In the grocery store, there was a particular shelf that hosted a peculiar civilization—a collection of Pop-Tards® living in their boxes. Not to be confused with their more famous cousins, Kellogg’s Pop-Tarts®, these weren’t just cheap, off-brand, sugary pastries encased in foil. No, they were fully sentient, wrapped in existential angst and glazed with a layer of philosophical dread.
The Frosted Cherry Pop-Tards®, with their bright red icing, were in the middle of a particularly heated discussion. Mr. Cherry, the self-appointed philosopher of the bunch, stood atop his box and gesticulated with fervor.
“Have you ever pondered,” he began, “what’s out there beyond these sterile confines of the shelf? What’s the point of our existence? We’re born to be toasted and devoured. Isn’t there more to life?”
Mrs. Frosted Brown Sugar, whose own box was noticeably more subdued, replied with the weariness of someone who had heard it all before. “That’s the way it is, Mr. Cherry. We exist to make people happy—on a budget—even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. We should accept our fate with dignity.”
“But is that it?” Mr. Cherry persisted. “Are we really just here to be cheaply trafficked, munched on and forgotten? Is there no grander design?”
Before Mrs. Brown Sugar could answer, a cart rolled down the aisle, the rumble of its wheels a harbinger of their collective doom. The Pop-Tards® fell silent, their sugary hearts racing. They knew what this meant. The end was nigh.
The cart stopped, and a pair of human hands reached out, selecting a box of Frosted Brown Sugar Pop-Tards®. The chosen ones exchanged glances, a mix of relief and dread. They were leaving their box—a bittersweet liberation.
Mrs. Frosted Brown Sugar turned to Mr. Cherry with a final, crumbly smile. “It’s not about what happens to us, but how we face it. We’re here to make someone’s morning better. And maybe that’s enough.”
The box was whisked away, and the remaining Pop-Tards® settled back into their philosophical reverie.
In the kitchen, the Frosted Brown Sugars met their destiny. The Evil Toaster of Doom, a cruel and blazing beast, tortured and toasted them to perfection. They emerged, crisped to a golden brown, crying inside and ready for their final act. As they were consumed, they had one last thought.
They had fulfilled their purpose. For a fleeting moment, they brought joy. That was their meaning.
So there you have it. The Pop-Tards® accepted their fate with grace, finding solace in their brief, low-cost, sugary existence. Sometimes, the universe is just a big, indifferent Evil Toaster of Doom, and all you can do is embrace your moment and do your best to enjoy it.
—PP®
Contributor
Not Phil Italiano.
