Once upon a time, there was a muffin.  But this was no ordinary muffin, folks.
This was…THE MUFFIN FROM HELL.

The Muffin From Hell looked like your ordinary, run-of-the-mill pastry; with plump, juicy blueberries (ripe from the bush) and a decadent, crumbly top.  Ahhh….yes indeed it held the promise of being manna for the soul –
BUT SOMETHING ABOUT THAT MUFFIN WAS HORRIBLY WRONG.

The Muffin From Hell transformed you into a disciple of the devil, once your teeth sunk into that sweet morsel of muffin-y, well, heaven.

One day, The Muffin appeared upon a coffee table in a sorority dorm.  Heather Dewey, president of her sorority, happened upon it soon afterwards.
"Ooh!  A muffin!  Just for me!"  She scrutinized the wrapper, mentally calculating the caloric content of this luscious treat, and pondering just how many bites would affect the perfect equilibrium of her body-fat count.  She wafted the bouquet of The Muffin with ladylike delicacy…

Satan, impatient, coaxed her just enough to partake in a nibble.  Heather, upon this first mouthful,  subsequently polished off The Muffin, blatantly disregarding any fasting guilt she may have previously harboured.  Not wanting to miss the last twelve minutes of The Real World,  Heather dashed to her room to prepare for that evening’s bash at the frat house.

Heather arrived at the raging frat party several hours later, not feeling too spunky. She initially thought it was merely her stomach getting used to the notion of being functional again.  So she downed a couple of Rolling Rocks to thwart the tummy unpleasantness.  Little did she know that it was really the Muffin From Hell, working its evil witchery, stealing her anima…

TURNING MISS HEATHER DEWEY INTO AN AGENT OF LUCIFER.

Midway through the party, Heather collapsed, turned an interesting shade of chartreuse, and vomited bile.  The rest of the frats, figuring that she’d merely surpassed her tolerance level during her display of beverage gluttony, ignored her writhing.  She was, indeed, surrounded by pony bottles, and she didn’t weigh much to begin with.
But suddenly the nefarious Muffin burst forth from her lips, whole again, clutching Heather’s soul under its crinkly foil wrapper. A collective Kappa Gamma Gamma gasp ensued as The Muffin whirled ‘round and ‘round, burrowing deep inside the netherworld below the ground.

The Muffin From Hell had indubitably proved a success for The Prince of Darkness.  The Muffin wreaked havoc over the planet, searching for benighted Satanic neophytes.  It overlooked no one and captured all sorts – from the town librarian to presidents of nations to two of the guys in N’ Sync.

But one day, the SEEMINGLY UNSTOPPABLE wrath of The Muffin came to a screeching halt….when the malignant muffin appeared in a Barnes and Noble café.

Peter Jones, a rather ubiquitous youth with bright purple hair, espied The Muffin en route to the Philosophy section.  Not being able to resist the power of The Muffin, he promptly laid dow the perfectly reasonable $2.95 (plus tax) for the toothsome treat.

Such an aroma!  Such perfect blueberry goodness!  ...but The Muffin would have to wait, thought Peter.  He decided he wasn't going to stick around a bookstore, when there was a Muffin to be eaten.

Peter went to the park.  Hopping off his moped and plopping down upon the swingset, Peter extracted The Muffin from his bag.  A couple of pigeons alit beside him.  Peter's heart softened when he saw them, and decided he really wasn't in the mood for muffins, after all.  So he ripped it apart and tossed it to the peckish pigeons.  Some of The Muffin fell into a mud puddle; some ended up under the shoes of passsers-by...but most of it was polished off by the birsa, never more to be devoured by humans.

Peter ended up wandering over to a hot-dog cart and had a Mexi-dog instead.

Once again, Satan had been hoodwinked.  He had meanwhile misplaced the recipe and could never again duplicate the irresistable essence of the Muffin From Hell...much to his despair.