Americans love simple pleasures, and Coloradans are no exception. A night of bowling, mindless television, elastic waistbands -- these are the mainstays of classy, classic Americana. They soothe the mind, quiet the restless soul and placate the empty and vacant. And if you were to summit this massive mountain of earnest enjoyments, what would you find at the top?
[Note: The "doughnut" spelling is hideously elitist. Don't use it.]
We love donuts. I love donuts. These plump little discs mirror the circle of life itself, each delicious nook a trial, every tasty cranny a tribulation. And without question, the fondest donut memories most of us have are connected to that enduring, endearing enclave of glazed goodness -- Dunkin' Donuts.
Yet, we residents of Denver/Boulder have been callously excluded from the warm, inviting Dunkin' embrace (a nearly mythical space I will hereafter refer to as the Dunkinsphere).
There is not a single Dunkin' Donuts location in Denver, nor in Boulder, nor in any of the other stalwart villages that pepper our surroundings.
Nay, in order to gain entry to the Dunkinsphere, you must travel all the way to Colorado Springs, a city that currently boasts two Dunkin' Donuts and a scandalous imposter named "Country Donuts" that apes the vibrant, hallowed colors of the Dunkinsphere but captures none of its majesty.
That's what happens when good men and women do nothing. Evil persists in the form of second-rate donut domiciles! We cannot allow these cowardly faux-nuts to besmirch the Dunkinsphere, simply because we have no location to call our own.
Take up your swords, clubs and homemade balloons -- Denver needs a Dunkin' Donuts! If we unite under a single frosted banner and generate enough noise, we can make a clamor loud enough to bring cream-filled change to these Dunkin'-deprived streets of ours.