Congratulations Prisoners of War!

Being a prisoner of war sucks. You’re often abused, you rarely get to speak with people from home and when you even try through messages in bottles of various forms of decorate glassware cast out to sea they just bring the glass back and make you eat it. Every day is just suck, suck, suck.

That is, except when one of the prisoners has a birthday. Then they bring out the cake and eat it right in front of you. It’s the best day because it makes you feel like you’re eating cake. And also because the guards, pussies they are, think that eating cake in front of you is actually a sort of punishment instead of a reprieve from the constant beatings. Also they abandon their guns, briefly, during the cake-eating ritual.

Which doesn’t seem that cool, until you realize how friendly that native boy from nearby is, and how much he hates Japanese people who still think it’s World War II and think white water rafters are secret American commandos too. Factor in how little attention the guards pay to him and you’ll have those guns in your hands in minutes, and those guards pumped full of bullets in seconds. Now if only you knew where the key was!

Congratulations Prisoners of War!

Congratulations Cake Monster!

Cakes have been oppressed for thousands of generations (since a generation of cakes is like, a month, this isn’t as long as it sounds). They’ve dreamed their whole lives of something better (again, a cake’s life is like, a month at best), an existence where they can do more than simply be devoured, an existence where they can find love, settle down and live out their (month long) lives in peace raising families with more options than just being devoured.

But cakes haven’t had a lot of say in the matter. They are, after all, fucking cakes. So really, who’s going to listen to them?

Everyone after tomorrow, when you, a horrible monster disguised as a cake, reveal yourself by devouring the entire population in attendance of the Steinberg-Katowitz wedding. The day will be flawless, the ceremony will go off without a hitch, right up until you sprout arms and begin devouring guests left and right, starting with the bride and groom. There will be no survivors.

This will usher in a period of cooperation with cakes the world over, as we endeavor to cooperate with cakes so as to avoid future encounters with Cake Monsters such as yourself as a species. This plan will last for roughly a month and a half, until you turn stale and die and all the cakes who had all these dreams also die and their memory is buried like so many crumbs under an infinite field of picnic tables.

Congratulations Cake Monster!