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Joey Butternut walked out onto the street. It was the beginning of a perfect Saturday. Well, as perfect as a Saturday can be...when you're made of gingerbread. Joey was a "special" person who had unusually delicious skin. His mother and father had both run away from a little old lady and had been eaten by a wicked fox when he was only a dough boy. The birds were singing wildly as Joey left the confines of his home that day. Children were playing a delightful game of rugby in the middle of the street and Joey waved to them. The children waved back and smiled hungrily. One of them shouted, "Look, guys! Breakfast!" As one, the set upon Joey like a pack of ravenous wolves. Joey was beset by little children. They pulled, and gnawed, and slashed with cookie cutters in a brutal feeding frenzy. He shrieked in pain as his arm was ripped from its tasty socket. Crumbs flew everywhere and scattered across the pavement. A mysterious white van screeched onto the road and stopped within ten feet of Joey. Several men in white suits hopped out of the back of the van and nodded at him. "They've come to save me," he thought. The men sauntered up to him, donning plastic gloves. Suddenly, they each pulled a glinting bread knife from their coats and began hacking large chunks from Joey's mangled body. The children held back as the men did their work and Joey howled like a tortured soul on permanent vacation to Hell's Diner. The men then picked up what remained of Joey, spread it with frosting and sprinkles, and sold it back to the kids for a nickel apiece.