Posts Tagged ‘Cake’

Iced Justice

June 3, 2017

Sometimes I like to cover a brick with cake frosting and leave it in a Tupperware container in the communal fridge at work. I always put a big note on it saying it belongs to a fake name, like Brad Millinbobble or something, nobody who really works there. Still, I know human nature being what it is people will try to cut a slice for themselves. Heh heh heh. 

I usually spot about three or four bent knives in the trash by the end of the day.

They Say It’s Your Birthday

July 15, 2016

How pathetic is it to have the Harris Teeter bakery do up a birthday cake for yourself and then have it delivered “anonymously” to you at your office while you’re at lunch? I mean, you know full well that your co-workers will see it and throw an impromptu party for you when you get back. And you can, of course, feign ignorance. “How did you ever find out? I didn’t want a fuss!” The best thing is, since it’s all last minute, they won’t even have time to get you a card so they’ll have a quick whip ‘round and put some cash in an envelope. Sweet! But, um, like I said – just how pathetic is that?

Well. How pathetic is it when you do this but it’s not really your birthday – you just need some spare cash?  Um … I’m asking hypothetically, of course.

Cakebalk

February 7, 2016

On my 19th birthday, I ate so much cake I blacked out. When I came to, I was in a bed and breakfast in Connecticut. It was three days later and I was missing a kidney. I still have the scar.

Cake Mix Up

January 5, 2015

It’s a funny thing about hiring a woman to jump out of a birthday cake. You can’t just can’t walk up to any woman and ask her if she’ll do it. Especially at a PTA meeting. I tell you, the kids are gonna have to be home schooled if the brouhaha doesn’t die down soon.

Bake Off

August 11, 2014
A while back, I got put in charge of my brother-in-law’s bachelor party. I wanted to have this woman jump out of a cake but things didn’t go too well. The cake itself was fine … about fifty pounds of flour, a gross of eggs, enough icing to choke an anaconda – and I had to use one of those industrial-strength ovens, the kiln type they fire up huge ceramics in. The time and labor were incredible. Then, at the party, I wheel out the cake and – nothing. The lady didn’t jump out. Later, the ME said something about asphyxiation and being baked alive but all I know is everyone was pretty darn upset about the whole mishigas. And I never got asked to plan a bachelor party again.

Dad Man Balking

April 19, 2014

My old man absolutely hated birthdays and refused to celebrate his under any circumstances. Once I made the mistake of baking him a birthday cake and presenting it to him after dinner. He wasn’t the least bit thankful or happy. In fact, he threw the cake against the wall and locked me in an old freezer we had out in the garage.

To this day, I can’t eat angel food without balling up into the fetal position and crying.

They Say It’s Your Blackmail

April 7, 2014

At the office, whenever there’s a birthday card to be signed for a co-worker, I always write the same thing: “I know it’s you who’s been stealing stuff from the supply cabinet, but I won’t tell anyone if you give me the biggest slice of cake.” Surprisingly, I’m right most of the time. And I really get some amazing slices of cake out of it.

Gettin Iggy Wit It

March 24, 2014

My friend Iggy had a party for his 14th birthday.

I hung out with him in 8th grade and we had art class together. He lived across town so I didn’t really get to go over to his house much. He stayed over at my place a few times but his mom always sent him over with special meals when he did, claiming he was allergic to pretty much everything and had to exist on a gluten-free, nut-free, soy-free, sugar-free diet.

So, his 14th birthday shindig was the first time I was over at his house. There were a bunch of us kids there – girls and boys – which surprised me a bit because Iggy always seemed shy and I thought, “If he knows all these people, why the heck’s he hanging around with me?” Also, I saw while I was there that his family was some weird Eastern European religion and that the reason he always came to my place with his own food was that they could never share food with nonbelievers or some such crap. I didn’t understand it then, I sure don’t get it now.

Anyway, his mom brings out this awesome cake – three tiers, beautifully iced, gorgeous and sensational, mouth-watering. We all about knocked each other over lining up for a piece. Then Iggy’s mom informs us all rather matter-of-factly that, because of their religion, the cake is for Iggy and family only and that she’s got these cheap-ass store-bought cupcakes for us kids. We couldn’t believe it.

Yeah.  Iggy and I weren’t friends much after that.