The peasant and the royal one

Maybe it could be fun to concoct this allegorical piece/pastiche/cupcake sculpture, imparting the tale of woe of a personal assistant who, through a very convoluted set of circumstances, got smart and decided to follow a trail of bread crumbs dropping from the hand of another person—oh what the hell, lets even say it was a person of impoverished nobility—for a while. To help himself make art. And lo and behold, it worked out. Maybe because of that, and probably for a whole lot of other reasons.

Eventually the one that got trailed around thought she’d figured some of it out. And it was interesting, especially as she realized P.A. went to this institution that looked really rotten. It was sort of emblematic of the worst crimes. Maybe she saw someone with four hundred cuts head to toe because of the institution of rottenness. Although, like many institutions, there is a possibility that it wasn’t entirely rotten. But unfortunately, it was certainly experienced as such.

Sometimes it used the artist as a poster boy and then he was all like, this was such a greeeaaaat place…I feel soooo sorrrry for those young people nowadays who don’t know how coooool it was….and he was sort of a jackass. In the end though, circumstances contrived….hey, is someone saying that sounds contrived?…anyway…he got educated. By the end of his life, he was not only a successful architect, but also a blissful yogi meditator sort, who gave plenty of his fortune (if it was such) away to organizations that assisted people who were helping other people recover from assault, or other icky things that people STILL don’t want to talk about. Light shone in various brains! This was fantastic, and the community built a new institution. Not only were the cupcakes delicious, but it was completely up to code. The wiring was not the least bit faulty. And that’s the end, for a time’s being. Excellent Cupcakes!

Well…actually there was a teeny electrical fire. It started in the theater. It had happened when she walked by this pile of dirt next to a dam, which kind of reminded her of Dante’s mountain in Purgatory. Some things were still kind of screwy. Someone born in 1987 could make 57 million for shooting hoops and doing that other stuff that gets done on the court of sports (if you’re a male), and could also plumb the depths of cupcakery, declaring “that one’s quite obviously the most scrumptious, for it won the prize!!!” to an impressed audience. Nevertheless, the response was not insignificant. And at one point, the whole neighborhood was saturated with a squadron of emergency response vehicles. In part because a kid had fallen off his skateboard, and broke his arm. Pretty much, it was an improvement. A really good gesture. Overall.