“Crimson? What the fuck are you doing?”
The little red psychopath spun around on the laminate kitchen floor, his Fluff was dusted with flour and spattered with dough, but he was smiling wide at Josef, and if there was one thing Josef had learned about his monstrous companion, its that nothing good ever came out of Crimson smiling.
“DADDEH! Cwimson heaw dat dewe am Bwead Fwuffy com-peh-tit-shun, su Cwimson make Bwead Fwuffies tu entah.”
Josef pinched the bridge of his doors, scrunching his eyes to avoid the utter destruction of his kitchen.
“Crimson… Bread Fluffies don’t exist.”
“They’re made up, fictional, they tried to sell bread in the shape of Fluffies a few years back but it never caught on because everyone started thinking it was made FROM Fluffies. Then the rumour mill started, shit got out of hand, then some fucking prick with too much time on their hand made a goddamn YouTube cartoon about ‘Bread Fluffies’ only for every Fluffy around to think it’s a fucking documentary and the rumour mill goes buck-fucking-wild once more. The competition is just to bake a regular cake or bread type item but make it in the shape of a Fluffy, it’s like British Bake Off but without Paul Hollywood stroking his ego.”
“Oh… den wha da fuk did Cwimson put in da oven?”
“From the smell, I’d say you just rolled a regular Fluffy in dough cooked them alive.”
“Da wouwd expwain da scweamies.”
“How the fuck did you even manage to do any of this anyhow?”
“Best daddeh nu ask qwest-shuns.”