Homer J Simpson put his feet up, took a long breath, and leaned
back. Time to get some rest. There wasn't much else to do at the
old power plant. Sure there was the occasional emergency. But
he could handle that. The routine was simple enough. Hear the
alarm, panic a bit, run around like a proverbial headless chicken,
spot the problem, and fix it quickly.
And speaking of alarms. Wasn't that one going off now?
Oh, wait. It was the noon whistle. No problem. He relaxed a
moment, and then sprang to his feet with urgency reserved for one
thing.
It was time for lunch. Time for his daily donuts. With a smile on
his face, he set down his coffee and made his way to the employee's
lunch room.
"Mmmm.. Don.... " He savoured as he opened the box. His words fell silent,
however and his eyes went wide. The box was empty. Not a crumb left.
What was going on? Everyone knew how much he loved his donuts. No
one even touched them until he had his pick. But now... now they were
gone. Someone had eaten every last one.
"Homer J. Simpson,"
Homer looked up to see his boss standing behind him. Standing with him,
still munching on the last of the donuts, was a tall man with spiky blond hair
that reminded him a little of Bart's. The man was dressed in a long red coat
and wore a pair of lightning bolt sunglasses with orange lenses.
"Homer, this is Vash. Vash, this is Homer Simpson. He'll be you new
supervisor."
This was a nightmare. This guy was going to be working here? Homer set
his resolve and glared at Vash.
"They're mine," he said, angrily pointing at the empty box.
"Not if I get to the lunchroom first," was Vash's reply.
The cafeteria fell silent as the truth became crystal clear:
The War of the Donuts had begun.
The War of the Donuts
