I've often said I want to be just like Dave Barry, only with ovaries. And as much as that statement may disturb my husband, the sentiment remains: DB is one of those writers who inspires stalker-like affection from yours truly. So, when Wreckporter Joyce W. alerted me to Dave's latest blog entry containing - oh yes - a cake, I put away my telephoto zoom lenses and super-spy microphones to do a little happy dance. Because this isn't just any cake: it's a wreckalicious confection rife with pun possibilities - or in other words, my favorite kind.
Behold the Behind!
According to Dave, this was for his son's birthday. According to this cake, Dave's son is something of an 'A' man, if ya knowuddamean. (And if not, don't ask.) Dave's readers seem to share my penchant for puns, too: the comments include cracks (oh! that one was unintentional!) about butt-cream frosting and speculation over whether the cake was Duncan Hiney, Betty Cracker, or perhaps purchased at Derriere Queen.
Personally, I'm kind of curious about the librarian heels, Monica Lewinsky hair, and anatomically impossible angle of the right ankle. I mean, I know strippers are supposed to be flexible, but rotating a knee cap 180 degrees? That's gotta be a rare talent.
What say you, readers? Do we give the buns a bum rap, or is all well that ends well in the end?