Why Are We Denied The Right To Our God-Given Donuts?
Ah, distinctly, I remember, it was in the bleak December.... wait. That's something else. What I meant to say was this: I can remember the exact location of the store where I first experienced the fatty piece of fried dough that transported me into an otherworldly plane of conciousness. Gather 'round, my children, and I'll weave a tale of wonder...
It was a cool Sunday morning in October. The city of Boston was awakening from its usual weekend hangover, and my friend Brooke and I were riding an inbound T to Copley Square, where we would participate in the BioDevastation 2000 Rally against a biotechnology convention at the Hynes Convention Center. To make a long story short, I walked around for a few hours, met a ton of cool people, had a free vegan lunch, marched in a parade, and left feeling generally good about everything. When the rally ended, I wandered down Boylston Street to the Public Garden and into Boston Common, where I found some more of my friends playing frisbee.
I hung around with them for a while, then we spotted a man in a black gorrilla suit running around the park. No kidding. Well, we followed this guy around for a while, because it's not every day you get to see a man running around an urban environment in a gorrilla suit. After a few minutes, a mounted police officer and two running officers were in hot pursuit of Man In Gorrilla Suit. Following a climactic chase around a fountain and an old man, Man In Gorrilla Suit was finally apprehended and made to take off his mask. Apparently, he was from Boston Univeristy (and not Emerson, as I had assumed), and he and his friend were filming the events for some kind of television project.
Not only was Man In A Gorrilla Suit a student at my university, but he was also a member of my college. I love my school.
Well, after we talked to Man In A Gorrilla Suit, we parked our respective rears on a small hill near the Boylston Street station. After a few moments, I remembered that I hadn't eaten anything since my free vegan lunch a few hours before, and I was fairly hungry. I spotted a Dunkin' Donuts across the street, and made the trek to bask in its brightly-colored interior. My eyes scanned the magnificent selection of donut flavors, and suddenly I stopped my scanning, for I had laid mine eyes upon the wonder of the Black Forest Anniversary Donut.
Now, please understand that I'm not a big donut person to begin with. If I have one, it's usually once or twice a month, unless I'm really craving one at the time. I usually stay with the donut standards: honey glazed, colored sprinkles, chocolate frosted, and the like. But the Black Forest Anniversary Donut is a donut like no other donut. The Black Forest Anniversary Donut is filled with delectable cherry jelly, and topped with choclate frosting and chocolate crunchy cookie pieces, which, I gather, are found in The Black Forest.
And I ate this donut, and did smile, and the Lord smiled down upon me, for I had found His most holy of donuts.
And so I continued to eat this donut whenever I passed a Dunkin' Donuts and rememberd the pleasurable tastes that lied within. But after school was out, and I returned home to Connecticut for the summer, I was disheartened and dismayed to find that no Dunkin' Donuts carried the magnificent Black Forest Anniversary Donut.
"Well," I consoled myself, for everyone laughed when I told them about my problem, "I guess it couldn't be a special anniversary donut forever. How long can an anniversary last?" And so I sulked around central Connecticut, trying to find foods that satiated my need for the Black Forest Anniversary Donut. I found none.
This week, however, I returned to Boston, and on a whim, decided to check a nearby Dunkin' Donuts for the avaliability of the Black Forest Anniversary Donut.... and there it was, staring me in the face, yelling in a rather mocking tone "Ha! You thought I'd be gone forever! Fool!"
I shielded my eyes with my hands and looked away , yelling "You! They told me you were never coming back!"
"That's what they wanted you to think! Those Southern New England Dunkin' Donuts managers have been holding out on you!"
So I bought and ate the belligerant donut, but the question still remained: "Why am I being denied the right to my God-given donut eating priviledges?" Clearly, something rotten is going on in the central Connecticut donut industry. And using the words "rotten" and "donuts" in the same sentence does not produce a pretty image.