If you lived in a northern state around the early 2000s, you may have an exciting memory of the day Krispy Kreme came to town. This southern delicacy roared north in a blaze of publicity. They’re the best things ever, those lucky travelers who had somehow passed the Mason-Dixon line and lived promised us. These legendary globs of fried dough would cure cancer, bring world piece, end poverty, and solve Fermat’s last theorem, and still have time to take twelve dumps in a Dunkin box, drop a microphone, and shout “Booyah!”
And we all got a donut, or maybe someone brought a box in to the office, and they were delicious.
And then, in about three weeks, we realized that they weren’t all that special, and everyone stopped caring.
Now you buy them in gas stations.
Kind of sums up the south, eh?
Thanks for Trump, though.