point and nod method of communication which is fine by me first thing in the morning. It's just the kind of place you'd expect to be located next to the seediest strip joint in Toronto, which it is. There's even a sign on the door that reads "NO CREDIT."
While I was curiously investigating the straw basket of fried chicken legs on the counter for customers to help themselves to while they wait - don't ask, some mysteries are meant to remain unsolved - I caught sight of the most monstrous apple fritter I have EVER seen! This thing was so huge I'm reasonably certain the fucker was assimilating other donuts, it was the size of a gorilla's fist.
I stood there, unblinking, for a time and then pointing at the sugary abomination, I excalimed "HOLY FUCKBALLS, look at the size of that KILLER DONUT!"
The shopkeeper almost dropped the coffee decanter she held and spun around to face me with a look of terrified confusion.
"I mean seriously, that's like THE BLOB returned as a donut!" I started laughing hysterically.
"Avert your eyes, it may take on other forms! At any minute it's going to morph into a killer cruiller or a deadly danish!" I screamed at the clerk with a look of mad horror in my eyes.
The poor woman just stood there frightened, coffee decanter in hand, eyeing me suspiciously. Then I realized I must be scaring the shit out of this hapless sod; a red-haired, tattooed freak just cruised into her shop and started pointing and screaming at the donuts on the racks. That self-awareness made me laugh even more.
The next thing I know, I'm a giggling mess, I must have looked like I was on PCP. Then the bowl of fried chicken legs became even funnier and I doubled over as if some invisible force had just cranked me one in the gut, my mane of red lava flying all over the place. The coffee lady lurched back, I think, fearing my hair might suddenly take on a life of its own (as it is wont to do from time to time) and attack her.
I wish I could say that, at that point, the doughy fucker jumped off the cooling rack and attached itself to my face or tried to crawl down my throat, but it didn't. The point of this story isn't really about the colon clogger, it's about self-deprication. If you can't make fun of yourself... you know the adage. I'm more monstrous than the damned pasrty so I absolutely had to have it, if only to prove something to the donut.
I straightened myself out and, clearing my throat, pointed at the fritter. "Forget the coffee, " I said. "Just give me that damned donut." The gracile woman quickly put down her pot of black tar and, shaking, scooped up a pair of metal tongs and made for the donut. I guess she was just as afraid of it as I was. Can't blame her, fucking thing was almost bigger than her head.
Since it wouldn't fit in a conventional paper donut bag, she shoved it into a clear plastic one and held it out across the counter almost convulsively shaking now. I took the bag, held it close to my face, and inspected the specimen inside, smiling. Coffee lady stepped back cautiously. I shot her a satisfied look, flipped her a fin and went out the door.
Now it's here. Sitting on my desk, glaring at me through its plastic prison. And I'll be damned if the thing doesn't want to eat me, so I guess I'll have to beat it to the punch. Except there's one small problem with my plan of attack: I HATE donuts. So I guess we'll just sit here and wait until one of us makes a move. Could be a while. If I had a bottle, I'd give it a swig out of respect.