There's a special place in hell for people who abuse pastry.


You know, one would think that at a birthday party for Q from 112 at Justin's in Atlanta (pardon me while I slip into a floppy Foxy Brown type hat - what with it being 1996 and all...) there would be all KINDS of fuckery to latch on to.

And if the YBF shots are any indication, there was: Jazze Pha was there channeling Big Pun; someone from the group Next had crept out of the wax museum (quoth Scooby, bowrow row row?) and oh yes Q FROM 112 WAS HAVING A BIRTHDAY PARTY, fuckery enough on it's own.

But nothing - not even the notion of this ninja's JELLO pudding pop-era sweater wth the elbow pads (I can't relive that so you get no photo - be glad.) - can top the grand shawshank that is this cake.

I'm really starting to think there needs to be some type of "pastry for the ratchet and needy" program - something to prevent candy from being abused this way.

I mean won't ANYBODY think of the Twizzlers???

I would be willing to excuse the inclusion of red rope candy, as well as the overall practice cake vibe of this pastry, up to and including the fact that whoever put those letters on there was clearly suffering from severe wonk eye (NeNe Leakes is baking now?). But there's one thing I will NOT overlook:

DID YOU SERIOUSLY SNATCH A PICTURE OFF MISS NANCY'S MANTLE AND PUT IT ATOP THIS CAKE????

Fingerprints all OVER the frame. Nobody had Windex? Hell, A BABY WIPE?

Why won't negros let themselves be great? And all this time I thought Ray J's Colombian cartel-inspired cake had the red alert coonery baked goods game on lock.

This cake rains pre-eminent fuckitude all. over. that.

Checkmate. Game. OVER.