Poking holes in doughnut logic

The other day I was staring slack-jawed at a tray of doughnut holes. You know, the tiny confection made with the precision of a regular doughnut. As I gazed into the sugary sweetness, I had an epiphany. The sort of “aha moment” that comes along once a decade, at most.

I thought, in my salivating state, “doughnut holes aren’t holes, they’re balls. Doughnut balls."

I’m right, aren’t I? A hole isn’t a thing you can truly fathom, at least not on a plate. Even a quote unquote doughnut ring with the surface area of a rubber band is something different entirely. Holes are not something you see. If open manholes were akin to doughnut holes, there’d be no danger of falling into them for lackadaisical pedestrians. 

There’s an old saying among jaded astrophysicists that the safest place in the universe is at the center of a black hole. It’s where no one can touch you. It puts the eye of a hurricane to shame. How you get there fully intact is another story for another time. 

But nobody, and I mean nobody, seeks refuge inside a doughnut hole. There’s no place to go.