Yeah, that’s me. Asshole of the bakery. The Antonin Scalia of bread and pastry. The Donald Trump of this flour-dusted, godforsaken shithole. You got a problem with that, glazed doughnut? Kiss my ass. You think I give a shit what you think, baguette? Fuck you, you French faggot.
Number-one asshole among baked goods, and proud of it. I even look like a sphincter. Like phyllo dough is such a big fucking deal, with all those layers. I’m such a huge fucking star you gotta cook me twice. Boil, then bake, then douse me in everything you got in your spice rack. That’s how I roll. You think that fuckface corn muffin is some kind of hot shit? More like lard-ass cupcake wannabe with a fake tan.
Right now you’re thinking, Oh yeah, this guy thinks his shit don’t stink. Well, guess what? It does stink. It stinks plenty. Like salt, garlic, onion, poppy seed, sesame, and caraway. I got it all. Or maybe you didn’t know what an “everything” bagel is, if you’re an idiot. Which you probably are.
Maybe you think I only get along with my own kind, that I got no problem with the other bagels. That just goes to show you don’t know fucking shit. Plain bagel? Please. [In mocking girly voice] “Ooh, ooh, I’m so smooth and golden brown and pret-ty, I don’t put out on the first date, I love kittens and pudding and not having sex, I’m a plaaaaaaaaaain bagel.” Raisin bagel? A raisin ain’t even a fruit. It’s a grape that couldn’t hack it. Pumpernickel bagel? Yeah, I guess, if you want a bagel that’ll steal your car. Egg bagel? What the fuck is that? It looks like a plain bagel that pissed itself. Spinach bagel? You have 14 flavors to choose from and you pick spinach? I hope your stomach tells you to go fuck yourself and busts through your gut like that nasty little fucker in Alien.
Don’t even fucking think about putting anything on me. Cream cheese? Keep that nasty toe jam to yourself. Don’t even come near me with lox. I get one whiff of that low-tide funk and someone’s gonna end up bleedin’ on the floor. Butter? You know what butter is for? Scones. Because scones are pathetic little turds. Watch this. [Throws fake punch at scone; scone flinches] See? [Punches scone hard on upper arm] [Scone: "Ow!"] [Everything bagel, to scone] Get lost, shithead. This is my show.
I own two vehicles. Guess what they are? Right. A Harley and a Hummer. Chrome truck nuts on the Hummer. Confederate flags on both. Know what that apple fritter over there drives? A used Prius with a “Life is Good” bumper sticker. Sounds like he’s the asshole, right? It’s lame jackoffs like that who give us hardcore assholes a bad name. I don’t just text while I’m driving, I eat corn on the cob and play sudoku at the same time. I cough in public without covering my hole. I lose DVDs from Netflix and claim they never showed up.
Crispy and seedy on the outside, all motherfucking stud inside. You better believe that underneath my tangy, circular awesomeness, I’m all eclair, if you catch my drift. See that cruller over there? Knocked her up. Nine months later she squeezes out twin doughnut holes. Hey, not my problem, right? Got shitfaced last Saturday and had an orgy with a whole rack of danish. Woke up two days later with some massive motherfucking hangover, smelling like Jägermeister and prunes. Messed around with a hot cross bun last year and ended up with a nasty rash. Didn’t slow me down one fucking bit. Ended up giving it to a macaroon. Sorry, baby, but I don’t wear a bakery tissue for nobody.
Well, dickheads, smell ya later. The retard clerk is about to put me in a bag with some blueberry bagels so I can make ‘em all taste like shit.
