We Don't Need No Lava Soap, Pope

All everyone seems to be talking about right now is the new Pope, so I feel duty-bound to bring you some relevant cakes and punny commentary.

There's a new Pope in town - DON'T CROSS HIM.

I know, I know; that was terrible. Crappy, even. Here, let me see what else I've got ...

[searching wrecks]

Ok, so it turns out I have no Pope cakes. Who knew? Maybe everyone's making them today, and I'll have a big influx of funny hat cakes tomorrow? (Fingers crossed!) 

Ah, but I *do* have communion cakes, and those are kind of Pope-y, right?

 

 "Camunicen" must be one of the more obscure sacraments.

You won't think this next one is quite so terrible when I tell you the writing was done using nothing but those little squeeze packets of ketchup:

 

 I'll be lying when I tell you that, though, so maybe you should go ahead and keep thinking it's terrible.

I think this is supposed to be a Bible:

If so, then this bakery deserves to have the (good) book thrown at them.

Ever wonder what happens when a baker's ego gets SERIOUSLY out of control? 

 

Huh. And here I didn't know Donald Trump even liked cake decorating.

I do have a few more related wrecks, but I'm pretty sure if I posted them I'd start a holy war in the comments of Epcotian proportions.

In related news, would it surprise you to learn that I have not one, not two, but FOUR DIFFERENT CAKES shaped like the head of Jesus wearing the crown of thorns? And one shaped like Him bleeding on the cross? Because I do, people. THOSE CAKES EXIST. I feel sacrilegious just looking at them.

Thankfully I can turn to the patron saint of butchered shamrocks for comfort, though. And also for laughs.

 

Ok, mostly laughs.

Thanks to Shannon H., Stephanie C., Vicky H., Darla D., Shannon U., & Allison K., who shall henceforth be singing this jingle every time they see the Pope on TV. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Ken Day Come-Ons

[dimming lights]

[queuing up sexy saxophone music]

[adjusting Speedo]

Hey, Bebeh.

 

How YOU doin'?

Today is Ken Day, bebeh doll, and that means I'm here to make all your sexy, sexy dreams come true.

 

Except maybe that one.  

(Never again, Cancun.  NEVER AGAIN.)

That's right, my sprinkle-coated sugar dumpling, I am about to rock your world ... by dealing you a hand of Blackjack:

Or, wait... this is a hot tub? Oh. Ok. EVEN BETTER. Mrowr.

Now, slide that sweet little personality of yours over here, and have an enormous glass of ketchup:

 

I warmed up this side of the concrete slab just for you. [eyebrow waggle]

What's wrong, my tangy berry sweet tart? Is the concrete not to your liking? 

Perhaps you'd prefer some Satin Ice* sheets?

 

I don't lounge this casually for just anyone, you know. Mostly because I lack articulated elbows.

(*That one's for you, decorators.)

These boxers are really confining, though, my scrumptious fondant-wrapped cheesecake bite.

Here, let me slip into something a little more comfortable:

You can't see it, but I'm totally flexing for you right now. Unnng.

 

Ahh, I can tell by your dismayed expression that you're thinking EXACTLY what I'm thinking, my honey-drenched pudding pop: this DOES cover up too many of my "finer assets." [wink] Well, don't you worry. I can fix that.

[grunting]

[squelching noises]

 

Ok, my candy-coated cake pop! Prepare to meet ... THE LOINCLOTH OF LOVE:

 

Take me away, officer; I surrender to YOUR SEXINESS. 

Oh, and I should warn you: objects in the rear view are much hotter than they appear.

 

 [jiggle jiggle]

Thanks to Sara O., Sanne V., Mary Ann B., Frank M., Laura S., Renee D., & Lauri M. for helping me retroactively ruin a lot of people's childhoods.