Not-so-humble suggestion: Every time you see or hear the word “cronut,” mentally change it to “scrotum.” It’ll make this obnoxious, relentless East Coast obsession with an unusually flaky donut — it’s not even cute; it can’t even PROVIDE YOU SEX — much more bearable. After all, they’re both round and go in your mouth, right? LET’S DO THIS.
An unlucky intern at some food site had too much time on his underemployed hands and was tasked with frankensteining a fresh, hot cronut scrotum and an Umami Burger. (Umami Burger, apparently, is a feverishly worshipped West Coast fast food chain that just opened in New York City.) Gushed the intern:
[Combining the two] would be the ultimate hype-on-hype-on-hype, fat-on-fat-on-fat, zero-fucks-given, brunch-on-dinner-on-dessert #hashtag feast.
But COULD HE FIT IN ANY MORE HYPHENS?
Clearly he was eager to get the meaty, juicy scrotum-burger into his hands and mouth. Anxious about fucking up what could be his life’s greatest achievement, catapulting him into a career as an underpaid food writer for a site no one’s heard of, he slept fitfully the night before, nightmares of moving back in with his parents jolting him awake every hour. Will my ascension to internet fame be as bumpy as this IKEA futon? he wondered anxiously, recalling the halcyon days of undergrad newspaper staff.
Then he, you know, woke up and spent three hours in line for scrotum. Lots of New Yorkers want scrotum, but the limit is two at a time. Chef Dominque Ansel doesn’t tolerate hoarding, because scrotum is for everybody: man, woman, let’s not say “child” because I’m not ready to go there, but you get the picture. THE CITY IS CRAZED.
Food Intern carefully carts the scrotum to Umami and vivisects both, carefully inserting the beef patty between two scrotum halves. He then unhinged his jaw and wrapped his lips around the simultaneously appalling and appealing steamy mass.
To my surprise, the flavors melded well. The blackberry filling sweetened the savory Umami flavoring. As my waitress told me, “It looks like a heart attack on a plate.” I corrected her, “A little sweeter than a heart attack.”
And there you have it. Hopefully the last we hear of scrotum for a long, long time.
