Hurry up the Cakes is BACK from Singapore! I know I promised bite-sized updates via my Twitter (@mikeyllorin), but too many things happened over in Singapore, and we hadn’t enough time. Still, follow me anyway.
But now, here I am, tired, full, and happy. It had been a hell of a trip, so expect big posts in the coming days. Mostly about food.
In the meantime, I leave you with this. My iPad was hijacked at some point in the four days we were there, and I found two mysterious letters on my Notes app. I presume they were from fans of Hurry up the Cakes. Such sweet fellows, they were! Find out what they said (and my response) after the break.
You are the sunshine of my life. Even if you are an Indian. Take me to the candy shop, but don’t make me smell you.
Goodest morrow, my fair fellow!
We are indeed a hilarious triple. Don’t fret my darling, your plumage will come back. You will be a magnificent bird once more. Have faith, little one. Your potential is boundless. Except by that pesky lemming that you have on your tail. Do try to let go of that one, dear friend. Don’t be fooled by the rocks that he’s got. He’s still Jennifer from the flock. HE IS STILL JENNIFER FROM THE FLOCK.
You smell like roasted marshmallows. And I smell like onion rings, double fried in duck fat and dipped in bleu cheese. Say it BLU-EUH. Come out to see you, tell me you love me, you don’t how lucky you are.
Your pores are shaped like doughnuts in heaven. Your gaze makes me shiver like the Indian goddess Shiva. Do you know where we can find you some ponchos?
How come you never tell me that your bluer than blue? Sadder than sad? That I’m the only light your empty world has ever had? Do you think *things* are less meaningful when there was meaning enough to begin with?
Spider monkeys make me smile like a baboon. Which is strange because they are both of the orangutan descent. Three year olds can go up the stairs, but they can’t go down. I miss children. When I have all the money in the world, I’m going to work at a preschool. I’m going to lead circle time everyday and sing the bumblebee song:
I’m bringing home baby bumblebee, won’t my mommy be so proud of me. Ouch! It stung me! (that’s what she said) Catch the bumblebee. I’m squishing the baby bumblebee, won’t my mommy be so proud of me. Ew. It’s sticky. Leh Leh Leh Leh Leh Leh Leh Leh Leh. Mmmmmm tastes yummy!
Your handsome friend,
Dearest Mlargblargblar and George,
I love you. I love both of you. I love all of you. Please remember to always hurry up the cakes.
Your best friend,
P.S. And keep the fan mail coming!