Monday, September 6

slices.

homemade goodness.
whipped-up squackers,
crumby (but not crummy) layers,
and all kinds of moist, sweet, deliciousness...
duders,
after i baked a double-deck of my cakey hottness,
i embarked on the obvious next step;
frosting.
i went to prepare the twin circles of wheaten wonder
for the slathering of slap-happy sugared-up second-skin,
and then discovered half of the ingredients to be missing.
now, neighbors, i should tell you-
my pantry is a closely guarded lair of preparedness.
a fortified vault of vitamins and minerals.
an armory of culinary ammunition, even.
i'm sayin',
i back up all my back up plans.
and my sugars,
and my cocoas.
that's right, y'all.
molto. molto. molto, still.
so having only one of anything? ...no way, jose.
i've got stacks and rows and piles.
there's not supposed to be any such thing as NONE of anything.
so just imagine my surprise,
and frustration,
upon discovering the absence of my frosty necessaries.
that's such a hard style.
somebody has been sneaking on my jauns.
and i only know one goldilocks around these parts.
so the icing had to wait a whole 'nother day.
all's well that ends with sugary, faux-buttery air-whipped brown blops.
and now that a quick shopping trip has been accomplished,
it's time to celebrate.
cake, mutha-b!tches.
in my mouth.
it's a Labor Day cake.
y'know,
for all the hard work i get to doo-doo today.
glycemic 'gariousness, ninjas.
i'm set to slice this baby-b!tch in to sections,
and devour, on the hour, every hour,
a shark-gluttonous sundial of dark and lovely lusciousness,
until i'm a shaky-lining tatty-o'blasterizer
all the way until closing time tonight.
it would've been easier, i think,
to take the day off.
but that's not how barbarian bankrollers get busy.
gimme s'money.
gimme some cake.
loud,
hard,
fresh.
all day;
never quiet, never soft.....

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