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Oh, hey there, Eric Ripert. How’s your day been? Fine, you say? You ate one of Dominique Ansel’s infamous cronuts today, you say? You did? And you have the photos (and a Vine!) to prove it? Ha, that’s a good one, chef! Nobody can get a cronut, haven’t you heard? We went this morning and the lines snaked down the street, with weeping women shuffling across Spring Street after they were denied! People can’t get more than three now! How could you possibly —

Oh, no. No, no no no no.

That’s impossible. That has to be a Photoshop.

No. No “have-sies”. U CAN NOT HAZ. Wait, why can’t you have something that’s clearly fake? Of course it’s fake. Fakity-fake-fake-fake.

Seriously. We can see the places where the Clone Brush copied the rich, flaky layers of deep-fried croissant. NOT REAL.

Look, the only reason we care so much about the Cronut is that everyone else cares so deeply and fervently

about it. We’re only hysterical over the fact that you happen to have a cronut, one that you might have abused your Star Chef powers to obtain, because, um, everyone else wants one. In fact, we unflinchingly will call this a matter of injustice! Yes! Injustice, that you, sir, have a cronut, while the rest of us remain oppressed by Dominique Ansel! Truly, a greater offense against the equality of mankind has never been so flagrant, so grave, so —

Wait, wait, wait! We take that all back! We’re sorry that we called you a dictator! Just give us some of that cronut. Please? Really, we’ll do anything. We’ll write you a song. How about that, huh? Here’s how it goes:

There once was a man so kind and fair

With a razor sharp knife and silver hair

And the people cried out, “O, Hail, Ripert,

The chef who shares his Cronuts —

…aw, fuck.

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Tags: Cronut, Dominique Ansel, Eric Ripert