So I’ve been watching a lot of the show Cake Boss on Netflix and while part of me is absolutely amazed at all the stuff he can make out of cake, there is an even bigger part of me that just dreams of smashing all of his cakes. Not because they’re not beautiful, but because I have this deep urge to make everything awkward or horrible. He just spends so much time making all these objects out of cake and I just want to ruin them all and be like, “WHAT. IT’S STILL CAKE.”
I spend the majority of my days thinking up horrific “what if” situations and ways I could make a situation completely uncomfortable and awkward. I’m always thinking, “what would happen if I called that anorexic girl a fat ass?” or “what if I brought up her dead dad at her birthday party?” I just have this unhealthy obsession with wanting to find out how someone would react to a completely horrible and tasteless comment or situation. I’ve been pretty good about never actually following through with any of my horrible thoughts, but the more uncomfortable I am in a situation, the more jokes I start making.
That’s the main reason I don’t want to become famous. Because when you’re famous you have to meet those make a wish foundation kids and if I get around a 12 year old who’s dying, I’m just afraid my discomfort would cue the jokes. Then I’d derail my entire career because I’d have spent the majority of making their wish of meeting me come true with an afternoon of uncomfortable giggling and long pauses. And obviously I wouldn’t blame myself for my career going down the toilet. I’d blame the make a wish kid because they provoked my humor and they should’ve known what they were getting into when they decided their life’s goal was to meet me.
I mean come on, you hypothetical make a wish kid that’s already making my life hell. Go have someone helicopter you up Mt. Everest or something. You’re dying for god’s sake! You’re going to sit in a room with my awkward ass when you could be having tea with Mickey Mouse? Because I’m not going to take you to Disneyworld unless you can get us to the front of the line because you’re dying. Otherwise, you’d be lucky if I took you to the playplace at McDonald’s.
And I won’t watch your shoes if we go there, you’re going to have to put them in the cubby just like EVERYONE ELSE. Mary J. Berger doesn’t watch ANYONE’S shit, make believe or not.