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| Talking Story with Arlo |
Hey there, tea lovers! It’s Arlo, your quirky cat with a scruffy beard and a closet full of thrift-store finds. At 58, I’ve lived a life full of laughs—bongo jams in Haight-Ashbury, poetry nights in Greenwich Village, and a wild Bitcoin win that almost bought me a jet (thanks, shady Carl!). But nothing beats the day I scored the Donut Machine 9000 at a garage sale for $50 and a cheesy haiku.
This thing wasn’t your grandma’s donut maker. Picture a shiny, chrome monster with glowing dials and a brain that seemed straight out of a cheesy sci-fi flick. The seller, a sleepy hippie reeking of patchouli, warned it was “cursed to make donuts forever.” I thought, “Perfect!” and dragged it home.
It started innocently—out popped a golden glazed donut, then a gooey raspberry jelly one. I was thrilled! But then? Chaos. The machine roared, spitting out chocolate-frosted treats, sprinkle-covered rings, and even a maple-bacon freak show. The display blinked: “POWER: BATTERY + SUN + PURE STUBBORNNESS.”
Uh-oh.
Donuts piled up fast—cinnamon twists, powdered puffs, glitter-dusted crullers. They overflowed my house, rolled down the street, and turned my neighborhood into a sugary circus.
Neighbors went from screaming to cheering to dodging donut avalanches. We’re talking gold-leaf donuts, caviar-stuffed ones, and yes, donuts that hummed Motown tunes when you bit in!
I tried unplugging it—oops, no plug!
This beast was running on some crazy cosmic energy. But I didn’t freak out. Nope, I climbed a donut mountain in my bell-bottoms and shouted, “This is my shot!” The world needed a laugh, and I had donuts to deliver.
I called my goofy crew, the Gulatrons—aviator-wearing pals who’d follow me anywhere—and stuffed my imaginary jet with millions of donuts.
First stop: a hungry village in the Sahara. We buzzed low, dropping donuts like funky paratroopers. Kids giggled, elders danced, and the vibe turned into a desert party.
Next, Mumbai. Masala-spiced donuts rained down, and the Gulatrons tossed them like confetti. A vendor traded his last coin for a pistachio donut and swore he saw a wink from above. In the Arctic, polar bears munched blueberry rings, and in the Amazon, piranhas nibbled crumbs while tribes got creative with jelly face paint.
Back home, my town was a donut swamp—mayor included! I aimed the machine skyward, and soon Earth had a donut-ring orbit. Hunger turned into a global sugar rush, wars paused for snack breaks, and politicians swapped jabs for frosting tips.
I became the “Donut Dude,” blogging these tales.
So grab some tea, laugh along, and join the groove. The Donut Machine rolls on, and I’m just happy to share the silliness!
Groove is in the Heart - Arlo
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