AnonymousCoworker

This past Wednesday afternoon, Thanksgiving Eve if you will, when the punch-card bonds of my oppression were lifted at a refreshing 2pm, I dashed home with nary a thought in the world outside of playing some video games in anticipation of what was going to be four solid days of brain-rot and a blatant disregard for personal health and hygiene.

And how right I was.

I settled in to my modded Xbox and began searching for old Super Nintendo video games when one in particular caught my eye: American Gladiators. It was so stupefiyingly stupid, yet also face-punchingly frustrating, that after less than one minute of what I can only extremely charitably refer to as “game play” was I ready to pitch the whole fucking console through the sliding glass doors of the living room and build a fire hot enough to purge the world of its wickedness.

Instead I baked some nog cake.

The directions were simple enough for even a Desperate Housewives fan to follow without much blood loss, and pretty soon I had a bowl full of crap that looked like this:

(If you click on that image you’ll notice that I helpfully outlined each specific ingredient for you.) I should mention at this point that the first thing I did upon opening the bag of cake mix was smell it. It smelled remarkably like eggnog. To say that I was surprised would be an understatement. And just when I was about to get full-on, Tony Montana coke-nosed with the stuff, I realized that I might be better served by eating some of the powder than just snorting it like an elephant with a monkey on his back. It tasted like eggnog flavored flour. Nothing you’d want to eat regularly, but given the choice between eating only that stuff or flour, I’d pick that stuff every time.

So I mixed it up and found the frothy results

too tempting to pass up

so I ate some

and it was delicious. It wasn’t exactly the perfect nog substitute, but the stuff tasted fucking great for being powder in plastic about two minutes prior. I probably would have just sat down and eaten the whole bowl full if it hadn’t contained my daily allowance of calories and then some. Forget wrestling in kiddie pools filled with chocolate pudding. I want all my strippers wrestling in pools filled with this stuff.

What? Yes, I own strippers. No, I don’t “manage” them, I own them. They are my property and they do my bidding. No, you can’t borrow them.

Anyway, before you got so stripper-obsessed, perv, I was telling you about this nog-batter. I poured it into a pan, baked it for 45 minutes, almost killed myself twice because of American Gladiators and its super-duper shittiness, or, I should say, levels of shittiness heretofore unattained by the likes of anyone or anything not performing on Dancing With the Stars.

A scant 45 minutes later the cake was done, and it looked like this:

All the stupid plums settled on the bottom, so the crosscut wasn’t as cool looking as it could have been, but it was pretty good looking none the less. I mean, it didn’t have any pubes on it, and it hadn’t been dropped in a toilet, so it was already about a thousand times better looking than anything you would get at Vinnie’s Toilet Soaked Cakes with Pubes, which is about a thousand times better an idea than the American Gladiators game. I hate that stupid game so much! You can’t even beat the first challenge. The stupid game cheats.

I gave the piece pictured above to Mrs. ACW, and then I dug in for my own:

A few moments later, the cake looked like this:

This shit is delicious. I’ve not known nog in a batter-to-bake form, and all my expectations were surpassed. Plus, I have three more boxes of the stuff left thanks to Monkey, so in the next permutation I plan to replace the milk in the recipe with actual eggnog. I imagine this will be very much like having to play a game called American Gladiators, and then being introduced to the designers of that game and being able to kick them in the the crotch until they bleed out their mouths. Seriously, this game was terrible. The cake: awesomeness incarnate.