My Brother and Sam the Wedding Cake.

Meet Sam. Sam is a slightly twisted wedding cake. His life began- as all cakes do- in the planning stages. He was made by my Dad over 4 days. He was to be white. Then pink.

Now purple, white, and pink. Sam does not like himself. His self-image has been shattered- imagine growing into your teens being black/white then switching colors. It would be freaky, wouldn't it? Well, that's what Sam went through. Sam...not to be confused with Samus Aran, the greatest Bounty Hunter in evar, or Sam Fisher, the all-console whore, who...uhh, I think that's a bit graphic. It has to do with blenders and...uhh...so...yeah.


Now that you know Sam's name and Sam's struggle, and who not to confuse Sam with, imagine being platooned (lol, I'll replace that with "showcased" in editing, like a man) in front of 100 people who all want to eat- AND digest- your flesh?


Not fun. Anyway...Sam was delivered around 11 AM. We set him up right away. Then my Brother walked up.

My Brother.

Matt the Meininger.

They called him "flame boy" when he was a child, because he would cause more devastation than a fire. Except he cannot control his raging destructive powers as I can...and his hatred consumes him. It's a real Darth Vader thing. Except, instead of a light saber, he has pure rage and inferno-hate.


He waves happily. He's waving really fast, as the camera is fast enough to pick up flying helicopters' blades with minimal (if any) blur...so...wow.


Now...if you'll notice, he took the statue off the top. He considers the cake (below pic). Its delicate beauty. Its delicate deliciousness. Its delicate delicaciness. That's definitely a word. Did I mention Sam has the texture of cornbread?

With corn in it?

A pang of evil crosses his mind. A hateful, mischievous streak of rueful mal-intent.

He knows what he'll do. But can he do it?

He can. He knows he can. He fixes his stare ahead (below pic)...imagining the grandeur. A wedding cake...all to himself...yes, yes...if he...cannot eat it all...then he will destroy it...any then none will take his...precious from him...



Yeess...let the evil flow through you, his mind whispers, which he hears only faintly... as a sly coat on the fell wind blowing through the open doors of the reception hall. He is lost in his paranoid, destructive fantasies of evil. Evil. His mind melts and folds as the ocean, with crashing, endless waves devouring whole any helpless, shipwrecked thought of niceties...or peace...

Suddenly, like an alligator, he springs forth!

OH NO!!!!
Yes! Yes! Devou-


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