Vague Insanty 032

Sitting down trying to count the seconds that make the minutes that take an hour to bake the pie that makes the day, and little Sally is sitting there with a burnt apple crumble, and I lie and say it tastes okay, but in actuality it's rather like a cardboard hotdog - greasy and deeply unsettling.

And I sort of think back to all those demonic bake sales of my youth, attempting and failing to achieve my dreams through the route of selling muffins for 10 cents a piece. And I think deep down I know that baked goods can't save the rainforest and cause world peace, but the pretty lady in the see-through dress appreciates my help and gives me a kiss as I sell her cakes to the masses of the confused and desperately hungry members of the human race.

I think now that a fraud isn't so bad if you don't mean to harm people, and if they get some chocolate cake out of the deal then so much the better. I guess I know deep down this charity work is all to impress some sexy young lady who hugs me, and tells me the entire, unabridged, life-story of her owl "Sammy" who she saved from a barn fire.

Maybe I should just buy the damned cakes. I mean, I need my weekends back too. And crazy owl sex isn't as good as it sounds.