The Cookie Fascists have struck again! Instead of recognizing my greatness and giving me my rightful due (a full supply of cookies next December), they have seen fit to give the Cookie Crown to another, another who was willing to pander to their narrow-minded definitions of "cookie." I mean OATMEAL COOKIES??? Anybody can do that.
So now I know how it goes: assuming I don't go on strike and boycott next year, I will endeavour to make the most boring, blandest dough-disks imaginable, perhaps even ready-made, rather than the startlingly awesome confections that I made this year. And I shall no longer listen to blandishments and praise, because these promises of greatness-recognition did not bear fruit. Fie!
The Cookie Sultanate will have to wait another day because of the infidels. Infidels, I say. Infidels who gave out at least five prizes out of NINE contestants, and the name of Námo Mandos not among the winners. Even the cookies that (might have) had interesting effects on canine digestion won a prize (judging a second-string contest).