The Cake President
Every night The Cake Boss initiates his secret Cake-Comm, in the Cake-Vault deep below the catacombs beneath Carlo’s Bakery.
“Cake President? It’s me, Buddy.”
“What is it this time, Buddy?”
“Look, I got a real problem! Just this week the water went brown, Mauro didn’t bring enough sugar, and a bride came in and squirted colors all over one of my cakes! And also Danny didn’t take the poundcake out the freezer so I had to wait two-ta-tree hours to wait for it to Thor out.”
“Listen, Buddy. When I made you Cake Boss of Carlo’s Bakery so you could infiltrate the mouths of America, did you complain?”
“No, but I was gonna be cake boss anyway. Mia familia runs Carlo’s.”
“When I told you to make a Submarine cake for my special Navy ceremony, did you complain?
“Well, I…”
“Did you complain? Or did you make the cake?”
“I made the cake.”
“So why this time is it so hard to make the cake?”
“The taxes on fondant and modeling chocolate are too high. I can barely keep my business afloat, what wit brides and Stretch breaking all the cakes, and Frankie’s too big to even move around in my little kitchen.”
“You want a cake bailout?”
“No, I need money.”
“All I can do is make you a specialty cake of you putting your feet up in a bathtub full of gum paste money.”
“Really? I can have that?”
“No.”
And every night the Cake Boss tiptoes back up the stairs, climbs back under the covers where his warm wife is, and cries icing tears.
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