The Cake

As a man, I admit that I love Phil. We’ve been together for years. I just wanted to celebrate our love. First, certain arrangements had to be made.

Looking through the yellow pages, I found a bakery nearby.

So I drove down to order a cake.

“What can we do for you?” the baker asked.

I explained the situation.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t think we can help you.” He said he simply couldn’t condone my lifestyle choices.

“But it’s my life to live how I see fit!” I exclaimed.

“That’s true, but I don’t agree with it, and ain’t gonna be seen endorsing it,” he answered.

“It’s just a cake,” I pleaded.

He replied, “If you just want the cake, we can do that. But the writing, you’ll be doing yourself.”

I left, steaming mad. How dare he pass judgement on me!

I tried another baker.

And yet another, with the same results!

FINALLY, on my fourth attempt, I found one. A bakery that would supply the cake, writing and all.

I picked it up the following Friday. It was perfect. I’m so happy I found that last baker. One who not only didn’t mind my lifestyle, but also shared in it himself.

I decided to put a candle in the center of the cake.

Right in the middle of the writing, “I LOVE YOU, PHILLIP MORRIS”

I lit the candle, then lit a Marlboro.

Ahh, if only everyone knew the joy of being a smoker.