This guilty pleasure dates back to age 10, view if not farther.
I indulge whenever I’m racing through a convenience store and jonesing for sugar that’s gentler than a candy bar, yet more hardcore than Skittles or a pack of gum:
A thick hat of fudgy yellow frosting curlicued with white icing atop spongy nonbaked cake, injected with a squirt of gelid, unnaturally white goo called “creamy filling.”
They were in there just a minute ago. Honest.
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