Erotic Cake Contest
"Erotic Cake Contest"
Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.
.
[Text of the above audio.]
Let me just say, in all my years of judging erotic cake contests, I have never seen a cake with such vividness, such sheer artistry. I have judged literally thousands of erotic cakes, and none have moved me the way yours moves me.
First off, your layer work is incredible. I’ve witnessed dozens of erotic bakers attempt to depict that same position, and all have failed. This cake though—you can almost feel the strain in her hamstrings. It’s breathtaking.
Your frosting coloration is spectacular. What would you call that shade? Three-day-old sunburn? It’s so lifelike. It says to me that this couple is at the end of their honeymoon, enjoying the last few moments of hedonistic bliss before they return to their humdrum lives. It’s at once sensual and melancholic—a whispered longing if you will. Maybe I’m placing myself into the piece too much, but that’s what I take from this.
I also love that you have avoided leathery fondant. Fondant is such a crutch in erotic cake competitions. But, I’ve always said, “If you want to sculpt realistic genitals, you need buttercream.”
I mean, look at the fine wisps of frosting you were able to pipe here. If I didn’t know that was icing, I would swear you put real pubic hair on this cake. In fact, I snuck a little taste just to make sure. I couldn’t resist!
Every aspect of this erotic cake is a masterstroke. From the tips of the marzipan labia to the latticework of the ganache hammock, this is sexy baking at its finest.
It is therefore my honor to award you the blue ribbon in the “Couples and/or Group Category” along with this $25 gift certificate to the Container Store. Congratulations.
And, bravo!
Invest in Waterslides
Dude, I heard you won the lottery! That’s amazing! What are you going to do with all that money? Wait! Before you answer, let me tell you about a little investment opportunity.
Waterslides.
Hear me out. Everybody loves waterslides. Kids love waterslides. Parents love waterslides. Singles, teens, fat guys, nuns with guitars—everybody loves a waterslide.
Chess players love waterslides. Luchadores love waterslides. Sea World employees love waterslides. Painters, golfers, bike messengers—they love waterslides, too. Buddhists love waterslides. Dutchesses love waterslides. Flight attendants, Shriners, hippies, podiatrists—big fans of waterslides.
Seriously. Newlyweds love waterslides. Truckers love waterslides. Haberdashers love waterslides. Frenchmen, park rangers, jewelers, lawyers, bartenders, Mormons, museum docents, Hollywood celebrities, extreme sports aficionados, copyeditors, dog breeders, international spies, party animals—all of those guys love waterslides.
Particle physicists love waterslides. Roofers love waterslides. Civil War reenactors love waterslides. Knitters love … water … I’m sorry, please don’t interrupt me while I’m listing all the people who love waterslides. I worked a long time on this presentation.
Lumberjacks love waterslides. Fops love waterslides. Security guards love … Hey, where are you going? Come back here. I didn’t tell you how Rastafarians love waterslides yet.
Catching Up
Hey, Buddy. It's been awhile since we've talked, so I thought I'd give you a call. You know, just to catch up. Also, I wanted to complain about my boss.
So, how've you been? How's Mark? ... Yeah, that's great. Anyway, my boss has been such a bitch lately. I'm really trying to put up with her shit, but I don't know how much more I can take—
No no, I do want to hear about things with you and Mark. Sorry I interrupted. Please, go on. Uh huh ... Uh huh. Absolutely. That sounds harsh. Mark sounds a lot like my boss, Gail. She’s passive-aggressive too.
In fact, last week, we were on this conference call together, and she kept tapping her coffee cup. As if it was my fault the coffee machine was broken…
Right, right. I know. We were talking about your marriage. But, I was saying I could empathize with you, because my boss has a lot of the same problems Mark has. Like, she can’t figure out the shared calendar, so she makes everyone email—
Okay, yeah. Yeah. If you have to get off the phone, I understand.
Anyway, I’m glad things are getting better with you and Mark. What? They’re not? Oh, that’s rough. Listen, can I call you after this big strategy meeting we’re having tomorrow? I’ll probably need to vent about Gail.
Okay, bye.
Rogue Cop
Yes, I am a rogue cop who does whatever it takes to bring scumbags to justice. Yes, I play by my own rules. But, at least I have rules. Nobody acknowledges that part.
Here are my rules:
- I will never punch a baby. No matter what information it might know.
- I will only plant evidence on the guilty.
- I will always avenge the mob-related deaths of my informants within one week of said death.
- I will never own a car built after 1985.
- I will keep my stubble healthy through weekly conditioning treatments.
- I will hand in my badge and firearm at least once during every case.
- I will own only timeless, never trendy leather jackets.
- I will only sometimes plant evidence on my ex-wife's jerk boyfriend.
- I will grunt grudging acceptance of my new black and/or female partner.
- I will shroud my past in lonesome secret.
- I will refer to everyone by his or her last name.
- I will keep a photo of my estranged children next to my bed to provide some small point of empathy.
- I will drink all the time. That's a promise.
- I will use the c-word in front of priests but never nuns.
