I have a problem with doughnut holes. I found out what doughnut holes were for the first time this morning, as I stood in a Country Style and asked for Timbits. There are those of you who would say that I am wrong for doing such a deplorable act of cruelty to the psyche of the average Country Style Employee (CSE) and to those of you, I would kindly remind you that I will happily disembowel you with a standard toothpick if you ever question my methodology for cramming tiny sugar coated bundles of doughnutty goodness into my stomach.
I see nothing wrong with ordering Timbits from a Country Style. Can’t you go to a titty bar and order vagina? Yes, you might have to pay a little more, but they still sell it. And yes, I equate Timbits with vagina. You don’t agree?
1. Taste great when made right
2. Horrible with hair.
3. Comes in all colours.
4. Can be dry or moist.
5. The best ones are coated in sugar.
I rest my case.
Now, back to what I was saying. The lady looks at me strangely, and says “Doughnut Holes?”
Now, here’s my problem. What is a doughnut hole? It is nothing. There is nothing in the middle of a doughnut. It is a hole. Why on earth would I want to buy a doughnut hole? How can you quantify it? More importantly, how can I stick it in my mouth and make inappropriate grunting noises while slapping my buddies on the back and rolling my eyes in faux sexual pleasure? There is nothing in the middle of a doughnut. Selling me a doughnut hole is like selling me the empty space in a vagina. It’s not big enough for me to move in to, I can’t quantify it, and I sure as shit can’t eat it.
All of this flashed through my head, standing at the counter waiting for my Timbits. Politely, I respond, “No, Timbits. Like, the little balls of sugary goodness.”
She holds up a Timbit. “This?” she asks me, laughing at my orgasm face.
“Yes, YES, THAT. A TIMBIT.” It looked glorious. Like a sugar covered Halle Berry. On a slight side note, we have discovered countless fruits and berries since the making of Swordfish – why has nobody discovered a new berry and named it Halle? Think of the implications. You could eat her any time of day. You could have her while you’re watching Swordfish. You could cut her up and eat her from the inside. You could put her in a blender and make sweet, sweet juice.
She points at a sign. It says, Doughnut holes.
That is the stupidest fucking thing i’ve ever seen in my entire life. How is it a doughnut hole? It’s not a doughnut hole. It’s a doughnut hole FILLER. It makes no sense. If we began calling everything by the space that it occupies, then consider the implications. You would not drive a car to work everyday – you would drive your garage. You would not throw the ball in a hoop, you would be throwing the hoop into another hoop. You would not call it a penis, but rather, a vagina.
The implications of what Country Style has done renders the entire universe askew. It creates a vacuum in which every single penis in the world is technically a vagina, due to the simple fact that if a doughnut hole is actually a doughnut hole FILLER, then a vagina hole must technically be a vagina hole FILLER – a penis. Thus, every sexual act that has ever occurred since the beginning of time is a lesbian act.
“What do we do Ghost?” You cry. “What shall we do now that we understand the sexual apocalypse – sexpocalpyse – that threatens us with mass extinction?”
Do not fear, as I have been preparing for this very day with my Vagina Contingency plan T7a, section III, paragraph V.
According to my contingency plan…says here…upon the slow realization or sudden epiphany that propels us to the understanding that humans have been engaging in lesbian sex since the dawn of time, unknowingly….hrrm….junk, junk…some more junk…”give yourself props for having been conceived through lesbian sex” dear God, okay fine, everyone give yourself props….hrm, some more – ahh, here we go. “In the event that you find yourself attempting to stop the world from having a lesbian take over, please hang yourself off the side of the interstate so that every passing car can smash into you and take revenge upon your corpse for ruining the dreams of an entire two and a half millenia of men, you stupid, stupid fucking moron.”
Let me reiterate my point here.
Timbits are like vaginas.
In the wake of the CSE creating a debacle in my pants regarding the veracity of her claims that what she held in her hands was indeed a doughnut hole, if we are to accept her ridiculous notions of a doughnut hole actually being a doughnut hole filler, it is wise to then say that the Country Style Timbit knockoff is actually a jerkoff – the cheap imitation that is falsely named a doughnut hole can then actually be compared to a penis.
Timbits are like vaginas.
Doughnut hole fillers are like penises.
Two things – Doughnut hole fillers are penises because they are named after that which they fill – thus, the power of them being penises actually relies on the fact that they are named for a vagina hole, whereas they are the things that OCCUPY the vagina in the first place.
Timbits are technically doughnut hole fillers – thus, they are technically penises, but they are referred to as vaginas.
DON’T YOU SEE? THEY ARE THE YIN AND YANG OF THE DOUGHNUT WORLD. They are that which completes perfect balance – without the doughnut hole (fillers) being falsely accused of vaginas, they would not be penises, and without the Timbits being falsely accused of being penises, they would not be vaginas!
And now, you will never eat a Timbit, or a doughnut, or a doughnut hole filler, or most of Tim Horton’s menu or Country Style’s menu ever again.
Until Tim Hortons and Country Style inevitably have a fucked up child together and name him Country Hortons. Or Tim Style.