War of the Confectioneries

There was a butterfly fluttering its wings in front of me and a thought crossed my mind. The powder is going to come off and make me sneeze. True enough, I sneezed. Then I had another bizarre thought. The powder would multiply and turned everything smoky. The butterfly will increase in size while I shrunk. And it happened. Then I thought, maybe it’s a giant moth, not a butterfly. And the yellow-greenish butterfly turned into an enormous grey moth. Now it would open its mouth and speak. The giant moth opened its supposed mouth and said, “My name is Spongebob Squarepants.” I giggled uncontrollably. The moth has now turned into Spongebob with a pair of gray wings. No. Squidward look better with the wings. The creature that looked like Squidward opened its mouth and said, “My name is Squidward Tentacles.” Meanwhile, I could see his big nose wobble and I grinned crazily.

“Our nation is under attack. The King summons you.” Okay, this is crazy. The next moment I find myself kneeling in front of the King. His Majesty spoke, “My great warrior, do you know who am I?” Yes. You are Darth Vader. That was because he looked like Darth Vader, smells like Darth Vader, and feels like Darth Vader. I screamed, you are an evil king! I will not fight for you! But he’s not Darth Vader. The King took off his mask and I had the shock of my life. McDull appeared as King. “I am the Prince of Polo Buns. The king of Egg Tarts has sworn to take us down.” This time, I laughed till tears rolled down my cheeks. Omg this is crazy. The King spoke again. “You, my mighty warrior, will lead my army against them and return in triumph!” Just as the words leave his mouth, an army of assorted buns roared in consent and of high-spirit, “All hail the King of Buns!!!”

The Prince of Polo Buns pronounced me knight with the title ‘Naik Buns’. “Go forth! And return in victory! Crush the enemy and vindicate my people.” My army and I stood in front of our fort and await the arrival of the king of Egg Tarts and his legion. Soon a line of assorted tarts appeared in the distant horizon. All sorts of tarts. Traditional egg tarts, Portuguese egg tarts, pineapple tarts, fruit tarts, all freshly baked from the oven. The aroma of the newly baked enemy intensifies the spirit of my army, and the buns roared, chanting the national bun anthem. I raised my bread-cutting knife, and shouted, “For McDull!” My legion echoed in enthusiasm. “Chaaaarge!!!” And the War of the Confectioneries has begun. I rushed forth and sliced a few tarts into halves. Tart fillings and pastries were scattered everywhere. This is a cruel battle. I hope that history would not repeat itself. I thought as I see my fellow soldier disembowel an opponent. The hardened pastry was cut open and soft fillings of baked eggs poured out like coagulated blood. The enemy soldier gave a heart piercing shriek and he died as his body fell amongst the carcasses of his comrades.

Just then, I heard another shriek. My fellow companion in war, Lieutenant Red Bean Paste Bun, arched his back in pain as the spear of a brawny fruit tart pierce through his stomach. When my eyes met his, I saw horror and fear in his small black pupils. My heart stopped beating as I see his stomach being ripped open and red bean paste gushed out like a fountain. Anger filled my head and I rushed to the fruit tart who killed my friend. With my anointed knife, I sliced the tart into pieces but the pain of the loss of a friend did not recede even as I watch pieces of fruits falling before my eyes. Our army was winning, and more tarts were being killed. We charged forth, more tarts ran in fear. Someone shouted, “Take down their King! Take down their King!” We charged to the end of the enemy’s legion and I saw a humongous piece of egg tart radiating rays of glorious golden egg fillings. You are beautiful. I said to the King of Egg Tarts. He smiled a shy smile, “Well, it’s the golden syrup I paint on myself everyday…”

“For McDull! For Red Bean!” General Kaya Bun stormed forth and sliced the king into half. Hence, the end of the war.

Back in the palace, we were feasting with the King. The Prince of Polo Buns raised his cup, inviting us for a toast. “For the late Red Bean! For our foreign warrior with K.O Count of 2563!” Everyone cheered. I was given the hand in marriage of the Princess.

The sound of a car honk pulled me out of my reverie. I glance at my worthless suitor and walk out. He studied me from head to toe, squinted his eyes and blurted, “Why are you dressed like you’re going to the market?” “Well, if you wish to appease me, you would bring forth the sexy leather jacket I adore.” “What? I thought I told you not to ask me buy you things for I take that as materialistic.”

Yes, and you may leave.