War

On July 4th, our cities recreate battlefields, covered in gunsmoke and chemical agents, every man competing for glory against those who used to be his neighbors and now, frankly, are the enemy. I love it. I think its the best thing ever. I think every man for himself and the virgins to the victor. Unless he's blown his thing off by then.

This is the cake Buddy made, the night we went to battle on the mean streets of Old Brooklyn. And by battle I mean drank a lot while wearing glowstick bracelets, playing Rockband, and being bit up by mutant bugs on the weed infested hills of the river valley. Seriously, some shitty thing bit me on the tip of my thumb.

Buddy is, obviously, better at making cakes than you.