After Cooking Club president Kelsey discovered her members were wasting ingredients making “low-grade food porn” after hours, she decided to teach them a lesson about how valuable the ingredients are. Thus, the Flour Baby Assignment was revived.
Though typically used to teach high schoolers about how annoying it is to drag a kid along everywhere, Kelsey thought it would be a good way to hold members accountable. Members’ bakes were limited to the amount of flour each member had left in their Baby.
However, the idea spiraled out of control when parasocial attachments started to form. First, one member gave his flour sack a name: “Mrs. Fleur.” Ok, no big. How did he know it was a Mrs.? Not important. Next, there were rumors that one flour sack had become an emotional support blanket. Kinda sad, but whatever.
Then, club member Jimmy got locked in Callaway overnight after getting his arm stuck in a vending machine. This is where the saga starts to get weird. The student describes the eight hours he spent trapped as a “127 Hours meets Castaway horror nightmare.” Though his computer and textbook sat easily within his reach and Jimmy had a midterm the next morning, the student turned to his Flour Baby, Pillsbury. He reportedly engaged in an hours-long conversation with the sack of flour (much longer than he had ever conversed with the other members) and the next day publicly acknowledged it as his child.
However, when the next Cooking Club meeting came around, it was Jimmy’s turn to provide the flour.
“But… it’s Pillsbury,” Jimmy whimpered. He was an emotional wreck, in shambles, in shock. His fellow club members were asking him to commit filicide all in the name of baking Kelsey’s “special” brownies. What’s a father to do?
Easy: a father goes to battle for his kin. War cries. Anguish. Flour dust in every crevice imaginable.
Jimmy reached for a nearby Flour Baby instead of his own, only to find its (his?) parent resisting just as hard, protecting their blue sack of Great Value All-Purpose flour like a lifeline.
Screams of pure fear. The piercing heat of the oven on par with the gates of hell. Something—someone—has to be sacrificed.
Needless to say, the Cooking Club has been disbanded and are facing a $200 cleaning fee following the destruction of the Few Hall Kitchen. On the fall of the club, Jimmy remarked, “Good riddance. I can focus more on being a good father to Pillsbury.”
Jimmy and Pillsbury are happily cohabiting to this day while funeral processions for that Great Value sack of flour will be held this weekend.
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