It's About Standards

Warning: Juvenile ding-a-ling humor ahead.

A long time ago, I (this is John, btw) brought a picture of the famous sexual harassment cake to our local bakery, to see if the Nice Older Ladies there would recreate it for a party.

The encounter went something like this:

Me: [handing over picture] "Hi there! I was wondering if you could make a cake like this for me."

Nice Older Lady: [looking at picture] "Uh..." [gasping in horror] [looking at me as though I was a dirty, demon-possessed pervert] "No."

Me: [embarrassed] "Oh, well, the cake is saying that kind of behavior is bad. See, that's what the big 'NO' sign means." [smiling innocently]

Nice Older Lady: [flagging down Nice Older Manager Lady]

Nice Older Manager Lady: [looking at picture] [calling security] [writing down my physical description in a big red book] [smiling thinly] "I'm sorry, sir. We don't put smut on cakes."


So, sure, that was embarrassing, and now I can't shop for croissants without being shadowed by Billy the stock boy, but the good news is that bakeries have a line, and one that will not be crossed. Which is a relief, because otherwise these cakes might have had me worried.

Bazinga.

Fortunately there's nothing suggestive about balls or bases or long wooden...

Oh.

Wait.

It's a basketball court.

Riiiiiight.

Oh what a tangled web we weave,

When first we...

Spidey! Stop that!

Didn't your parents ever tell you you'll go blind?

Now this is some crotch rocket:

Looks like it'll be flying under a full moon, too. [bah dum cha!]

Thanks Elisabeth M., Anony M., Laura E., Josef V., & Bethany P. Oh, and hey, could you pick me up some croissants?