An explanation from a strong skeptic of these ‘baseball-sized crumb bombs’
By: Morgan Ratliff
Staff Writer
Children’s birthday parties are littered with these bastards (excluding the children). Much like crossbred-corgis are merely corgis in disguise, these use holiday disguises. As if a constantly evolving plague, they come in many devastating forms. Guess what I am discussing—I will give you a few hints: coarse, rough, gets everywhere; no, it is not sand. It is an entirely different dry disaster: cupcakes.
I cannot, not even for a second, reconcile my conscience with reducing the moist scrumptiousness of cake into baseball-sized crumb bombs. I have had cake in a cup before and it is in an actual cup. Grooved-side, oversized Ketchup-dispenser dip holders do not count. I am eating cake, not unpackaging a messy, Styrofoam peanut-loaded Amazon purchase.
Cupcakes are popular among the general populace still. I fear an egregious era wherein all foods are morphed into ghastly, paper cup-held imitations unoriginally coined “_______ cupcakes”. Break a leg, Arizona Robbins. (S9; E10; Grey’s…)
The varying tastes matter not, for these are flavors fatal to the flesh—half-assed imitations defined by their mocking interpretations of anything and everything otherwise tasty: peanut butter, buttercream, cheesecake. These tastes are terrible in cupcake form. Allow an explanation from a strong skeptic.
Cupcakes are an abomination in the eyes of your preferred deity (or lack thereof). Yet, it is the ecumenical religion (i.e., a cupcake “business”) of the wannabe bijou-shop owner, soccer mom-type which promotes latitudinarian, hole-punch-gift-cards worship. These businesses’ sprightly colors attack with forced force such that Assault & Battery Charges would not be inappropriate. Their towering and good-for-half-a-cheek chairs are merely decorative, and they are laughable at best. Their displays are a complicated complex of interchangeable monstrosities loaded with ugly toppings evoking cutesy, Emoji-derived expressiveness. They call upon banal platitudes as selling points; e.g., “You deserve a lil’ sweetness in your life,” “A taste that takes you back,” and “Friends are like cupcakes in the pantry of memories.”
Mass-production cannot save cupcakes. I am looking at you, Hostess; you and your oddly shaped, typically smushed confections poorly filled with cheap icing plopping into boxes off conveyor belts to land themselves on the overprice-marked shelves of overcrowded supermarkets. Stick
to Twinkies.
Grocery store-bakeries are not better, as every cheap, disproportionate glob of swirled icing that awkwardly smears up the plastic containers from which these terrible deserts tend-come blows like a sputtering exhaust pipe: that is, it is worthy of choking on. Any reasonable person will double-stop harder than the guitar solo drum-kicks in Cult of Personality after trying a cupcake.
Life hacks, a movement built upon the basis of ineffectual quasi-innovations, cannot save cupcakes either.
Every YouTube video of some random, white, American male speaking pseudo-Russian while attempting to show the benefits of tearing the bottom half of your cupcake off and slapping it upside-down on top of the icing to create a sandwich makes me want to concoct Cupcake Frosting Vodka Molotov’s and set fire to their homes.
Whether small or tall, big or little, gargantuan or guppy, cupcakes in all their shapes and sizes serve up an Outback-outclassing (see: monumental) portion of disappointment. No treatment has ever, nor will ever, do them justice.
Oh, and, reiterated one last time, they suck: end paragraph; end article; end discussion.
