The Colors, Man. THE COLORS.

Three words, bakeries:

Mandatory Drug Testing.

I mean, I'm not saying anything - I'm NOT - but I'm just saying.

It's a butt. That sprouted a face. With pigtails.

Any questions?

Because if not, *I* have one:

Why is this cake trying to slap me?

"Up high?" Yeeeeah, I think someone's high enough, thank you.

I should mention that none of today's cakes are special orders, btw; they were all found hanging out in the regular display case, like it weren't no thang, chicken wang!

Aaaand now I will never use that phrase again.

Hey, you know that thin line between genius and insanity?

Yeah, we crossed that MILES back:

I call it, "Surrealistic Post-Modern Plastic Flotsaminism."

OH BOY!

These cookies taunt me, you guys. They taunt me with their smug presence, defying rational explanation and blowing virtual raspberries in the face of all common sense.

Plus they won't stop staring.

Of course we can all debate the merits of bakery drug testing, but in the end, it is the bakers themselves who get the final word:

Ahh, excellent choice.

Thanks to Jen & Jake, Steph H., Jeffrey A., Cinthya F., Sarah S., & Lauren L. for giving us something to squack about.

*****

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