This morning I woke up with the smell of freshly baked goods. What a terrible start into the day.
Hey what´s up? My name is Cornelius Crumble III. Just call me Moustache. What? You thought cupcakes are all cute and stuff? Without facial hair? Well, I do not have a face but I do have some hair. Maybe it is neatly aligned chocolate sprinkles, what do you care? I saw on someones phone that the internet is full of moustaches. Perhaps it will help me to finally be devoured. In any case, you are probably wondering why I am the third in line to this unholy empire that is the baked goods display in this godforsaken bakery. Like me, my ancestors were cupcakes. Some with, some without moustaches. This is not particularly important. What is important is the fact that my ancestors were not sold into the abyss – which is your digestive system. Throughout the years the other baked goods thought it must be something larger than life. Surely, I do not feel larger than life. Just like an old cupcake. Even my frosting has become all crumbly. (You see where we got our last name from).
I have been on sale a couple of times. Today is another one of those days, towering up above the display. Prayed to – from below. By the other baked goods that have seen the light of the display for the first time only this morning. I cannot even argue with them, they just see that I am staying while others vanish – some within minutes after the first hungry mouth enters the bakery. In the end, I am forced to rule over a people that is not even able to articulate.
I am seen as a sin. Too much sugar. With the rise of an ideal body type for humans, my kind has been shunned. We do not get to experience our well deserved death. You see my dots? Those are not sprinkles! It is cupcake cancer. Having been to long under those bright display lights, I am crumbly, dark. Full of cupcake cancer. The moustache does not raise much awareness, I tell you that.
As I am towering high above, I am contemplating once again, whether to just touch ground. You see, humans believe that if I touch the ground for a specific amount of seconds, I have become inedible. Perhaps I will even break into pieces? Wouldn´t be the death that was intended but perhaps an active choice? Seeing that my people never move beyond passiveness I might even become a martyr?
You are just thinking too long! Why are you just standing there, listening to a cupcake? Who is baked? Me or you?