Besides improving my diabeetus-making skills, I was also able to work on my shitty self-control with desserts. Don’t judge me, fucker.
How many Cadbury eggs will you eat while you make this dessert? If you eat less Cadbury eggs than what you put into the cheesecake, go fuck yourself.
Use this handy formula to know what you should do with yourself while you make this dessert:
# of Cadbury eggs you ate < # of Cadbury eggs you didn’t eat = go fuck yourself, you cunty health nut.
I felt a little stronger when I mixed the smashed up eggs with the rest of the diabeetus. It kind of felt like flushing the last pack of cigarettes down the toilet.
At first my mom thought the cake message was cute, but then she thought about it too much and asked if I was blaming my divorce on her. Oh, mother, you don’t understand my jokes. I’m not sure where my fucked-up sense of humor came from. Probably too many hours on the Interwebs.
My mother is very supportive. She tried to read this blog once, and made it through a whole entry before she decided that was enough. If my mother used “the F-word” she would probably say I’m pretty fucked-up, but, you know, in a loving way.
It didn’t really look too much like a cheesecake, but whatever everyone got to have the ‘beetus.
I thought this cheesecake would be amazing, but it was a big fuckin’ let down. It wasn’t that good of a cheesecake and it ruined my Cadbury eggs. I wouldn’t put my dick in this again. I mean, I wouldn’t put it in my mouth again.