Chuck C. wrote:
Reginald James Fairfield was London's finest baker. His raspberry danish was the stuff of legends. It was said that after consuming one Valdimer Putin shed a single tear and said that, for the first time, he saw beauty in this world. Little did he know though that his acumen with baked goods would lead to the most harrowing adventure of his life.
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Reginald was walking home one day after a long night making the queen’s birthday spread when four men in black masked stormed out of a van. They threw a bag over his head and smothered him with a chloroform soaked rag.
He awoke hours later. Groggy, foggy eyed, and barely able to stand, he saw a suit clad figure standing in front of him. His vision began to clear and he realized he was in a very well stocked bakery. Judging by the lack of windows he was underground somewhere.
“Hello Mr. Fairfield” the dapper figure said, his voice deep and firm.
“What the bloody hell is this?” Fairfield exclaimed, “Do you have any idea who I am!” He went for the door but realized his foot was chained to a post dug deep into the concrete floor.
“Mr. Fairfield, you’re not going anywhere any time soon,” the man said, “Not until my...client’s... needs are met,” he said, looking at long piece of paper on the table. On it was a quite extensive list of pastries and cakes.
“If your client wanted my baked goods why he simply just order them?” He inquired.
“Oh come now, chef... you know your goods are on nearly a year back order,” the man said. His tone darkening, he pulled out a pistol from under his coat and leveled it against the renowned baker. “Now, make the damn pastries or you will not live to regret it”
Fairfield's disposition changed immediately. He quickly grabbed the supplies he needed and went about his task, his hands trembling.
Suddenly there was an impossibly bright flash and a deafening bang. For the second time that day he blacked out. Moments later he came to outside on the street, laying in the back of an ambulance.
“So, Mr. Fairfield,” a Russian-accented voice said from outside. He lifted his head and saw Vladimir Putin himself was standing there, “Looks like we got to you just in time.”
“President Putin? What the devil are you doing here? What the devil is going on!” he demanded.
“It seems that one of the captains of the Russian Mafia was rejected by your application department and didn’t take that well. My mole in his organization heard of the plot and informed. After what you did for me, could not stand the idea of anything happening to you. I'm just glad we were able to get to you in time,” he explained.
“Well I say,” Reginald said, standing up briskly, “I don’t care what they say about you; you’re alright in my book.” He extended his hand, shaking the Russian president's hand briskly, “Anything you ever need, you got it.”
“Now that you mention it...” President Putin said. He handed him an even longer list. He looked through it.
“10 dozen Raspberry Danishes? By Monday?”
Vladimir nodded.
“Well, looks like I have my work cut out for me then!” he said, “Onward!”
Dana Lee wrote:
Dear Diary,
You will never believe what happened to me if I told you. I was in my bakery getting ready to close the shop. These two airy-fairy American men came in and just whisked me out of my shop. They were aled up but they had the curtesy to allow me to lock the shop before leaving. It was just all to cock (or as these idiots would say, all messed up). So, they took me to this antwacky (or old fashioned) building way down in the bad parts of the city. Awaiting there was their whole family, apparently awaiting my arrival. They demanded I get into the kitchen and immediately begin making a birthday cake for the youngest gal in the family. I would later learn that it was her first birthday.
Without question I went into the kitchen and got to work because my life depended on it. The wife of the one man came in and would not leave me along. She just kept banging on about how the cake had to be perfect. The cake should be like this. The cake should be like that. I just wanted her to leave me alone. I did not want to be there in the first place! When the cake was finished and the bash began, I was allowed to go home.
That was the craziest day I have ever had in my life. Those Americans have problems.
Melody Joy wrote:
Warner Warthingtan had always been teased about being uptight, but the simple fact was that he was better at everything than everybody, so he had no need for their nonsense. Despite his family’s wealth allowing him to choose any college in the world, he chose a simple trade school because of the affinity he had always had for baking. After all, his father was often away on business, so he spent much of his time baking in the kitchen with his mother, who was a rather large woman.
He founded the Warner Warthingtan Whimsical Cupcake Factory shortly after graduation from baking school and soon was well-known throughout London for his towering elegant cakes, delectable scones, and exquisite bon-bons. Nearly thirty years later, the business was still going strong. He was working alone late one night on a large order of delicate England-shaped sugar cookies for the queen’s 113th birthday party when he became aware of people in the front of the shop.
Coming out of the kitchen disgruntled because the flighty girl who closed the store had clearly forgotten to lock the door, he found himself faced with three men dressed all in black, faces covered by masks. He sighed dejectedly as they escorted him out of the bakery and into a waiting car. He sat quietly in the back seat as they drove recklessly through the dark streets of London before eventually coming to a stop at an abandoned warehouse outside of the city.
They walked him inside where he was greeted by the sight of his dear aged mother dangling by a straining rope above a large cage filled with grumbling lions. The biggest of the lion yawned wide, revealing glistening sharp fangs. Warner Warthingtan stifled a yawn of his own as a man approached him slowly, face hidden by the shadows.
“As you can see, Mr. Warner Warthingtan of Warner Warthingtan Cupcake Factory, we have your mother. If you don’t do as we say, we’re going to drop her in there with the tigers and let them tear her apart.”
Warner Warthingtan carefully considered these words before answering, “So if I refuse to do as you say, you will feed my poor feeble mother to tigers?”
“Yes.”
Warner Warthingtan extended his hand, “Do you swear under threat of perjury that my mother will be spared from being fed to tigers if I do as you say?”
The man was taken slightly aback by the casual manner in which the transaction was going, but he was pleased nonetheless, “Yes. If you do as you say, your mother will not be fed to the tigers.”
“Well. I’m glad we cleared that up. Now, if you excuse me, I will be taking my mother and leaving here at once.”
“But you haven’t done as we asked.”
“I’m not going to. You see, my mother is in no danger because whether or not I do as you ask, there are no tigers here to feed her to. And since we made a gentleman’s agreement, you have to honor that. Now, I’m officially refusing to acquiesce to your request. Please release her safely into my custody at once.”
The man was no longer sure what to do. The stuffy British baker he was faced with had turned the tables on him quickly and made him look like a fool. He could hear one of his henchmen snickering and two others were obviously trying desperately but unsuccessfully to hide their own fits of laughter.
Warner Warthingtan crossed his long arms over his chest and suddenly seemed significantly taller to the portly man who had abducted him. The man began to fidget as Warner Warthingtan glared down at him, expectantly waiting for him to admit defeat.
At long last, the man gave in. He demanded that the elderly woman be let down away from the waiting mouths of the lions and handed her over to the waiting baker. As Warner Warthingtan strutted past the guards, he overheard them asking how the boss was going to get the cake he wanted for his daughter on time since he had waited too long to get on the waiting list and his daughter would accept nothing but the best cake in London.
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