We Wish You A...What Now?

I don't know why, but for some reason I'm just not sure what these bakers are trying to tell us...

Let's see. Santa is face down in a heap.

So...Merry Christmas?


Maybe it's better if we flip him over.

Nope.


And now, a seasonal tongue-twister:

Sam the snowman shot a sheet of snowy sleet!

Aaaand, repeat. (Three times fast, if you please.)


When it comes to wrecking cakes, this baker hits just above the belt:

Now, since there's obviously a space there for an inscription, I've been trying to come up with something appropriate.

Ho Ho...no.

And to all a good...no.

Jingle...no.

Er, yeah, I'll just have to get back to you.

Actually, this kinda works if you're Irish. Go on: say it out loud. In your best Colin Farrell voice. With a sexy wink. Oh yeeeeeah. This working for anyone else? Just me? Hey, I'm ok with that.

At least we can all agree that nothing conveys holiday cheer quite like an icing dog with Santa's head on his butt:

"Woof woof, b*tches."

And now, Rudolph of the red nose himself would like to wish you all the merriest of Christmases:

Rudolph?

RUDOLPH?!?

WHYEEE????

Uh, well, since Rudolph is...hung up... at the moment, let's just end with this:

Althoug I reall do'n se wha th proble i.

Thanks to A. L., Brannon M., Rob R., Mouse, Suzie T., Katelyn C., Kelly, & Kristin. May you all marry Christmas. Or have a Mary Christmas. Or, um, GOOD DAY.

------------------------------------------------

CCC Day #12

Free Wheelchair Mission is an international nonprofit dedicated to providing wheelchairs for the impoverished disabled in developing nations. It takes less than $60 to provide someone in need with a means of mobility.

Click here to donate your dollar.

(And thanks for sticking through our twelve days of giving, guys! You rock!)

Almost Famous

Time to play "Guess that Celeb!"

Ok, I know what you're thinking.

But hey, in some countries, Mr. Bean IS a celebrity.

(No, seriously, that's supposed to be Mr. Bean.)


Ok, try this one:

Give up?

Here, I'll give you a hint:

it's Zac Efron.

Allegedly.


How about a little rock royalty?

"He's got mud on his face! A big disgrace! Curling that ribbon all over the place."

Yes, Freddie Mercury: we will Wreck you.


I don't know about you guys, but I like my cakes to have a good head on their shoulders:

Next we'll have to work on having good shoulders under the head.

Oh, and hey, Mr. Tupac Sugar, keep ya head up!!

(Yeah, I admit it: I had to Wiki him to find that song title.)

Poor "Cyndi." Her colors may be true, but time after time those cheeky wreckerators just wanna have "fun." With quotation marks.

'Course, if you think it would be weird to eat a celebrity's effigy, imagine what a weird Situation it is for them:

I guess they ran out of orange icing.

Ok, guys, party time! Grab that Lady Gaga cake; it's time to "poke her face!"

I would complain about this looking nothing like her, but frankly I think it's worse when the cake is a dead ringer:

"And for dessert, allow me to introduce Ray Lewis!"

Creeepy. Also, I've heard of linebackers being built like refrigerators, but this is ridiculous.


If you really want to bring your "A" game, though, then this next cake will fit you to a "T":

I sympathize with the inferior who gets that earring slice.

Thanks Ruzaina, Jenn, Sarah B., Lanique C., Bridget S., Kristy I., James M., Caroline E., & Chrissy K.!

Sweet Dreams

As someone who's battled insomnia for most of my adult life, I know just how valuable a soothing bedtime story can be. So, my fellow sleepless-in-wherevers, this one's for you.

[hem ahem hem]

*whispering*

Once upon a time...

there was a baby who was very sleepy.

The baby's undead friends, however, kept asking:


Yes, throughout the long nights, the baby's best buds howled and screamed and demanded that he stay awake, and play!

One day the baby thought, Maybe if I disguise myself as a ladybug and hide in the forest, my friends won't be able to find me to ask me to play!

And so, chopping off his own arms and legs, he did.

But, alas! His buggy disguise soon attracted a sticky swarm of monster ladybugs.

They crawled in his hair and tickled his ears and the baby forgot about sleep for another night.

Maybe, the baby thought next, if I cover myself with a big blanket, I won't hear my friends calling me!

And so, plugging his little ears, he did.


But, alas! His friend Mr. Bubbles had a very loud and squeaky nose:

Plus, Mr. Bubbles' chainsaws were terribly noisy.


I know! The baby thought at last. I'll hide in this cake! Then I can nap as long as I want.

And so, burrowing into the soft spongy layers, he did.

But, alas! The cake was Mr. Monkey's birthday cake.


***The End***


Now, who wants seconds?

Amanda K., Alice N., Mary, Katherine L., Amanda H., Sydney F., Sarah V., & Eden C., sleep tight.

Tickle Tickle

And just like that, all of Josh's long years in therapy were undone.

Thanks, Dani E. That's one more memory I'll have to repress.

Well, That's Horrifying

You know, I thought eating a cake baby was wrong.

I thought it couldn't get any worse. (At least not legally.)

Then

I

saw

this:




Michelle M., I am never eating meatloaf again.

The Magical Story of Labor Day

Ah, Labor Day. A day when we celebrate labor and all of its laborious labors.

And who among us hasn't labored over laborious labors at some point in our labors? Heck, you may be laboring right now! You might even be IN labor! And that's the labor regarding which I have begun to labor over this post. Laboriously. And from a guy's point of view.*

(*Bearing in mind that, since I AM a guy, I've never had to bear children myself - laboriously or otherwise.)

So it all starts innocently enough. There you are, minding your own business with your nicely chiseled six-pack...

