Busy, busy, busy.

I haven't had time to read the newspaper or surf. Things are crashing about my head. I sell yeast not bread. I agitate. I am a cereal. Killer, a relentless puff pastry, manna from heaven. Unleavened in the dessert, a crust of bread, praise Demeter. From grain to mill to bloated mass to oven to gullet and to seed again. I give fungi a home and home in on hunger. Had enough? Me too. Dough!