- I will roll my own cigarettes, which is not at all a silly affectation reserved for men who lacked a strong male presence in their teens.
- I will never play frisbee.
- I will strut. Again, that's a promise.
My Nose Has Been Stolen!
Holy crap, that old bastard stole my nose! Mom! Mom, are you listening to me? My nose has been stolen, godammit!
No, I will not watch my language! Jesus Christ, this is my nose we're talking about. He stole my nose--my only nose I ever got. Don't you care about your son's nose? Fuck.
Hey! What are you yelling at me for? Look over there; he's still got it poking out between his fingers. Look, he's flaunting it. That dirty goddamn thief. Give me back my nose, you old goat!
Ouch! You're hurting my arm, Mom! Lemme go! Let me at that old piece of shit! If he won't give back my nose, he's gonna get my foot in his ass. You hear that, old man? You give me back my nose if you know what's good for you.
What do you need my nose for? You can find quarters behind ears whenever you want. You're greedy; that's why, you old bag of piss. I don’t know what my grandma sees in you.
Mom, shut up for a second. I'm trying to get my nose back. Whad'ya mean, touch my face? I’m missing my— Hey! There's a nose there … The wily bastard must have switched out noses on me. He’s covering his tracks. Don’t you see? He’s left me with a fake nose. Everything smells funny now.
Listen, you old coot, you give me back my nose or I’ll poke out your fucking eye. Let’s see how you like losing an organ!
Stop trying to placate me with a goddamn Werther’s Original candy! I want my goddamn nose back. Don’t think I’m going to stand for this shit just because I’m five-and-a-half!
You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, Buddy! As soon as I get out of this car seat, you are in for a world of hurt.
My Autobiography
Proposed titles for my autobiography:
To Thine Own Self Be Andy
Who's the Ross?
Rossin’ It
Handsome: One Man's Journey
Me, Myself, and Me Again
Doing It Andy-Style
Ross: Legend or Fact? Fact.
Beard-o!
The Unauthorized Story of the Author
Andy, Finally
This Rakish Cad
"Tad Chipton" The Andy Ross Story
The Man, the Myth, the Andy
Pussy Magnet
Ross vs. Ross: The Internal Struggle
Mr. Professional
Andy Shoots Horses, Doesn't He?
Feeling a Bit Andy
A Ross Without a Thorn
Living La Vida Andy
Hello, God? It's Me, the Boogaloo King
The Story of the World's Classiest Cat Burglar
Ross: You're Welcome
It’s tough to choose, because a lot of these were already titles of my Broadway shows. Do I repeat myself? David Niven already used “The Moon’s a Balloon” for his autobiography, which is unfortunate, because that would have been perfect.
The Reducerator
Hello? I say, hello! Down here! Look down here, on the countertop! Can you see me? Yes, me—the tiny man standing on the clipboard. My name is Professor Arnold Ziff. It would seem that my shrinking ray finally works.
I’m so relieved someone has finally come into the lab! As you can see, I've managed to shrink myself to the size of a wine cork, which is marvelously exciting and the culmination of my lifelong research in the field of particle physics. However, because of my current stature, I'm unable to reach the "unshrink" button on my machine. Could you possibly do me the favor of unshrinking me, please?
I'm sorry to put you out. This is very embarrassing, especially as it’s due to my own oversight. It was only after I tested the Electron-Cloud Reducerator that I realized I'd placed the "shrink/unshrink" button at the very top of the device.
You'd think I would have learned a lesson from the many feature films about this very same predicament. However, I am a busy scientist with no time to watch such films.
I attempted to construct a makeshift ladder using chopsticks and scotch tape. But, as you can see, I've become comically entangled in that same tape. Thank goodness you’ve arrived before the laboratory’s pet cat awakens from its nap.
Now, on to the matter of unshrinking me: It’s quite simple. I’ve already used a paperclip lasso to change the machine’s setting to -0.145n with a neutron burst pointed along the q-axis. (That took quite a few attempts, I don’t mind telling you.) And, after a few days of living inside this styrofoam cup hut, I deduced that I could reset the Lorentz force to half its curve by reversing the electromagnet’s polarity.
So, with all that complete, all you need to do to return me to my natural size is press that green button labeled "unshrink."
Although, please be careful, as that the Electron-Cloud Reducerator is likely the greatest invention in the history of man. Anyone who possesses it would surely become an instant billionaire and hailed as a genius around the globe…
I see that you are now stealing the device. That is completely understandable. I simply ask, then, that you not slam the door behind you, as you might wake the…
Well, hello, Mr. Scruffles. You remember Dr. Ziff don’t you? Remember when I was tall and would give you kitty treats? Mr. Scruffles?
Avez-Vous Une Cigarette?
I apologize for the terrible picture quality of the following video. It's one of my first character monologues, and I think it holds up pretty well.
This comes from a 2006 performance at The Hideout in Chicago as part of Funny Ha-Ha, a terrific reading series hosted then and now by my friend Claire Zulkey.
Enjoy.