Sick of Cake

Look, I’m tired of your pathetic cake jokes, m’kay? I mean the vast majority of them aren’t even jokes are they? They’re Proustian madeleines, reminding you of something very personal only you and the elect understand; they’re just you saying the word cake and then giggling like a schoolgirl doped up with nitrous oxide and poppers (innocent m’lud, I have access no to NO2). You make me ashamed of my virtual friends, you really do.

So I’m going to supply for you, my lovely overly self-referential chums, a near-complete set of cake and baking-related puns, just so we don’t have to mention the c-word again. Between us we might raise the tone, leaven the atmosphere, even come up with something not half-baked. There is little margerine for error, so don’t tell your friends these jokes are stollen and work on a knead to dough basis; most importantly avoid loafing about like bloody spongers (the Devil makes food c*** for idle hands, according to Eccles-iatisicals anyway) and if you can’t think of one that doesn’t provoke an icy/frosty response, make a joke about something simnaler. If you can’t think of anything, petit force yourself – it’s all grist to the mille-feuille after all.

(Sanity says: shit, this is degenerating rapidly. Finish him!.)

It’s a piece of c*** really. Just remember that Jaffa C***s are really tax-dodging biscuits.

2 thoughts on “Sick of Cake

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About GriddleOctopus

There are few harder things in life than introducing yourself, especially in print where mellifluous nuance can turn to indulgent wankery. So. I am definitely a 'writer'. You could also call me an 'artist'. I could probably put the words 'designer' and 'consultant' here too, but they feel crass.