I wish my fritter would get it on with a headlight.

Have you ever been so hungry that you start to crave foods that don’t exist?

The other night, after tailgating at the St. Patrick’s Day Parade all afternoon (I told you my world revolves around all things Irish this month. See yesterday’s post.), I awoke a sweaty mess with one thing on my mind. I was starving for a pregnut.

Just what is a pregnut? I’m still not entirely sure, but what I envisioned made me salivate HARD.

Imagine biting into a freshly baked, plump doughnut frosted with an insanely thick layer of icing (Chocolate? Vanilla? Snozzleberry? Coated in whichever flavor makes your taste buds cracked out)… and inside that gorgeous exterior of a pastry is yet another doughnut! A doughnut hole made of your other favorite kind of doughnut! A baby doughnut, if you will. And you will. You’re reading my blog, so dammit, you will.

It’s two doughnuts in one. A dream come true. Who could argue with that?

So, yeah, I want my doughnuts to get knocked up.

Now, I’m not going to delve into the whole “birds and bees” or “sugar and flour” conversation here as far as which doughnut will do what. Quite frankly, I don’t care how my doughnuts get impregnated but it needs to happen as it would be DELICIOUS.


THIS is the side view of a pregnut. Just look at that adorable, bouncing baby fritter in there! Must be about 37 weeks.

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