What a time to be alive. Black is white, up is down, truth is false and nothing makes sense anymore. On top of everything, The Supreme Court did two infuriating things recently: it allowed Trump to reinstate parts of his awful ban-which-is-actually-a-ban and it agreed to hear the case of the Christian Colorado baker who refused his services to a gay couple. SCOTUS will attend to both cases after their summer recess, during which time hopefully none of them will die.
The Supreme Court, let it be noted, does not have to hear this case. The Colorado Civil Rights Commission and the American Civil Liberties Union both urged SCOTUS to reject the baker’s appeal. Also, as mentioned above, SCOTUS is old, man; too old to be trifling with some whiny bigot’s tantrum. Over half of the justices are older than my parents, who are of retirement age. One could make the argument that the Supreme Court’s limited lifespans could be better spent on cases of greater import, but since we are living in The Darkest Timeline and Neil Gorsuch never met a freedom of religion case that didn’t get his dick hard, we’re going ahead with this nonsense.
What brought my attention to this case was the baker’s claims that forcing him to bake for a same-sex couple would be infringing upon his creative expression.
I’ve watched enough Chef’s Tables to know that cooking can be a profound expression of oneself and invoke sensations not dissimilar to the experience of viewing a great work of art. I think of the Buddhist nun, Jeong Kwan, who says “With food we can share and communicate our emotions. It’s that mindset of sharing that is really what you’re eating. There is no difference between cooking and pursuing Buddha’s way.”
But wedding cake? Gurl.
Do you have profound memories of every wedding cake you’ve ever eaten? No, because it’s fucking cake. You eat it, continue to get drunk, have a lengthy cry in the bathroom and vomit, like you do at any wedding. Nobody looks back on a wedding cake with profound reverence.
But, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m a pastry philistine and cannot recognize great cake-art when I see it. I wanted to find out, so I went to Masterpiece Cakeshop’s website and looked at pictures of their work to see if I could get a clear idea of their artistic merit and specifically to see if the cakes were a reflection of the baker’s unshakeable religious beliefs.
This cake is a sexy lady cake waiting for a hunky male cake to ravish it with its cake-penis, just as the Lord intended. Don’t get turned on by the lady cake’s partial state of undress, for cake-fucking is a sin as stated in the Bible by…wait, the Bible says nothing about cake-fucking? Never mind, then. Proceed to rock that cake-vagina like a hurricane, just as the Lord intended.
What could be less gay than a quouple of pink be-dotted delicacies festooned with flowers? This tasteful display is invocative of the classic Southern tragicomedy Steel Magnolias, the least gay movie of all time.
Nothing gay about this fabulousness.
This cake isn’t gay, it just likes to dance! The straight kind of dancing, with no hips!
This cake is…look, if you can’t see how clearly heteronormative and Christ-like this cake is, then you clearly don’t get art.
In conclusion: I guess cakes are just really gay. There’s no way you can make a cake not look gay unless you make a cake-sculpture depicting penis-in-vagina penetration. Sorry, Masterpiece Cakes, but your business has been nothing but one big, frosted pride parade from its inception. Maybe switch over to bread? Or Communion wafers? Whatever helps you feel better about yourself. Case closed.
*image via Cakes And Bunting