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I felt an incredible urge to shove Poppin Fresh, the fat little Dough Boy, into the microwave, there to see his pudgy doughy eyes puff up in astonishment and to hear his futile little screams, and to see his pasty hands pounding with soft, but uselessly agitated insistence upon the Microwave’s glass door, and to know finally and irrevocably that he would be dead once and for all, resting at the bottom of mama’s scrumptious chocolate pie, even now as she languidly stirred the chocolate simmering atop the oven.
Don
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