Tag Archives: cake

Dear Cake, You Done Did Me Wrong

Hello all, here’s another of my entries into UndercoverL’s ad lib contest.  I already did this one about E.L. James (LINK DROP!)  I’ve recently found out that there may be cookies and sparkly ponies and a sarcastic mug with a mustache on the line.  Therefore there must be more entries on my part to insure my victory.  If you want me to stop writing these goofy letters, please put as many likes as possible on this post and the James one I link dropped ASAP.  I really want to win.  Thanks.  Oh, here’s my letter.  Words I filled in are in red.  This time it is to my other arch-enemy – cake.

I would even eat this cake.

I would even eat this cake.

Dear cake,

I have been trying to forget that I feel this way for quite a while, but I can’t pretend anymore.  I am really pathetic.  You know when you sit there looking all yummy and inviting?  Well, let me share how that makes me feel…  When you talk to me with your dreamy frosting eyes, I feel hypnotized.  Not so much hungry or even needing a snack when I eat you, but really, really obsessed with the need to cram you down my gullet.  It makes me want to puke when I eat too much of you.  I would like to think that I am not the only one who feels this way.  As a matter of fact, you know Fat Albert?  Well they told me that he has a cake problem too.

You know what they say:  If one person says you’re a snack laden with lots of yummy empty calories you can forget it.  When two people say you’re a a one-way ticket to Diabetes you might want to consider it.  When three people say you’re a real temptation to a 5 year old trapped in the body of a 37 year old with no self control, you might want to stop being so delicious.  It’s about that time for you, cake.  Think about that.

Since we are being so honest, there are a few other things I would like to air.  I hate it when you wear your buttercream frosting.  It makes me eat tons of you and then feel sick.

I also hate the way you are so available in vending machines.  Every time you appear in the lounge, I want to eat you in your fantastic chocolately glory.

Also, broccoli is not your real friend.  Remember that secret that you shared?  Well she shared it with everyone.  Now everyone knows you have no nutritional value and they all laugh at you behind your back.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.  I really like you.  I value our relationship.  But I cannot go on pretending those tummy aches and extra pounds hasn’t happened.  If you care enough about me and this relationship, I am sure you would agree to stop being delicious and irresistible and maybe start tasting like broccoli.

Still friends?

Fondly,

Alice

Alice and Too Much Birthday Cake!

Do you remember the Berenstain Bears books?  It’s this series of children’s books written by – wait for it – a couple named Berenstain.  Yeah, they named their creations after themselves.  Not the humblest bears, are they?

Show your happy family faces DANGIT!

How YOU doin’ Mama?

There are roughly eleventy billion books in this series.  I think after the 90th book or so, the Berenstains just started calling them in.  Recycling old books into new ones.  Getting ghost bear writers, etc.  After a while, you gotta run out of didactic topics to write about.  You see, most of the Berenstain Bears books are designed to teach lessons to children, yet they don’t answer some of the most basic questions themselves.  For instance:

What were Mama and Papa’s names before they became parents?  Girl Bear and Boy Bear?  Likewise, before Sister Bear (creative, am I right?) was born, Brother Bear was called Small Bear.  Which means he had to change his name because of a sibling. That’s just asking for sibling rivalry right there.  I mean, giving up your freaking crib is bad enough, but your name?  Jeez, people.

I will make you pay . . . .

I will make you pay . . . .

But then, having exhausted every other idea, they decided to have the Bears have a third cub. Well, there’s a problem there.  I mean, there’s only two official sexes, at least when it comes to bears.  So what to call the third bear?  Other sister bear?  Other brother bear?  Number Two?  It’s not like they could just start calling the bears Thing One and Thing Two or something I mean who would do that to their children?

Mama Bear is a freaking killjoy.

At least I’m not a killjoy like Mama Bear.

The third one was named Honey.  Unfair.  This kid gets a name.  And that’s not all. Brother and Sister have friends with actual names but they are stuck with Brother and Sister, at least until they get married and then I guess they become Mama and Papa, though hopefully not with each other.  Also notice their last name is Bear.  That’s like saying my name is Alice Human.  Hi, Mrs Human, how are you?  Just fine, come meet my children: Brother, Sister, and Other.

The Berenstain Bears Scrape the Bottom of the Barrel.

The Berenstain Bears Scrape the Bottom of the Barrel.

But what does this have to do with cake?  I’m getting to it.  See, I remember one of the Very Important Lessons they taught to children was one about eating too much junk food.  In fact, the book was called The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Junk Food.  There’s also one called The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Birthday, which could also fit, but I’m going to concentrate on the junk food one because that one just ticks me off.

I swear Mama Bear is ticked on almost every cover.

I swear Mama Bear is ticked on almost every cover.

See, in the story, Mama notices that Papa and the cubs are getting too fat.  I think that’s a bit presumptuous of her.  She ain’t exactly Kate Moss herself.  And wtf with always wearing her nightgown?  Like, get dressed already.

Exhibit A

Exhibit A

She gets a bee in her bonnet, so she goes all Michelle Obama on the family and takes them all to the doctor to hear about healthy food.  Because doctors totally do that.  My question is like, why wasn’t she just serving it in the first place if she’s so healthy?  Oh, wait, I bet Papa bought the food, and as you know, dads are almost always buffoons in cartoons and TV shows.  So Mama buys them healthy food like carrots and the kids actually eat it.

Back the truck up.  I want to know how she got them to do that.  There is no mention of ketchup in the books, so what caused the sudden change?

I have a feeling there was some corporal punishment involved.

I have a feeling there was some violent persuasion involved.

At the end of the book, they all run in the Bear Marathon.  Whoop-te-poop.

You know what I say?  I say the Berenstains need to quit being so judgmental.  How many of these books can you take?  The Berenstain Bears and The Truth (I can’t handle that book), The Berenstain Bears and Too Much TV, The Berenstain Bears Beat a Dead Horse.  I mean, enough already.  I don’t want any more lessons.  I want cake.

Too . . . many . . .birthdays . . .

Too . . . many . . .birthdays . . .

I might have had a little too much cake, though, because wow I just totally powered through this whole post in no time flat!  So toooo much birthday for Alice!  Tooo much cake!  But how to stop?  I read all these Berenstain self-help books and they have not cured my sugar addiction.  For realz, I mean, I cannot stop eating cake.  I actually stood at the table and ate cake with a spoon.  I forced Thing One to help me, which didn’t take much forcing, so that I didn’t eat another two pieces myself.  I have a cake problem.

I’ve heard it said that sugar can give you the serotonin rush you need, thus turning you from a Sad Pony into a Squirrel.  It totally does.  But this isn’t such a good thing, because my stomach hurts and I just injested like 5,000 calories and I’m afraid that typing and vibrating in place doesn’t burn nearly enough of these calories off.  So what now?  How do I solve this problem?

One more birthday to go this month – mine.  More caaaaaaaake!