The True, Wicked Heart of Horror

Okay people seriously what the fuck is with jelly donuts?


A donut is a wonderful thing.  I mean, c’mon.  Bread, and not just any bread but light, enriched, bleached bread that has been lovingly fried and then covered in some kind of sweet delight.  Bread that is simultaneously dessert and breakfast and perfect with coffee.  It is perhaps the perfect junk food.  A title worthy of reverence.

But you sick, sick bastards are injecting them with jelly.  Jelly, a quivering goo made from fruit but not really containing it, and sugar, and gelatin, the stuff they get from bones that makes Kool-Aid into Jell-O.

Hey, here’s an aside.  Ever watched someone eat Jell-O?  Holy shit, it’s so gross.  Like, spontaneous barf level gross.  Watching some limp-lipped drooly doofus flap their mouth over a slowly flattening mass of translucent slime, gently and repeatedly coaxing it down their throat, breathing audibly and perhaps *shudder* playing with it in their mouth.

Jelly is a flavor, it is not supposed to be a texture experienced all on its own.  That is why you spread it on things, like toast, or peanut butter sammiches.  It is absolutely not supposed to be consumed while in a mass.

Yet that is what a jelly donut has, at its heart.

Ever look at the half-eaten jelly donut someone is holding, while they masticate their slimy bite of wrong?  That telltale spot of horrid red at the center of an otherwise perfect bit of decadent eating?  It looks like they’re devouring a not-so-fresh kill.


I wrote a book in which children are killed and eaten, and even regurgitated, but this, this is the real deal.  The unforgiveable barbarity.  The ultimate act of heinousness.

Please, find yourself a nice fritter or cake donut.  A simple glazed is wonderful.  Frosting is fine.  It already belongs on cake, after all.  You want jelly?  Go get the jar.  Spread it over the top, you disgusting weirdo.

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