Do you know the muffin man?

Do you know the muffin man?

The muffin man?

The muffin man?

Oh--the one who lives on Drury Lane? Yes... I do know the muffin
man.

It may be noted that some of the greatest secrets and conspiracies of the world are hidden in the most innocuous of places. There are millions of theories such as how a certain building is symbolic of the chaos that man lives in; or a certain painting of a scenery is actually symbolic of the artist's maiden aunt's nose which had an ugly wart on it. While these theories range from the profound to the ridiculously ridiculous, the fact remains that sometimes things are not always what they seem.

The same applies to the passage quoted at the beginning of this post. For the animated movie savvy, I hardly need to mention that it is from the king of all cartoons, Shrek. This particular dialogue is innocent enough (unless you consider the ginger bread man being tortured with milk by Lord Farquads goonda not very innocent... but that's another story.) Anyway... it is, I state, quite an innocent scene. On first viewing it, one may be mildly amused or like me, laugh like a loon for an hour. But a disturbing insight has come to light.

The muffin man they speak about, is in fact, a secret code word. Or rather, a secret man. Er... that is to say, the muffin man leads a secret double life. By day, he's a jovial, fat little baker, baking away runaway confectionaries but by night... Ah yes, few people know of his night shift duties. By night, he becomes a different man. He becomes a shadow among shadows---except for the fact that he is an oddly yummy-smelling shadow. He becomes the defender of the defenceless. He becomes the protector of the... protection less and the upholder of justice, and to blatantly plagiarise a particular movie, he becomes an all-round good guy.

Not that he's a bad guy during the day. His muffins are well know. He is peerless in his cakebaking abilities. His baguettes are to die for. But somehow loses favour among women--they say his food is too tempting and too fattening. But he strives on, everyday, baking away.

But it is at night that his true nature revelas itself. Armed with a frying pan and another lethal weapon--his blender--he roves the areas around Drury Lane, scourting the street for crime. It may be noted that the police are pretty good at this themselves and so the presence of a super hero proves redundant, rendering the muffin man into a slightly insane looking figure. But remember, it's the thought that counts!

The muffin man is often made conspicuous by the absense of any particularly great super powers, unless of course you, like me, have tasted his chocolate gateau and think it's a super human preperation. But he is still a super hero because in his heart he is one! He does have a constume which unfortunately does not fit anymore due to a weakness for his own preparations. He is still a dignified figure though (or so he would have us believe.)

To add to his good deeds, he also takes customised orders like giant ginger bread men, gingerbread houses, etc.

So, the next time you want to strike fear in the heart of a villain, walk up to him and whisper in his ear Do you know the muffin man? (Using a menacing tone while doing so might help.)

Last confessions of a murderer.

On a cold dark night I decided to do it. My motives were many. Its crimes against me were innumerable. It took everything away from me. I'm old and didn't feel scared. Ironic, really.

I had considered many ways of committing the crime--yes, killing is a crime and I knew it. I'm not about to offer any justification for my act, my crime. All I can say is that I decided to do it. I planned for days, weeks. I could feel the pressure building through days of busy work and a hectic schedule.Because I knew what lay waiting for me at the end of it all.

I planned. Yes, I confess, this crime was premeditated. I planned it step by step. It would have been so easy to use any one of verious methods. Poison, a bullet, a rope. All these options were open to me. But I chose none of them because these would directly affect me. And I wanted to triumph over that which wronged me many times. Many times. Ah, the irony of it!

Perhaps I need not have done it at all. I would have survived. But I saw--and see--no reason to not commit the crime. I cannot say I forced myself. It was completely out of free will. I even enjoyed it. Yes, I admit to that too. I enjoyed it!

But let me tell you something, before you judge me, my parents, my family, my sanity, my morality and all else associated with me. Let me tell you. You are guilty! Guilty, at this very minute of the same crime I committed!

But now... now as my pen grows slower and slower, as the seconds tick by, I realise the futility of my act. But I didn't realise it then, when I committed the crime.

Yes, I went through with my plans of vengeance and murder. I committed the heinous crime. I leaned forward, picked up the remote and turned the television on.

(People going What obscure crap! may want to refer to the comments section.)