Oh so tempting. Oh too tempting. The muffin was alluringly serene, surrounded by the crumbs of its dead counterparts. Its golden brown dough with spots of blueberry bleeding from the pores of its crust. The hemispherical bulge showed its perfect rise, baked to perfection in the fiery furnace. The lumpiness of its figure demonstrating the perfection of the baker’s beating of its batter. Temptation is wrong. Greed is wrong. But muffins in polkadot cases… well they trump all philosophical debates about right and wrong. The greatest thinkers may spend hours debating the different approaches to ethics but sooner or later one of them will get hungry. Bamm, evil or good, someone’s satisfied.
“Don’t do it” whispers the angel on my shoulder. It’s mild and meek, I don’t pay it much attention any longer. The fight is no longer good vs evil but good vs I-give-up-that’s-a-delicious-muffin.
“Oh please, why even try?” taunts the devil swinging off my ear to better torment the angel. It’s a lot fatter than it used to be. What can it say for itself? It’s here for my own immoral good, so it might as well drive a hard bargain. 10% of all profits. That’s a lot if you’re the size of most of the treats.
“Because all humans have redeeming qualities” pleads the airy voice of the collapsing angel. Paler than it used to be, that's for sure.
“Well this one ain’t got any!” cackles the little imp. I’m a tad offended but in all honesty all I’ve got eyes for is the muffin. The delicate, sweet, sole surviving muffin! A halo of light appears around it. Violins drown out the bickerings of conscience. My love! My sweet, sweet love!
“STOOOOOOOP!” screams an infuriatingly high pitched voice. I freeze, my arm outstretched towards the muffin’s glorious, beauti-
“And stop looking longingly at the muffin!” the angel adds. I stare daggers at the irritating face. The face that prefers to starve than eat pilfered pancakes or stolen scones or-
“LISTEN TO ME” says the annoying Lovettesque voice. “Don’t give in, make peace with your inner cravings remem-”
“Ok. I’m listening” I interrupt. “But really, in the grand scheme of things, how bad would it be if I ate a muffin that isn’t mine”. The angel looks perplexed, partly to do with the acknowledgement, partly to do with the frankly amazing comeback. Even the devil looks shocked. If you can’t beat them, logic them to death.
“I mean…” starts the angel.
“You mean severely unimportant! A -2 on a scale from 1 to 10!” cries the imp. “NOW LET’S EAT THAT MUFFIN” it bellows. I wait for the angel, staring intently at its haloed face. Can I corrupt an angel and eat a muffin all in one day?
“It’s not very important.” answers the angel eventually. “In the grand scheme of things, you're right, it’s not world-ending.”
And that’s all I needed. I lunge at my beauty. You have been kept from me unjustly for so long (2 hours). I rip off the wrapper and stuff the holey food in my mouth. The flavors explode as crumbs are scattered between the conscious minds, all while alarms blare in the background. Wait, alarms blare in the background? Since when do blissful end scenes contain sirens and flashing red lights? My conscience freaks while I try and figure out what’s going on. The big red flashing sign on the wall says that “The End of the World (dun dun dun)” has been launched. The biggest nuclear missile ever made. Meant to be detonated in only extreme cases of emergency. To wipe out the entire human population.
How can this be happening? Why? What? Who? When? Then I see it. The plate. The plate was resting on the detonator. My beautiful bride’s pedestal of perfection caused this catastrophic calamity! How do I stop this? How do I preve-
And that’s all the world had time for. Now remember. It’s ok to steal sweet treats from others once in a while. Maybe even lots in a while. But never, ever, steal muffins in a nuclear missile base.