Cake. Fuck.

Dear Anonymous Person Who Threw Away My Cake
Die.
Fucking die.
A horrible, pain-filled death of much suffering.

PS - I hate you.



On Friday, in the afternoon (after I wrote my blog for the day), someone threw away the rum cake I brought back from Bermuda for my coworkers. I put the cake out Thursday in the late afternoon, and when I came in on Friday morning, I noticed that it was yet unopened and still sealed in the airtight plastic covering.

As in, still fresh as a fucking daisy.

And then just after lunch on Friday, my coworker comes in and is all, “Dude, what’d you do with the cake? I was gonna try some.” And I was like, “Nothing. Why? Where is it?” and she was all, “I dunno. It’s just gone.”

So of course I had to run some reconnaissance, because this is CAKE we’re talking about after all, and I’ll be damned if I can sit by and let innocent cake go missing without bringing certain individuals to justice.
Especially when said cake was painstakingly transported with love all the way from Bermuda to New Jersey, despite the fact that I had swine flu and was, essentially, dying.

So, yeah, where the fuck is my cake?!?

But before I could get up, my boss came in.
Due to a combination of OCD and complete disregard for looking silly whist poking around in nooks and crannies for missing stuff, she’s pretty much the office Sherlock Holmes.

I love her.

So she comes in and tells me that she found my cake.
It’s in the trash.

So I ask her, completely outraged, “Do you mean the box is in the trash – like, because everyone ate the cake – or is the entire CAKE in the trash?!?”

The cake is in the trash.
And as far as she can tell, it’s still in the packaging.

Begin VOLUMINOUS AMOUNTS OF HATE in 3…2…1…

So here’s what I suspect went down:
SOMEONE in the office (and I believe I know who, and I also believe she is the dumbest thing to ever walk the planet) walked by and decided to “clean up” the coffee station. She threw out the leftover Dunkin Donuts donut holes that were put out on Thursday, which, fine. I understand. But THEN she saw my cake and DESPITE the fact that it was still shrink wrapped, in her little pea-sized brain, she realized that she had seen it sitting out the day before, so it must therefore be OLD and trash-worthy.

And you know what? I don’t care that she’s a dimwit. I don’t care that I should feel bad for her because she’s destined to go through life struggling to understand advanced concepts like shrink-wrap and doorknobs.

I still hope she fucking dies.

And sure, am I cursing a lot in this blog?
Hell-fucking-yes.

Because somebody threw away cake.
MY cake.
And if there’s a better reason to drop the F-bomb multiple times, I don’t want to know about it.

Fuck.