Hear me out. I’m Tarantinoing, here. To the left, you’ll see the fate of this week’s cake. How did this happen? Who would do such a thing? Don’t worry. You’ll find out after a series of flash backs and flash forwards and foreshadowing and some knife fights, maybe some soliloquies, iambic pentameter, inevitably Tarantino himself will make a cameo, and so on and so forth. This cake is literally crying out in pain. Some of you out there will have guessed the theme of the cake already, but for those of you that haven’t, let’s see if we can’t piece this together.
Cue the music. Preferably something with trumpets. Oh and like, some sick bass.
The day was dark. It was daytime, but it was still dark, because of clouds, I think. I don’t know. I looked at the half-finished cake on the counter with disgust. The color was all jacked up. Totally wrong. The numbers, they were hastily made and sloppily adhered. My head hurt. My hair smelled of meats. Smoked meats. The night before came rushing back all at once. Seven of us had gone to a local brunch place in the late afternoon where the deal is as follows: contribute $18, order a meal, be brought endless amounts of potent alcoholic beverages. For two hours. It started out innocently enough but then our burgers came and so did about 74 screwdrivers, and Zach ended up spraying about 30 seconds worth of continuous Air Wick scented room spray into the tiny single bathroom moments before I used it, because when Zach has drinks he becomes a rowdy relentless troll. In the best possible way. Let’s remember that these memories are rocking me like a hurricane in the morningtime, as I’m staring at this douchebag-of-a-cake.
And OHMYGOD that’s right, we went up to our building’s balcony and hung out on the newly installed patio furniture. This may be against internet rules, telling you exactly where I live, but it’s important. I live on Wall Street in Manhattan. So at some point I thought it would be clever to bellow this witty movie reference into the late-afternoon air.
From that movie. Wall Street. Get it? I thought it was absolutely genius at the time. SO I’m still looking at this cake thinking man I’d better finish it off, get it over with. So naturally I looked at the television for a while, went out and got a sausage egg and cheese (SEC from now on, can’t keep typing it out, I’ve got a life, you know) and a chai latte, waited a few more hours and THEN got to work. Then OH MY GOD FLASH FORWARD
I’ve long since finished my SEC, my chai is almost depleted, and I get to work finishing up the cake which involves a type design I made earlier, cut out with an xacto knife, and black dye serving as fondant paint.
Also, I used my chai to cut out a yellow circle for the graphic on top of the cake. The yellow face with the x’d out eyes may look familiar to you, if you have ever owned or had the great privilege to use a PC circa 1997, when the internet wasn’t good yet, and you had to rely on system games to get you through the day when your brother was hogging the sega genesis. And OH NO WHY
I started this cake with the highest of hopes and the greatest of intentions. But I fudged it up. I really schruded it. The gray was way too dark, and as soon as I conceded that no, you canNOT remove dye from fondant, I was a little indifferent as I made my way through the process.
In the end I was actually decently pleased with it, but I still decided that it should be demolished/assassinated/executed instead of eaten. Luckily Zach Jack and Brendan rose to the challenge. Truthfully, no one wanted to actually eat cake, myself included, but I wanted to get another post in the books, so this happened. Hopefully, you can figure out what it is by now.
Adventures in Gchat – FULL CIRCLE:
Brittany: Minesweeper cake
me: I can do that
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