S. J. "Cinder" McCreedy didn't choose the culinary life; he was forged in the grease-trap of destiny.
Before becoming the internet's premier source for tubular meat pastries, Cinder spent three harrowing years as the High Chaplain of the "Sons of Asmodeus," an outlaw motorcycle gang based out of a decommissioned salt mine in Nevada. There, he was responsible for performing "Chrome Baptisms" and officiating weddings between patched members and their customized choppers. It was during a particularly rowdy wake for a lost carburetor that he first discovered the spiritual power of wrapping a hotdog in a Pillsbury crescent roll—a snack he called "The Last Rites."
When the law eventually caught up with the Sons, Cinder pivoted to the burgeoning world of Silicon Valley's darkest corners. From 2018 to 2021, he served as the Chief Emotional Architect and Sole Steward of Robot Intimacy dot org, a now-defunct digital companionship venture that promised "Love without the Leakage."
Under his leadership, the site pivoted from simple chatbots to a high-risk experimental program involving decommissioned bomb-disposal units programmed with the personality of 19th-century poets. Cinder personally handled the "Level 5 Emotional Defragmentation" of over 4,000 lonely users until a catastrophic server fire — triggered by a Keats-bot trying to understand the concept of a "thirst trap" — wiped the database and sent him back into the desert with nothing but a thumb drive full of synthetic sighs.
Today, Cinder lives in an armored RV equipped with a high-speed satellite uplink and a commercial-grade deep fryer. He spends his days dodging "The Algorithm" and his nights perfecting the art of the Dong Pocket, believing that in an increasingly digital world, the only thing we can truly trust is the snap of a processed casing and the bite of a cinnamon-infused bagged wine.
"If the robot can't feel the burn of the Fireball, and the biker can't appreciate the nuance of the fish-gut glaze, then what exactly are we fighting for?"