Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.
This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
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The Cupcake Craze
by Jeffrey Fischer
When cupcakes became a fad, I ignored it. No chance that I’d spend 45 minutes standing in line on a hot sidewalk in the middle of the day in summer for the opportunity to purchase 600 calories and 20 grams of fat for $3.25, contained in a product small enough to slip in your pocket. Well, if you were okay with a very messy pocket.
I don’t blame the entrepreneurial skill of bakers taking advantage of the fad. I blame consumers willing to participate in an orgiastic ritual of overeating.
Oh, it’s my turn? I’ll take three of the Red Velvet, please.
I think cupcakes are stupid. When served a cupcake by my mother in law, I drop it, and it always lands face down on her fancy, Turkish rug. She hasn’t learned her lesson yet.
I don’t think a blue collar guy would buy one. If anyone saw him eating it, they would think he was a ladyboy. My son pulled one out of his lunch bag one morning. I slapped it out of his hand, and asked him where he got it. He said the cute, neighbor boy gave it to him. It figures. My son is a big sissy.
The cupcake was the brainchild of Millie Marsepan, a baker and Massachusetts resident. She observed a lot of wealthy, rotund ladies stuffing themselves on cakes and pastries during afternoon tea. They would sit eating, nervously wiping their lips, and watching and listening for anyone in the tea room that might be making remarks about the group of fat ladies eating so much cake, and eating it so furiously.
Millie figured that the smaller cupcake size could be concealed in a napkin or the folds of garments and scarves, thus allowing the ladies to stuff more treats into their voracious gobs.
Ramekins for my Lambikins. Every Saturday, I make a special treat for my poochies. A special cupcake for each dog, made in porcelain ramekins.
They are decorated with a flourish of piped on flowers made of peanut butter and liverwurst. The topping is made in a food processor. I use a special tip for the pastry bag.
I mix 1/2 cup each cornmeal and all-purpose flour with 2 teaspoons baking powder, 1/4 teaspoon salt and 2 tablespoons sugar. I add 1 egg, 1/2 cup milk and 2 tablespoons oil. Mix everything well, then “bake” in microwave for 3 minutes. Voila.
I named my company ‘Cupcake’ – I wanted something quirky, like ‘Google’ or ‘Moonpig’ – it seemed a good idea at the time.
Little did I know how the irony of that decision would come back to haunt me.
The company was a huge success; I struck it rich and began living the dream. Above all, I could indulge in my very greatest of passions: Food!
Now, years later, as I lie here, morbidly obese and near death in a diabetic coma, the only thought that passes through my consciousness is that I really should have laid off the cupcakes!
The Cupcake Generation
“You mean they are really, truly deprived? Like… Like they don’t even
That’s how it was with the Millennials. A whole generation raised in such
profound insulation from natural reality that they measured happiness by
access to cupcakes; a desert no different from regular cakes but for their
presentation and individuation.
These were people who sat at tables communicating with two thumbs on
cellphones, while real people across from them were ignored. Plugged in
to people who were not present.
The fashion for Cupcakes of Happiness quickly vanished. Nobody missed the
Millennials, who were never really there.
A Man Called Cupcake
All the best code names had been taken. It was the early 50s and there was
a spy behind every tree. This didn’t bother Cupcake much. He was a huge
fan of the Art of War, the more they underestimated him the better. He was
in the shadows just in front of the dark silhouette of Brandenburg Gate,
the Quadriga hovered in the pre-dawn dim. Napoleon had taken to France as
a victory trophy. Too much for the permanence of victory. If everything
went accordingly, which it hardly ever did, the man called Éclair would be
walking through that gate.
“My cupcake’s gone,” wailed the man when he was arrested. “My sweet wife, you’ll be on that wall, eternal and beautiful.”
The policemen scanned the room. The only thing they could see was an old portrait.
“Is this your wife?”
The man nodded.
A policeman got closer to the portrait.
“Are you sure this is a woman?”
The man was offended, cursed on and on till they removed him from the house.
“Where did you put her body?”
And no one noticed the disdainful eyes on that painting, moving towards the door as they escorted the man out.
Have you expanded your comfort zone lately? Try something new today, something uncomfortable! You can start simple, by hugging every stranger you meet. Answer every request at work with “I would prefer not to”. And my favorite, address everyone you deal with today as “cupcake”!
You might get into trouble when a policeman asks for your driving licence and you say “Sure thing, cupcake!”, but you see trouble, while I see new experiences. Studies show that happiness comes not from things, but from memorable experiences! Every experience is a happiness opportunity!
Growth Mindset! Comfort Zone Expansion! How about it, cupcakes!
Shortly after we were married my wife started calling me Cupcake. I knew it was supposed to be a term of endearment, but I didn’t like it. It didn’t sound manly enough, so I asked her to stop.
Two could play this game. She was embarrassed by her wide hips, so I started calling her lamb chops.
She started calling me Slim Jim because… well, just because…
I knew she had a leakage problem every time she sneezed, so I called her puddles.
Apparently, that was too much. She stopped calling me anything. Instead, she called her lawyer.
Ned was in jail. He didn’t want to be in jail.
So, he asked his wife Stacy to bake him a cake.
“Put a metal file in it,” he said.
Stacy tried to bake the cake, but it never quite came out right.
It was either burned on the edges, or still gooey on the inside.
She was much better at making cupcakes.
“What the shit?” said Ned.
“They came out much better,” said Stacy. “And you can share them a lot easier.”
For what he shouted at Stacy, Ned earned a week in Solitary.
And she never visited again.