Drama. That’s what it is. Drama. I’m positively sure I could sell this particular drama to Eastenders and win one of these “best storyline” awards. Especially with the ‘bitch’ style edge I can stir up with my metaphorical cake whizzer. That’s what drama is, isn’t it? It’s the ingredients placed into a tub as a whole, as they are, no need to do anything but look to see precisely what they are and they can’t lie because they are what they are. It’s the moment the ‘on’ switch starts and slowly, at first mixes everything, confusing what’s what. The longer it whizzes around the quicker it moulds, the faster it becomes it’s harder to see what the truth was in the first place. Then you mix in those artificial colourings and flavourings for disguise and the simplicity has gone. It’s all a bunch of mixed up ideas with a few artificial extras thrown in to jazz it up. That point being it’s so mixed up that when people enquire as to what’s going on you can say anything and they’ll believe you. Drama. Fucking drama.
We all make bad cakes. Granted, unless you’re Nigella Lawson but even she got picked up for a few added ingredients if you know what I mean. If we fuck up and put too much of a certain measure in, we’re going to get found out because it doesn’t taste too good, does it? It’s always easy to see where a cake baker has gone wrong with the appearance. It’s in plain sight. Hardly deniable when it’s squished like a tomato under a car tyre. This is usually the point where you blame someone else along the line who was involved or you admit defeat, apologize and start again. No one ever minded that. Honesty. It’s always so obvious when the buck is passed elsewhere so it’s just worth saving your dignity. Plus, we can taste it’s your error. It’s bitter. Just start over and make a new batch that taste fluffy and look happy. Even if you’re not.
There’s unintentional bad baking (guilty as charged) and there is tactfully bad baking. Also, as I like to call it, deceitful baking. You know, the kind where you offer to make something beautiful for a special occasion and accidentally-on-purpose add a few drops of rat poison and a large bottle of laxative to make sure know one will find out it’s you. As shit happens, you never noticed the bottle was a special offer and rather two bottles of laxative in one so you trip up. Bollocks. Now you’re clever little idea has gone to pot. Not Delia fucking Smith after all. Not that many people would have a reason for pulling such a slightly deranged stunt. Only if you disliked the person who initiated and asked for the idea or were just a sly, dishonest human being. Then again, the ingredients are all mixed so to any of the loyal gathering it must have been someones else’s fault. Like the Sausage man. It was probably his carefully and very well cooked through sausages that made everyone vomit.
I guess you can sit there for days wondering what the cake’s made of. It’s so easy to put your head down and pull the self-pitied it-wasn’t-me face. It was someone else who did it when I wasn’t looking. Pointing the finger at another for being angry at your mistake and adding in that extra flavouring to sweeten up your fans so they of course remain sympathetic to false sorrows. Congratulations on being as artificial and fake as your so called Organic fairy cakes.
Stirring the mixture and licking the spoon to make sure it’s perfect. Some people really need a sell-by date.
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