War and Pâtisserie

Do you know the muffin man, who lives on Drury Lane? Well I do and boy do I have a story about how I met him. It was a fairly boring day, as Mondays usually are, and I was driving to work when suddenly a Muffin delivery truck ran a red light in front of me and crashed into a wall

of red gelatin. The truck bounced backwards 10 feet, and the driver got out, visibly shaken. “Where did this aspic wall come from?” he asked aloud. “I know”, said a small voice.

Well if it isn’t the gingerbread man, made by the legendary muffin man! Truly a creation to rival Pinocchio and Frankenstein’s monster! Yes, Frankenstein’s monster. Not Frankenstein. He’s the mad scientist. “I know where that jelly wall came from!” the gingerbread man said, “that

is definitely residue from a gelatinous cube that was seen here sometime last week.” “Nonsense,” said Mr. Mushroom. “I know for a fact that it’s the

rust monster that's been stalking these parts." Muffin Man scrambled to his feet. "I'm putting my gold in a tree!" he cried. As Muffs scrambled up a nearby elm, Q'iwi the hot half-elf tracker ran her fingers over the marks on the ground. "Displacer beast," she whispered. "Close."

With light filtering through her luscious hair, Q’iwi munched on a kiwi. “No time to waste now,” the female half-elf spoke with a silky smooth voice, “We need to find that beast.” Let’s just say the Muffin Man’s loaf has risen in the oven and turned into a firm baguette. He said,

And, well, who can turn down a good piece of French bread, elf or beast? Food would unite them and -

- abruptly, the firm baguette transformed into a gelatinous cube, the creatures sat at the table jumped back in their fright. Who could be at fault, for such a treacherous, offensive action?

It was none other than Larry the Noodle, that dude popped out of nowhere and stabbed the gelatinous cube and all the other pastry people with his noodle hair. Larry backstabbed everybody. Could anyone stop this whole wheat horror show?

But just as Larry twirled triumphantly in his marinara slick, a single breadstick snapped—crack!—and the rebellion began. Croissants lunged, éclairs struck from the shadows, & by sundown, the pastry people had risen, flaky & victorious—dusted in powdered glory and finally free.