The Status Is NOT Quo

Wreckporter Adria P. found all of today's cakes in the same bakery, on the same day. And since I know how tempting it is for you optimists to think most of the wrecks here are once-in-a-lifetime flukes, I figured this would be an excellent way for me to break out my "I-Told-You-So" dance. (Which is a lot like my "I-Have-To-Pee-And-We're-Out-Of-TP" dance, but with more jazz hands.) Because people need to realize that the bakery world is a mess, and I just need to rule it.

[adjusting goggles]

But first, let's take a look at the average daily fare in this Fine Establishment:

Bad Horse after some really spicy black bean enchiladas.

("Dibs on the festering pile of black goo!")

(PRO TIP: "Festering" makes everything funnier.)

(Unless the thing is on you, of course. Then, less so. To you. The rest of us will still think it's funny.)

The return of the gnarly poop fingers...OF DOOM.

I'd also like to point out that Adria sent these in yesterday, and it's April. Is this like a Christmas in July thing? Halloween in April? And why are the flying orange sea urchins attacking the poop fingers, anyway? Do they always hunt in packs? Do they have shrill little battle cries? I bet they do. I bet they sound like Angry Birds when you successfully complete a level. Only....EVILER. Like, a-letter-of-condemnation-from-the-deputy-mayor evil.

This one actually isn't that bad, comparatively speaking. I mean, I'm not sure how the yellow stuff got dripped on so precisely, or why the Bat logo looks like a battle axe, or what natural ailment would cause an otherwise sane person to think those borders are acceptable for anyone over the age of three, BUT...

...nope, I have nothing to add to that. Never mind.

And my personal favorite:

"Candy From a Baby"

AKA

"How much can we insult our customers' intelligence before they stop shelling out $14.98 for this crap? At least this much. MUAH-HA-HAA! AHAHAAAAHA! Ahah."

Seriously, I love how even the attempt at any kind of decoration has been abandoned. One blobby squirt of a bottom line + finger smeared topping = DONE. And that's about standards, you know?

[poking cake]

Smells like cumin. Huh.

Thanks again to Adria for singing along.