Eggos, Ellio’s Frozen Pizza, Mrs. Smith’s Pumpkin Pies, Klondike bars, and to
her suprise, Poptart’s arctic rival...Toaster Pastries. Toaster Pastries! Oh what in the world the Lopez toaster
has seen, but never has it seen Toaster Pastries, the flaky crust surrounding a warm, fruit filling, with do it
yourself icing. Jennifer dropped her heavy load. She stood there; eyes wide with excitement, until an elderly woman
approached the case, and took out the last box of the Pillsbury Doughboy endorsed pastries. “NO!!!” Screamed Lopez,
as she threw herself on the centurion.
Jennifer wrestled the old woman to the ground. “GIVE IT TO ME!” A sound not heard on earth emerged from the throat
of Lopez. A roar, more or less of a ravenous beast, penetrated the aisles of Mark’s Deli and Grocery that day.
The poor, elderly lady lay scared shitless in her Depends undergarments. Mark himself saw the deranged singer huddled
in a quivering mass in the corner of the bread wall tearing viciously into the rock-hard delicacies, icing dripping
down her face like the war paint of savages. He rushed to the phone and called the NYPD.
Later that day...
“BITCH, I can’t believe you got arrested.... Again, because of food! Look; baby got back, but god! Last time it
was over those fuckin’ Krispy Kremes, and now over what was it?” Puffy yelled. “...T..T..Toaster Pastries...” Jennifer
whimpered. “Great, Toaster Pastries. What the hell is wrong with you, bitch? Now we’re both stuck in this hell
hole, all because you needed to add mass to your fat ass...”