Tuesday, December 7, 2010

"Whoopie Pies"

I’m not entirely sure how it all happened; it was so fast. I had been the lucky one chosen out of the audience to go up to the stage and taste the Whoopie Pies that Paula Deen was showing us how to make. I was watching her mix the frosting and salivate when all of a sudden there were gunshots and the lights went out and the next thing I knew, Paula Deen was holding me against her body, her burly, sweat-slick arm choking my throat, as a human shield. I tried to free myself, but I was powerless against her bear-like hold. I noticed then that she smelled extremely sour. She started yelling, “I don’t owe you nothing, Alexei! Nothing! Vlad is a goddamned liar! He said it would be at the docks and there wasn’t shit there!” and then she shouted louder in what sounded like Russian, but I’m not sure. The guys who broke in started yelling at her and firing their AK-47s into the air and Paula Deen whispered into my ear, “Fuck this,” and dove out of the window, which shocked me because we were on the fifth floor. The robbers ran away and the audience and camera crews stared at each other and I got this surge of adrenaline and I just started mixing the frosting like it was up to me to save the world by mixing that frosting. My arm went at about a thousand RPMs and all of a sudden it was mixed, and right then the cakes were done cooling, and I whipped them together and in this moment of pure serendipity I handed out samples and they were a real hit with the crowd.

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