On a Personal Note: In Poor Taste

In this segment I tell humorous personal anecdotes. If you hate personal blog posts, skip this; there's plenty of non-personal stuff on this blog as well.

Father's Day is around the corner. I hope it's as delightful as my stepfather's birthday was.

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Me
Mom
Stepdad AKA Substitute Pappy AKA Vice Dad

We got ready to eat cake (as we are wont to do as Western civivlians) and you know I love cake.

But this was no ordinary cake. This was the fabled, much sought-after erotic cake experience.



It was a gift from Vice Dad's co-worker, Candi. It is difficult to choose a good gift for a coworker, so we were lucky she opted for a pragmatic, appropriate and morally astute gift not one that makes her appear to be a homewrecking jezebel.

The cake was a pair of supple youthful breasts; very pleasing form. The color was amazing as well. It wasn't a flesh tone-OH GOODNESS could you have been thinking these were flesh toned breasts? No; that would be alienating and emotionally scarring. These fun bags were hot pink. Why, it looked like the bride of Franken Berry's bilateral mammogram.

Make no mistake: I am aware of the breast feeding metaphor here. The only difference is this time there's a knife, a fork and a stepfather involved.

The fun did not end that night either. The mutilated, disembodied breasts were encased in a plastic molding, making the fridge look like a crime scene: it was like Hannibal Lecter's Cryogenic Laboratory.

This father's day-or better yet my mother's birthday-me and my stepdad will get my mom a penis and vagina cake respectively to celebrate the birth ritual. OH DRAT-I forgot, I can't make their birthday parties for the next 40 fucking years.