Jelly Donuts AKA the Evil Ones

I love donuts.

Yup love ‘em.

Should have been a cop I love them so much. Yes, stereotype I know but hey it works.

At the start of every work week we are lucky enough to have a meeting.

“Say it isn’t so,” you gasp.

Yes author friends I know I should have probably made that ‘gasping’ in an effort to show not tell. But not to worry as none of you will probably ever see this. I exorcise my demons here.

Responding, “Yessssssssssssss a meeting.” Sarcasm dripping from every word.

To entice us into the trap of a Monday “what the hell is going on” meeting, the organizer places heavenly sugar coated deep fried dough in the middle of the conference table. Seriously, this couldn’t be more like a spring loaded foothold traps. You can almost see the steel points disguised as mundane office furniture.

I do my best to resist immediately snagging a girth builder. Two reasons for this and yes they sound out dated but was raised with at least a semblance of civility. First being is I am new to the group and therefore in my skewed view of the world haven’t earned the right to lay claim for first dibs. Second being that some have referred to me as a big fella and with that comes the taunts of, “better get something quick before he eats it all”, or “oh no he is going first, there won’t be any left for anyone else.”

Not that I mind the jabs but this is a meeting and on occasion I do try and be professional. All be it a rare occurrence I do try, especially at the start of the week.

So I sit in the corner, yes of my own choosing I sit in the corner, and wait. Allowing the more senior, experience, vested, ya know any way you state that it makes them sound old. Honestly most of them aren’t, but anyways.

Time slowly ticks by. I watch from my hide, like sniper waiting for the wind to be just right, then I execute a snatch and scarf.

As I open the box I see my favorite. A full round bulging disk of fried dough.

Wow, that almost sounded sexual. If I think about it too much, it just might turn out that way. Wait a minute, driving down Pervert Street again. Sorry ‘bout that.

Just beneath the fine granules of sugar I can see the change in color just beneath the delectable surface. Joy wells up from the cockles of my heart. In case your dirty mind misread I said COCKELS of my HEART.

Now who is driving down Pervert Street? Naughty.

I know that contained inside the ‘licious shell of pastry is a gelatinous pool of JELLY!!!!!!!!!!!

Not a nod to Box Trolls, haven’t seen it yet. Want to but such is life.

Why have the Patisserie Gods seen fit to grant me favor? How do I correctly pay thanks to the bounty they have bestowed upon me?

Obviously, it is to cram it my donut deconstruction machine as fast as possible.

Returning to my seat (show not told so there thhhhpphhhhhttttt) I manage to take time to locate the glory hole. Not that one, jebus reprogram the GPS and get off that street. I mean the one where the artist has decorated the donut interior with its wondrous adornment.

Note to all who have not taken this approach, if you don’t manage this it is a sure fire way to rapidly expel the wonderment out of the donut and all over you or someone too close. If you do this and manage to score a hit on the personal space invader that is considered a bonus and you get an extra donut as a reward.

Since I am well versed in this methodology (now we have transgressed into donut management 301 advanced theory) I need not worry about splooshing jelly all over the place.

I begin my consumption of manna from heaven. As I am now over the halfway mark in life I do exercise some control and manage to make this savory experience last three bites. I will say that after the first bite I felt some of the life blood try and escape but being adept I finger flicked the Hogan’s hero rejects back to their fate.

Noticing my hands were a bit extra sticky I excused myself and tromped down the hall 30 feet to the kitchenette. Rinsing my hands and snagging (two shows) some paper towels I return to the meeting.

Upon sitting in the corner one of the higher ups glanced in my direction, then stared. Eyes widening, mouth working wordlessly, a mixture of horror and puzzlement painted his face, “What the…. Did you cut yourself?”

My hand moved of its own volition to the point of his stare. “What are you talking about?” I asked laughing.

My eyes rolled down to check about his inquiry, at that same moment my fingers registered a gooey substance in the vicinity of my abdomen.

Now I will say that when my eyes gained purchase on the scene I somewhat panicked. The first thought, Well shit I w somehow managed to take a shotgun blast to my stomach and crotch. Yes, it was in fact that bad.

Jelly coated my shirt and pants, from my ribs to that area where your thighs are no longer your thighs but it aint your torso either. Hips? No those are the side things, and butt is the back, Non butt, yeah will go with that.

I think I muttered something to the equivalent of “Shit” as I excused myself gathering my pad and pen. Tromp back down toward the kitchenette but decide on the bathroom would be a better place to correct the situation. However, once I gained full clarity of the scene in the mirror I knew it was hopeless.

Ah but empowering my new found since of optimism and trying my best to channel Mr. Tim Gunn, by God I was gonna “Make it work”.

Glancing at floor under the stalls and see no feet I peeled my shirt off. Figuring it is light blue and water won’t show that badly, the jelly was obviously clogging my thought ducts, I thrust the lower half of my shirt under the automatic spout and set to scrubbing.

A few quick minutes later I held up the shirt to check and while evidence of the jelly was gone I now had a horrible tie die job to wear. Turns out that wet light blue and dry light blue are two VERY different shades.

As I was trying to figure out how to deal with this as there are no hand dryers in the bathroom I caught site of my jelly soaked non butt and crotchal area. Tossing my half wet shirt over my shoulder I started to scrub my pants with a wet paper towel.

About this time the door opens. A co worker enters to see me shirtless, scrubbing my crotch clean of what he probably presumed was blood. He hesitates for about 10 seconds, then apparently said to hell with it and came on in. Nervously I begun to explain, “Ya see there was this jelly donut.”

Shutting me down by holding up his hand, shaking his head, “I don’t even want to know.” With that he walked past me and slammed the door to the stall shut.

Feeling defeated for some reason, I gave up further damage control. Using my pad to hide my bloody crotch I returned to my cube. I sat there for about 15 minutes, just long enough for the AC to cool my wet shirt and pants down to a shrinkage level.

I sat there trying to not let the cold cloth touch me, I realized that the Jelly Donut was not a gift from the confectionary forces of light, but bleeding demon seed sent by the forces of chaos to tempt me and lead to the path of darkness.

I mean why the hell else would I end up half naked in a work bathroom scrubbing my crotch on a Monday morning. Especially at my age, I mean if I was I n the 18-25 bracket I could see it but not now.

Having been awake since 0230 I announced, “Fuck it,” probably a bit too boldly, grabbing my gear I went home.

So next time you’re in a meeting and see a Jelly donut. Don’t do it. I would highly recommend judgmentally pointing out the offender and with a righteous tone declare, “Thouest shall not ensnare me with thine evil liciousness vile spawn of chaos” then throw a grenade at it and let the meeting continue.

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