Little Deathies Donuts

So.

I have this medication that I need to take on a full stomach or I feel all throw-uppy. Like morning sickness w/o the bun in the oven.

I didn't get to have breakfast this morning because I got up late. And was lazy. And had to watch certain parts of "American Horror Story" again to get the full realization that this series might be ending, so there was a bit of pre-grieving happening on my comfy couch this dark, solstice morning.

What could I do but stop off at my hood gas station for a fill-up and some Little Debbies?

Done and done.

I get to work, settle in, and unwrap what I anticipate to be a mess of powdered-sugar goodness, as seen below:

It just wasn't meant to be.

I took a bite, and as I started chewing, I tasted what I can only compare to what might be lighter fluid. Or Drano. Or something just not right.

I immediately spit out what I had in my mouth, swished with water, spit some more, feeling the zombie effect coming on.

I felt like if I didn't get it all out, I might actually succumb to a formal digestive-system shut down, and that my next job might be as an extra on "The Walking Dead."

Seriously. That's how dangerous these Little Debbies donuts tasted.

I was the only one at the office, so I called my best friend to tell her my plight, and in case I died I wanted the proper action taken and the culprits prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

Of course, she had a nice chuckle. My friends rock. Keep me grounded, they do.

As we were chatting, and I was describing the unholiness that was disguised as a morning snack, I checked out the expiration date.

These donuts are a full TWO WEEKS past their due date.

My friend suggested that the preservatives in the donuts have gone bad, and that's what I'm tasting.

This is plausible. And more than likely the case, and not what I'm thinking which is either a government experiment on hood rats or the nephew of the Tylenol killer attempting his own 15 minutes of fame with tiny donuts.

So, I'm going to take the donuts back to the gas station, demand a refund, and make them remove all the Little Deathies off the shelves while I watch.

Obviously, I don't expect a tiny, hood gas station to adhere to inventory control. Shit happens. But they will on my watch.

And just in case you're on the breakfast hunt, the gas station is on the corner of Grand and Chouteau. You've been warned.