There’s a few things I would like to address today, apart from the fact that I am rich now, and I have a new computer and a new phone. I would like to address all the people who were failed by the justice system. I would like to address the little kid who was punished by the teacher because some bullies set him up. I would like to address the countless zoo animals who live and breathe in captivity. Actually, the zoo animals don’t fit into this category but whatever. I would like to address the waiter who never got tipped because the chef was too slow at cooking. What all these people have in common is that they couldn’t prove their innocence. That’s what it comes down to, proof. The regular pack of Chocopies I ate today, had the extra cocoa ones in them. I have no proof of it now, because I ate it all. That’s what life does to screw you sometimes, it takes away the proof. All of a sudden the proof is NOT in the pudding. It’s gone. 30 years later, when you least expect it, the proof walks by you at a railway station, but now it’s too late. So you let the train go.
If you came here looking for a deep, thoughtful post about the negatives of modern-age “creativity”, I am terribly sorry. I believe that creativity is, and always will be the at the forefront of progress.
What I am going to talk about now, is the fucking yellow bunny on my chocolate cake. Who thought that was a good idea, huh? What the fuck is wrong with pastry-people? it doesn’t even taste like chocolate. It tastes like mango milk shake. This blasphemy has hurt my faith in humanity. Why a bunny? Was he a fan of Donnie Darko? Well, I am too. but there’s a time and place, alright dude? This shit is making me emotional. Sometimes, less is more, man.
15 years ago one Friday evening I realised that I’m addicted to cake. I came home from school, opened the fridge and to my surprise, there was a giant, round pineapple cake just sitting there as if the universe had sent it to me. Back then, my interest in eating cakes was no greater than prof. Stephen Hawking’s interest in watching the Kardashians. I would try one small piece out of curiosity and regret it immediately. But times change, people change (Not my boss though. That motherfucker takes the Lady Gaga song, ‘born this way’ waaaay too seriously).
One slice and that was it. I was hooked. From that day on, I ate one slice everyday after dinner. I fell into an endless spiral of depression after I had the last slice. My mom thought I was losing my mind. I was underweight at the time. I tried a different cake but it just wasn’t the same. But soon I forgot about cake. Fast forward a few years. Sister comes home one day with something called a ‘Mousse cake’. It was like instinct. After locking my sibling in the kitchen I went to a corner of the house and ate the whole thing.
I lost my train of thought. How do I end this? How about a neat rhyme from the 90’s?