So there I was, deep in the Amazon. And by ‘Amazon’, I mean ‘My apartment’. Anyhow, a vision of light appeared in my head…a vision of biscuits. A vision so luminescent that white flour alone would not cut it. No, I needed wheat flour as well for this job. A blending of two flours, to form the ultimate biscuit-seeking power, that the Biscuit Gods might bestow unto me their fluffy buttery benevolence. That my soul should be at peace, cushioned in the soft tender carbohydrates of the heavens.
I sought long, and I sought hard. My seeking was not to be in vain. Soon, the alchemy was complete. Crouched, prone upon a desolate pan in the stove-like wilds, were my muses.
Wild, these biscuits were. No biscuit cutter could tame them. Timidly, they approached me. Seeing I meant no harm, they soon gathered ’round. Overwhelmed I was by these gentle yet delicious beasts, I couldn’t help but delight in their doughy frolicking. Seemingly inspired by the gods themselves, one chose itself out of the fray to come forth, and be a willing sacrifice down my throat. It was then that the jam made itself known, sacrificial jam to quell the soul of any bread product.
The biscuits then silenced themselves, and I took a savory bite into the virgin dough. The rest were awed into submission, overwhelmed by a catharsis of hope, that someday soon they too might meet this good and noble fate. Eagerly, they crawled into my tupperware container, and nuzzled up against one another.
Sleepily, they dozed as I covered the container and savored the spoils of my hunt. The gods were good to me that day.