The Short Order Mad Man on Cupcake Wars

Contributor: Miles Gough

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My number one, huge ass, disappointment this week was the show Cupcake Wars. I heard the title and liked the possibility. I was point six on the stoked meter. I even told the fellas working the line with me that I couldn’t go out to have some brews, no I was going home to watch Cupcake Wars.

Then I watched the dunderheaded thing. The hell. Teams battle to be chosen to make a thousand cupcakes for some made-up party. And the loser? They still have to make the thousand cupcakes and only then told that oh yeah, you suck hard wind. Its like, I’m sorry, but though you did discover a cure for cancer, its just not as sexy as Team B’s cure for cancer, so here’s your complimentary t-shirt and get the hell out of my studio.

And the worst part is, the cupcakes they make are just cupcakes. They totally reneged on the opportunity of the concept. It’s called Cupcake Wars, so why are they not making armaments out of them? Am I the only one to see this as the killer pitch?

Follow me. Your assignment, make the tastiest poisoned cupcake ever. A cupcake so delectable, you would eat two or three of them even after you knew they were lethal. Now that’s some tasty shit. I call that the Borgias Challenge.

Or you can go the full Mission Impossible and have a grenade challenge. Make a cupcake that can be eaten just as you please, but flip a chocolate chip on the frosting and that baby is armed. To win, it must be delicious and blow a hole in a half inch steel plate.

My favorite is the Voltron Challenge. Create five individual cupcakes that with a cue will fuse together into one giant sword wielding uber cupcake. Body count baked goods, that’s what this show should be about.

It could get wonderfully out of hand. Each contestant upping the ante with deadlier cupcakes. Pastry proliferation would occur. Machine gun cupcakes go to smart bomb cupcakes to dirty bomb cupcakes with fresh strawberry topping and up and up until there are nuclear cupcakes with Three Mile Island frosting.

There would be stale mate. Each contestant with atomic ingredients and no one willing to bake. A game of chicken. No one wins because if someone did, that would be the end of everything. Mass annihilation and butter cream. That’s what this should be. Ought to be. But of course not. They wimped out.

Not me. I believe in the vision. That’s why I’m moving ahead to phase two. Oh hey. There’s the oven timer. My first batch is ready. I got to go. I need to focus on taking them out. It took a while, but I found a pair of lead lined oven mitts. If we ain’t a blasted out radioactive rubble in five minutes, come on over and help me taste test these bad boys.


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