You unwrap the Pop-Tarts and place them on a double-layered paper towel, then toss the whole thing in the microwave. You set it and forget it.
Your mother walks into the kitchen. Seeing the light of the microwave, she smiles and asks “What’s for breakfast?”
With your face buried in the refrigerator, you absently advise her of your intention to consume microwaved breakfast pastries, then return to nosing through the fridge for a suitably refreshing breakfast beverage.
Your mother whirls on her heels; pure horror covers her face. “You put the Pop-Tarts in the microwave?”
Thoroughly confused by your mother’s reaction, you answer in the affirmative then ask what’s wrong.
“Son, you have to take them out!” she shouts. “Now!”
Unable to speak from utter confusion, you raise your hands in an exaggerated shrug.
“No time to explain! You have to take them out and put them in the toaster before they-“ A loud knock at the front door interrupts your mother’s plea. “Oh god,” she says in reaction to the knock. “It’s too late. They know! They’re here!”
Before you can ask your mother who “they” are, the front door is kicked in and several men in what appears to be police SWAT gear run into the house.
“Breakfast Police, get on the ground, motherfucker!” screams the lead goon, pointing the barrel of his rifle at your forehead. “Get on the ground!” he repeats. “Do it now!”
You raise your hands and fall to your knees. The goon grabs your collar and pushes you to the ground. Two other ninjas handcuff you in while you’re prone. The whole time you plead and beg the goon squad to tell you what you’ve done, who they are, what this is all about.
“You know what you did, shitbag!” shouts the operator in back. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Stow it, McKowsky,” scolds Goon Number One. “You’re charged with aggravated microwaving of a Pop-Tart intended for toasting.”
“You sick motherfucker,” says McKowsky, shaking his head.
“Please!” interrupts your mother. “He didn’t know!”
“Ignorance of the law is not a defense,” Goon Number One tells her matter-of-factly.
Mother begins to sob uncontrollably and sinks to her knees in the middle of the kitchen floor. “Where did I go wrong?” she asks the sky between sobs.
You’re tried and convicted in breakfast court and sentenced to ten years in breakfast jail for your crimes. Halfway through your sentence, you appear on a special episode of Scared Straight, warning children about the proper preparation of breakfast foods. This earns you an early release for good behavior.
Once free, you attempt to get a job at a number of restaurants, but no one wants a breakfast criminal in the dish room – that’s just asking for a kitchen disaster.
At a loss for what to do, you walk into a 7-11 and grab a single-serving off-brand breakfast pastry off the shelf. You shove it in the microwave.
The clerk is horrified, he knows what’s about to happen. He stares at you with tearing eyes and asks “Why?”
You feel a lump in your throat as you tell him. “On the inside, you have to learn to cook breakfast on the inside. They don’t teach you how to cook breakfast on the outside.”
Like clockwork, the breakfast police appear and take you into custody. You’re sentenced to breakfast life as a repeat breakfast offender. You die in breakfast jail at the age of sixty-seven.