The world of bake sales is downright cutthroat. It’s like cock fighting, but with cookies. Beneath all the painstakingly creased cardigans, pumpkin spice body spritz, and freshly coifed I-want-to-speak-to-the-manager hairdos lies feral hearts—and they crave blood. Thankfully, after earning my stripes (and permanent scars) in this vicious sport, I’ve emerged with the perfect bake sale secret weapon.
But we’ll get to that.
I’m honestly not entirely sure why I even started participating in bake sales in the first place. It’s not like I have kids or actually care enough about anything to support a charity. In any case, I do remember it was a rough start. My first few sales were marred with nasty comments from helicopter moms and other assorted shrews. They spread horrible, baseless rumors that were only partly true.
“She smells poor!”
“Is she drunk? I’m pretty sure she’s drunk!”
“Watch your purse.”
“Okay, we’re fairly certain she has stolen two husbands, a vintage moped, and a thousand dollars worth of prescription drugs.”
“Why do we invite this absolute mess to these things again?”
Okay, horrible baseless rumors that are actually entirely true. But this isn’t a story about that. This is a redemption tale about how I won these horrible creatures over … and won at bake sales forever.
My Bake Sale Secret Weapon … Blood and Flesh
Despite what you see on Game of Thrones, killing people and feeding them to their relatives isn’t the sort of plan that comes naturally to the average person. Even when you drink cough syrup three meals a day like yours truly. However, preparing meals while impossibly intoxicated deserves some credit for putting me on the path to bake sale success.
It started with a tiny cut while baking. As you do. Actually the cut was probably more serious than that. Okay, fine you got me—I don’t remember how but I lost a whole finger while making a batch of cookies. But then the cookies sold like hotcakes! While mulling over what I could do to repeat my success, I did the math and realized I only had so many more fingers I could spare. I needed a more sustainable plan, and fast.
Next thing I know I’m killing people from my neighborhood and throwing them in a hole deep in the forest. I use what I can salvage, then burn the rest and mix their ashes with the flour. Only way to truly cover my tracks. Surprisingly, that really seemed to seal the deal for my recipes. Nobody can get enough of my muffins, cookies, and fruitcakes!
It’s almost like Helen and Brenda know, when biting into my prize snickerdoodles, that they’re eating what’s left of their cheating husbands and pool boys. The fact that these men cheated on them with me seems the furthest thing from their minds. (Pro tip: Don’t skimp on the cream of tartar if you want a perfect snickerdoodle, especially if you want to cancel out the taste of human).
Blood is relatively easy to flavor away, but the real trick is disguising the flavor of the ash. You don’t want people to think your food is burned! Especially if you inexplicably seek the approval of those joyless neighborhood harpies like I do. The ones who were so harsh on my cooking for so, so long. But you know, an extra dash of this, an extra pinch of that, and things turn out spectacular!
Some may even argue that the peculiar innovations I use to counter the taste of human remains are actually what brought me my success—not the remains themselves. But there’s no sense worrying about that now. Because then I’d have to stop the killing.