I No Longer Desire A Pony
Cake Woman woke me up at a painful hour on Sunday to help her make cupcakes in honor of her mother’s birthday. Then we did the early preparations for crème brûlée and tested out her new blowtorch.
Then we bundled into her car and drove to the ass end of the universe (somewhere near Le Seuer or New Prague or some other shit like that) where her mother has a hobby farm. I recovered a memory there: horses make poop that attracts flies. Since flies are rarely on the agenda for any given day of my life, ponies are right fucking out.
So, her mom and her mom’s husband have horses:
I had given Cake Woman bunny ramekins in her Easter basket, and she finally got to use them for evil. Witness the brûlée:
Even bunny ramekins do it like bunnies:
On the way back we drove through some super shady dealerships. I don’t know why I didn’t take pictures of the duct-taped-together cars (like three ninjas taped together). We also saw some things that were very nice, like this horse of a different color — more creamy than poopy.
This truck gave Cake Woman a girl boner:
This car had its own boner:
boy-yoy-yoy-ying