MENTAL NOTE

Though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run.
Blue, resist the urge to use facebook. You can do it. Good luck.
Cats and dogs can be friends. So can cowboys and indians. So can we.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Don't Have My Cake, Not Eating It Either

"Gloria oh Gloria, why can't I bake?" This famous line comes straight from an undiscovered Shakespearean manuscript that the bard could've written had he been witness to my current tribulations. Come again? Well, if you insist. In a nutshell: I can't bake a cake, Angie can and impressively so, but she simply refuses to do something with her incredible talent and chooses to blatantly turn her back on the millions of dollars, nay gazillions of come-hither rupees, awaiting her... 50% of which I would be entitled to. IF she started her own business.

I'm shit out of luck. There, I said it. No sh@t or sh#t or sht. Just plain old non-politically-correct no-nonsense shit. For you see, I scratched my blue buttocks and I had this vision of riches untold. A vision of success and freedom. A vision of bye bye boss I'm outa here see you later sucker! And all it would take was some water, flour and a bunch of eggs. Ah… and a pinch of talent. Stir! Okay, let me show you what I mean.


This is Angie's butterfly cake. It's big, shiny and smooth. And you bet your sweet um... tooth it tastes like heaven. Something tells me lots of folk out there would be interested in ordering a cake from the Missus. Water, flour and a bunch of eggs. Ah… and a pinch of talent. Which I, unfortunately, don't have (except, of course, in the hippo snoring department). If I did, I would bake cakes that would make Buddy want to hire me, and I'd say no. Sorry, Buddy. The point is, I find it incredibly frustrating that Angie Dear doesn't want to start her own business, have her cake and eat it too. So here I am, too broke to afford Dr. Freud, spilling my guts out to you free of charge Facebook style. I mean, the things that woman can do with her fingers!

Yep, that's another one.

And it's not like I didn't try to set up a business for her. I got her an actual dot com thingie, which cost me a whopping grand total of $12. Next, I used my old-school Paint That Cake skills to convince her this was not just another one of my bad ideas—It's a brilliant idea. Kaching!—meaning I started working on a couple of mind-blowing cake designs which I can't show you lest Buddy will steal them, and I even made her twenty or so silicone molds (SILICONE MOLDS!) based on traditional Indian ornaments, which she could use to decorate her cakes and be the only one in the entire universe and beyond to have those wonderful yum yum edible Indian ornaments. There's got to be a market! And a cowboy making Indian ornaments… that's got to be a first. I know, I'm a good hubster. Now where's my cake?

What do you think? Should she give it a try? 

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You would buy it, right? No? Eat me!