“I hate and I love. Why do I do this, perhaps you ask.
I know not, but I feel it happening and I am tortured.”
The feeling was electric; similar, I would imagine, to the way one feels when they grip a particularly large electric eel. In a mere ten (10) seconds I cast off all inhibitions, charging into my local Publix like Caesar crossing the Rubicon, not stopping even to grab a basket or get lost in the tantalizing scent of the azaleas that sit lasciviously in the entrance. My heart was set and Our Lord Jesus Christ Himself would have to smite me on the freshly waxed tile floor I stand to shake me from my wonderlust.
The pastry section stands approximately 11 feet north, 29 feet east of the entrance, resulting in a travel time of only 8 seconds for a man with legs of my girth; I clear it with the ease and find myself crotch to pastry with what can only be described as the physical embodiment of ecstacy; the drug I knew would tear mny weak, fragile little life apart for good, the iced bundt cake.
With nothing stopping me other than the thin, pathetic plastic cover that sits around it I tore one open with a triumphant and gutteral roar that alerted the employees to the nature of my threat. Too little, too late they converged on me as I attempted to shove the entirety of the 13 inch diameter cake down my esophagus in one go, knocking away their feeble attempts to inhibit my snack as if they were no more than pups leaping at their mother’s teat. The next 3 seconds before I was rendered uncounscious by the combination of a lack of air and having a country ham swung at my head with the gusto of a 4th in the lineup college slugger, I felt as if I truly understood what Armstrong meant when he said “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”