...when BLAM!, some dude comes along and gets all up in your business!

Okay, that came out wrong.

The point is: you're pregnant. And now your belly looks like this:

Which kind of reminds me of this plumber I once knew...

Or, if you're of the clothing persuasion, like this:

Because pregnant ladies like to carry baby gherkins in their underwear.
You know, weird cravings and all that.

Anyway, a couple of weeks later the kid wants out:

In the worst way.

And NOW you're ready to labor laboriously. Which you might think would look like this:

"Aw! Just lookit that teensy tiny baby! I bet that didn't hurt a bit!"

Yeeeeah... no.

In reality, it tends to look more like this:

Only, you know, more goopiness, screaming, nudity, and the doctor's skin under your fingernails. Really, it's kinda like a SAW movie, except you can't sleep afterward because there's an unfamiliar person screeching in your room, as opposed to just in your nightmares.

And then, after all that hard labor, you have a beautiful baby:

Who may or may not kill you in your sleep.

I mean, probably not, but there's really no guarantee.

So anyway, good luck with that, and happy Labor Day!

Meredith, Stephanie A., Anony M., Gina R., Stephen, Ginn, & Julie W., may your labors never be in vain. Or in cake, for that matter.

Evil Gets... Evil-er

In a world...

where nothing is safe...

and no one can be trusted...

"Like, ohmygawsh, Kelly! I know it's midnight and raining outside, but let's strip down to our bras and go running through the woods! What could possibly go wrong?"

[blood-curdling scream]


From the people who brought you:
Butterflies from Hell,
Night Hugs from Hell,
Underwater Zombie Ballerinas (Also from Hell,)
and Gigli,
comes the most horrifying psychological thrill-ride blood bath you will ever wish you could un-see.


"Thank you for the teddy bear, mommy! I love him SO MUCH, and I'm glad he's not creepy and won't kill us in our sleep or anything!"

[blood-curdling scream]

No one knows where they came from... or who they will visit next.

"Well, I'm all by myself and the power's out, but I think I'll take a shower anyway."

[pulling back shower curtain]

[blood-curdling scream]

When the streets are paved with evil... and the nights are filled with... evil...

"Gosh, I'm so glad you came over to make out with me while I'm babysitting tonight. Maybe I should just go check on the baby... in the attic... in my high heels... in the dark... in my bra... alone... while you go get pizza.

[pulling back blanket]

[blood-curdling scream]

Nothing that lives in the imagination is more frightening than the terror that lives... in the bakery:

{Crazy maniacal Leprechaun laugh}

[blood-curdling scream]

This Friday the 13th, terror gets its just desserts.

Hell's Bakery... from Hell. In 3D.

If you can't stand the heat... you're probably about to get murdered.

Shannon G., Anna L., Sara C., Melissa, & Lindsay, if you had trouble visualizing this post as a movie trailer, then we've put together a little something for you:

Send 'Em In

Wow, the blockbuster holidays just keep comin' this month: did you know it's national Clown Week?!?

Needless to say, the clowns of the world (the ones who wear make-up, I mean) couldn't be happier about the week-long celebration:

"Beat it, kid. I'm on a break."

Oh. Well, I mean, most of the clowns are excited. Why, just look at this giddy fella!

Tell me, Mr. Bubbles, have you ever felt more alive?

Mr. Bubbles?

Uh...sir? [honking rubber nose] Hello?

Well, maybe we'll just leave him to rest in peace, and move on to...

...uh, well, not this guy. He looks dead tired.



And I'm sure these two...severed heads... are just resting, too, kids. Ha. Ha. Erm...


Oh, look, here's a happy clown! So happy, in fact, he's gone cross-eyed!

(Give it a second.
Theeere it is.)

On the other hand, he might be bleeding demised. You know, ceased-to-be. Expired and gone to meet his maker. Stiff, bereft of life, run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. This may, in fact, be an EX clown.

Or he's just resting.


Well, no matter; here's a clown with a full LOAD of...uh...exuberance:

Wow, we've got a live one here! (And I think he needs a change.)

Happy Clown Week, Jennifer, Julie M., Heather B., Eve & Noelle, Ashley, & Kathryn H.! May all your pies fly true, your noses honk, and your cars maintain their TARDIS- like defiance of the laws of physics.

It's Always the Quiet Ones

Let's say, hypothetically speaking, that you turned in some important paperwork to your boss or teacher, and on that paperwork you had doodled pictures of yourself wearing either a halo or devil horns, and a clown floating in the clouds above you, looking on.

Do you suppose your boss/teacher might then call you in for a little chat? You know, just to see how the ol' home life was going? Maybe see if you needed anything, support and/or prescription-wise?

Because, as you may have guessed, this really isn't a purely hypothetical question.

I don't know what's going on here, but I fear for the dog's future.

In fact, from the looks of things I'd say a few of these wreckerators are one more "That's Karl with a Q" away from a destructive binge that ends with them pole-vaulting the counter and riding the floor waxer out in a blaze of glory.

"Go ahead, punk. Tell me you want sprinkles again."

So here's an idea, bakeries: Why not hire a psychologist to come in every now and then, you know, just to browse through the cakes? That way, when something like this pops up:

He or she will know it's time to schedule another stress seminar.


Or even to stage some kind of intervention:

"I don't get it; all I asked for was a birthday cake!"

Or - and I'm just spit-balling here - maybe to alert the proper authorities:

Um. Yeeeeah. When dark oily shadow blobs start sweet talking the customers, I'd say another sexual harassment seminar might be in order.

Don't worry, Amy W., Katie M., Magic Girl, Krystal K., & Kate F.; I hear they serve cake at those.