## THIS TENNIS BUN WILL MAKE YOU CUM & CRUSH YOUR ENEMIES (RUN, DON’T FUCKING WALK)
**LISTEN UP, HUNGRY PEASANTS.**
You’re out here chewing on sad supermarket scones like a broke NPC while REAL SLAYLEBRITY ALPHAS are devouring **ITALY’S SECRET WEAPON** at Gooey Manchester. This ain’t dessert—it’s a **STATEMENT OF DOMINANCE.** A **STRAWBERRY-SOAKED NAPALM STRIKE** on your pathetic taste buds.
### THE MARITÒZZI: WHY WEAKLINGS DON’T DESERVE IT
Picture this, you beta cucks:
– **PILLOWY GOD-FLESH** buns, baked by Sicilian warlocks who laugh at your “artisan bakery”
– **STRAWBERRIES & CREAM** filling so thicc it’s basically **WIMBLEDON’S WET DREAM**
– **WHITE CHOCOLATE TENNIS RACKETS** on top—because eating this shit is a **SPORT** and you’re benchwarming
**THIS ISN’T FOOD. IT’S A FUCKGASM FOR YOUR MOUTH.**
### THE CLOCK IS TICKING, BROKE BOYS
**AVAILABLE 4-6 JULY & 11-13 JULY ONLY.** That’s **SIX DAYS** to ascend to pastry godhood or DROWN IN MEDIOCRITY.
**THEY’LL SELL OUT IN MINUTES.** Why? Because winners move at **WAR SPEED** while you’re stuck in line at Greggs like a lobotomized sheep.
### YOUR “LIFE” IS A JOKE WITHOUT THIS BUN
Still hesitating? Let me BREAK YOUR DELUSIONS:
– **YOU THINK YOU’VE LIVED?** You haven’t. Not until this cream hits your tongue like a **VIPER’S KISS.**
– **YOUR GIRL WILL DUMP YOU** for any man who buys her this. *Fact.*
– **YOUR FRIENDS ARE SECRETLY LAUGHING** at your uninitiated palate. *You taste poverty.*
### THE TACTICAL STRIKE PLAN (DON’T FUCK THIS UP)
1. **ABANDON YOUR JOB:** Call in “dead.” This is EMERGENCY GLORY.
2. **CASH OVER CARDS:** Smack £20 notes on the counter like a **MAFIA BOSS.**
3. **INSTA-FLEX IMMEDIATELY:** Film the first bite. Caption: *“Beta males eat cake. I eat LEGACY.”*
4. **HOARD THEM:** Buy 12. Freeze 11. Become the **DESSERT SLAYLEBRITY WARLORD** of your postcode.
### THE HIDDEN TRUTH THESE COWARDS FEAR
This bun? It’s a **SOCIAL CLASS FILTER.**
– **EAT IT = TOP SLAYLEBRITY.** You’ll feel the **SUGAR RUSH OF VICTORY** in your veins.
– **MISS IT = BROKE CLOWN.** Your existence is now irrelevant.
**GOOEY MANCHESTER IS THE BATTLEGROUND.**
**WIMBLEDON IS THE EXCUSE.**
**YOUR TASTE BUDS ARE THE PRIZE.**
**FINAL WARNING:**
If I see you there after 9am? **YOU’RE TOO LATE.** Real kings camp overnight. Bring a tent. Bring a knife. **BRING THE WILL TO WIN.**
**THIS IS YOUR CHANCE TO RISE ABOVE THE SAD, CREAM-LESS MASSES… OR DIE TRYING.**
**TOP SLAYLEBRITY OUT. ✊**
*(Run. Eat. Dominate. Or starve in darkness like the toothless peasant you are.)*
Location
103 High St,. Northern Quarter. Manchester M4 1HQ
SLAYLEBRITY ALPHAS are devouring **ITALY’S SECRET WEAPON** at Gooey Manchester. This ain’t dessert—it’s a **STATEMENT OF DOMINANCE.** A **CREAMY-SOAKED NAPALM STRIKE** on your pathetic taste buds.
PILLOWY GOD-FLESH** buns, baked by Sicilian warlocks who laugh at your “artisan bakery”
