Triple Whammy

"Hi there! I'd like to order three cakes for a joint birthday party, please. I'd like the first one to read, 'We're turning fifty!'"

"Hm... I'm not sure all that will fit. Is it ok if I shorten it a little?"

"Sure, whatever you think will work."

"Excellent. And what would you like on the other two?"

"Well, one of the birthday girls is also retiring, so I'd like the second cake to say 'Congratulations Dorothy' in gold icing."

"We don't have gold icing. We have yellow. Light yellow, dark yellow, yellow that's nice with cheese..."

"Oh. Well, that's ok! Then just write 'Congratulations Dorothy' and get as close to gold as possible."

"Nooo problem. And what would you like on the last cake?"

"Ah, that one's for Joe. Could you, aheh...could you draw the Playboy bunny on his cake?"

"The what?"

"The Playboy bunny."

"The bunny?"

"YES. THE BUNNY."

"Oh. Ok. Sure, I can do that."

[LATER]

BAM!

POW!

KER-BLOOIE!!

 (Scout's honor, guys: they tell me they really did ask for the Playboy bunny.)

Thanks to wreckporter Rachel V., Gwendolyn J., & Melena S., who knew we shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque.

Beby "Love"

Our official Wrecky Minion/Helper, Julianne, is due to have a little wreckie literally at any moment. In fact, Julianne, if you're reading this, PUSH 'EM OUT, SHOVE 'EM OUT, WAAAAY OUT!!

Ahem.

John and I are of course being as supportive as we possibly can, in the sense that Julianne doesn't have to file your submissions while she's actually in labor. ("You're welcome, lady!") She also seems to appreciate the plastic sheeting we have draped over all the furniture when she visits, and our constant offers of moist towelettes and pickles.

So today's post is for you, Julianne. Because we care. But know very little about babies. Or baby showers. Or what, exactly, you're supposed to write on a baby shower cake.

Oh, well, that wasn't so hard!

But tell me: do these things always require balls of steel? And brass? Brass and steel balls, I mean? You know, those balls there. The balls on the cake. (Why does everyone keep flinching when I talk about cake balls?)

And speaking of cake blue balls:

I just realized why they're called cake "pops."

Booya! Who's your daddy?!

BWAHAHAHAAA!

Er. Maybe we should go back to shower cakes.

Or "SKRWER" cakes.

Just don't say it out loud. There are "bebys" here.

But really, do we NEED all these properly spelled "words" and "complete" "sentences?" OF COURSE NOT. Let's just get right to the heart of the matter:

Illiteracy!
Less awesome.

Where?!

(I mean, seems to me they're always crying.)

This is a job for... The A Team.

Of course, sometimes mere words are inadequate.

Sometimes you need a Playboy bikini top, sunburned cleavage, a protruding foot, and a snapshot from The Ring to convey your true feelings:

Ah, yeah. Can you feel it?!

Julianne? Julianne? Hey, where'd you go?

Thanks to Sarah H., Anony M., Kim G., Kelly L., Caitlin P., Monika L., & Anony M., who are still trying to figure how many babies are supposed to be in that belly.