I hate cupcakes.
There, I said it. Saying this here is akin to walking into a crowded Roman street and shouting, “Jehovah!” but I had to take a stand. I. Hate. Cupcakes. Tell me where to hand over my mom-blogger card.
You see, the frosting-to-cake ratio is all wrong, unless you scrape half the frosting off with your finger, rip your cupcake in half, and shove the frosting in there – but science has proven that as soon as you get a finger-full of cupcake frosting, it is going in your face, and you are helpless to stop this. Then all you’re left with is this sad little dry bit of cake that was really nothing more than an Overthought Frosting Delivery System, and that makes you question why you even bought it in the first place, and then you start to question everything in your life, and next thing you know you’ve moved to Canada and stopped shaving and smell like New York in August and your mother is crying and I’m telling you, cupcakes are the enemy.
I just think that nothing that bad for you, which requires so little effort to consume, should be trusted. Crack requires some measure of access to medical equipment and the ability to do basic math*; hell, even cake requires a fork and a plate, but not cupcakes, oh no. In a moment of quiet desperation, you can ingest and entire 260-520 calories in a single chomp. Don’t ask me how I know this.
I will admit that cupcakes do make for excellent decorations at parties and weddings and baby showers, the same way bacon looks great on a burger but in no way should be eaten.
Oh, I hate bacon, too.
You’d hate it too if you had to film your best friend doing this.
In all fairness, I’ve always hated bacon…with the exception of BLT’s. I love BLT’s. I also hate Bob Marley’s music but think that Redemption Song is three minutes and forty-nine seconds of the closest mankind will ever get to godliness. I never said I was making any sense.
I totally dig on swine, don’t get me wrong. I love ham, I make a killer pork tenderloin, I’ve eaten a chitterling or two and lived to tell the tale, and when I am executed for my crimes against humanity my final meal will be buttered white toast with sunny-side up eggs and scrapple.
(Link warning: There are somethings on Earth you will never unread. That is one of them. NSFAlmostEveryone.) I just don’t do bacon.
I don’t even *get* bacon, and I don’t think you do, either, really. I mean, I simply cannot believe that enough people really, truly love bacon enough to warrant Baconnaisse. You people who are buying Baconnaise? YOU ARE WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS.
To be continued…
*If, you know, you’re real picky about living, etc.
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More of me on Cucumbersome:
☆Shrimp Scampi is dead sexy
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