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Sunday, November 21, 2004

Evil, Thy Name Is "Cupcake"

I started rummaging in my little fridge, looking for a spot to put the tupperwares of seafood chowder I'd cooked up this morning, and excavated a second foil-covered tin of cupcakes, left over from last weekend's Annex Theatre Retreat.

So, now I have yet another dozen cake confections to deal with, when I had thought (although somewhere int the back of my mind, I knew this to be untrue) I had finally consumed the last of these little hellions a couple of days ago.

(A bit of backstory may be in order: A few months ago I purchased an auction item at a fundraiser which entitled me to a birthday cake, personally created to my own specifications by Ida and Molly, who have developed something of a reputation for concocting marvelously weird cake dioramas. Previous examples have included bloody, "Saving Private Ryan"-meets-"The Lost World" battle between little green army guys and dinosaurs, the deliciously creepy, "Hug me!" cupcakes, and the infamous "flaming banjo" cake, what was in fact, a flaming banjo, complete with some sort of alcohol powered combustible material. My only request was that my cake had to involve astronauts, and Molly later suggested that since my birthday this year would fall just before Retreat, perhaps I would consent to delaying gratification for the sake of group participation? Of course I did, seeing as if nothing else it would provide an opportunity to stretch the birthday fesitivities far beyond any reasonable timeframe.

Whereupon last weekend, I was presented with a garish, purple-and-violet moonscape, sort of a cross between The Giants Causeway and that set from the end of "Star Trek: The Motion Picture", but of course made completely out of cupcakes. In their inimitably sick style, the diorama consisted of some sort of outer space cataclysm wherein a drunk shuttle pilot -- who had aparently imbibed a few too many of those tubes of Russian vodka secreted aboard the International Space Station -- crashed into an assemblage of his fellow space explorers, scattering them and untold billions of dollars worth of valuable equipment across the lunar landscape. Like I said, they have a creepy sense of humor.

And needless to say, there were plenty of extra cupcakes for me to take home. Hence, my present dilemma, to which we shall now return.)

They confront me in all their faded purple frosted succubus splendor, a dozen two-bite sized concoctions of flour, sugar, butter and egg, mocking my paltry efforts to bring them to submission. It's like a bad horror movie: just when you think the evil has been successfully vanquished, and it's time to take a refreshing hot shower, suddenly the throbbing bass swells in ominous expectation, "duh-dun, duh-dun, DUH-DUN, duh-dun", increasing in tempo until it reaches the desired 100 beats per minute, making your own heart follow like a lemming over the cliff, the camera tilts at a crazy angle, racks back suddenly to reveal the horror of -- MORE CUPCAKES!

Perhaps they're breeding in the fridge; maybe a 42 degrees Farenheit environment is actually the ideal incubation medium for their little devils food spawn, and I am unwittingly unleashing an infestation of apocalyptic proportions on an unsuspecting world. Will future generations, sitting in the rubbled remains of their once gleaming cities invoke my name with spite and venom? Will it pass into the ages like that of Cain and Judas, as one of the Great Betrayers Of Humankind? And all because I was too reticent, too health-conscious, too timid to do my duty and dispatch these evil cakelets to the fate they so richly deserve?

I cannot let such ignomy be my destiny.

I must act.

Got Milk?

Posted byCOMTE on 8:56 PM

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