Donut Hole

Artie Rollins weaved his way among backhoes, pipes, and other tools of construction and destruction.  Silent, they reminded him of metallic dinosaurs, but right now they were obstacles.  His co-workers were leaning and talking to each other, already munching on donuts.  He hurried over to the excavated pit where his friend Jack was usually “holed up”.  “Jack, you got any ‘healthy’ donuts down there?”

He leaned over just as a Dunkin’ Donuts box was hoisted in a somewhat chubby, and definitely dirty, hand.  Jack “Hammer” Parker stood up, smiled, and patted his incomparable beer-belly, “They’re right here.”

Artie announced loud enough for several of his friends to hear, “Hey Jack, I have a riddle.”

Jack Parker took a bite of a donut, “OK, I’ll bite.”

“What’s the difference between our winters and a swarm of mosquitoes?”

Jack raised his arms quizzically and looked around at the group on break.  He took another dramatic bite of the donut.  “OK, I’ll bite again.”

Artie spun slowly, engaging his audience.  “After a while the mosquitoes stop sucking.”

As snickers subsided, Artie calculated the number of donuts being consumed around him.  He might be out of luck.  Sure enough, as he leaned over Jack’s chest-high square hole, a glance told him that the donuts had indeed been decimated.  Three and a half remained.  He wondered which one of his beefy friends had an appetite so dainty that he restricted himself to half a donut.

“You’ve got to be quicker, Artie, or you’ll starve around here,” Jack grinned and held the box out to him.  Artie wandered away, biting into a jelly donut.  The equipment started up noisily, announcing that break time was over.  Artie turned to ask Jack for the first shot at the donuts the next time.  Jack’s face had once again disappeared from the rim of the pit.  Not wanting to shout over the mechanical clamor, Artie retraced his steps and peered over the edge.  Jack was lying on the bottom of the pit, with two huge red wounds spreading across his donut-bloated belly.