Ten-year-old La David eyed his Zoobaybay. In the old but modernized with off-the-shelf technology Zoobaybay factory, patented speedy conveyors rushed fresh-backed pink cakes containing Red Dye No. 3 into forever chemical wrappers and cartons. Upstairs, a group of executives gathered around a conference table in a dramatic tableau swarming like ants over a drop of something sugary. The middle management poked a captivating Crinkle Crankle box and the tempting love muffin inside. They laughed needlessly loud dismissing the dream come true dessert as economically prohibitive to produce.

The contemplative Sponge Cake King sat in a chair with its high back turned to the "team leaders," but his voice boomed through a face mask, "Out! All of you!" As the suits returned to their cubicle bullpen they talked quietly among themselves about applying at other companies just in case the new lip-smacking, finger-licking cakes were successful. When the door closed the taciturn monger's arm reached out from the chair to smash the single-use golden parcel.

After school some court ordered quality time was spent walking through the supermarket by La David, his younger sister simply called sis, and their business casual dad. They reached the Zoobaybay display, but La David's sibling noticed a smaller display from The Crinkle Crankle Bakery. The little girl with a cloud of brown curly hair puffed around her head favored that treat instead. Their father put both Zoobaybay and Crinkle Crankle boxes into the race car themed shopping cart.