Rainbow Fantasy Dalek Cupcakes Exterminate My Husband


1 husband obsessed with Doctor Who (Tom Baker is his god)

2 free hours (very rare–may need to kill for this)

1 box of rainbow cake batter mixed to package directions

vanilla icing


rainbow licorice cut into small pieces

blue sugar crystals

maraschino cherries sliced in half

24 candles



Blast rock music.  Pour rainbow batter into large and mini cupcake pans.  Throw pans in hot oven.  Chop cherries and licorice with maddening speed (butter knife recommended).  Dip ends of licorice in blue sugar.  These are the Dalek eyes–make them pretty!  Stick halved cherries on half of the candles to make the silly little plungers.  Set the other candles aside for the gun arms.

Pull cupcakes out of oven before then turn into carbon.  Ice big cupcakes and out them upside down on a tray.  Ice small cupcakes and add as heads.  Line up M&Ms in the bottom cupcakes for the hemispheres aka Dalek bumps that decorate their skirts.  Stick eyestalks into heads and candles into body–half plunger, half plain.  Top with sweet, little licorice ears.

Give your newly minted Daleks a pep talk.  Inform the that, though you did a terrible job on the icing, they are the supreme beings of the universe and all other lifeforms must be destroyed.

Find husband.  Line him up in front of tiny Dalek army.  Wait until his guard is down: “OMG, they’re adorable!”  Light the candles/gun arms on fire.  Sing “Happy Birthday” as you take cover.  Enjoy!


Frankencake Is Puttin’ on the Ritz

imageThe cookie box says no-bake.  “Add peanut butter,” it instructs. “Easy,” it says.  But you’re fresh out of Skippy and starting to get desperate.  Sugarblind, you dump the mix in a bowl and half the kitchen follows: eggs, butter, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla, flour, and salt.  You laugh maniacally as you slide the concoction into the oven.

“Fool,” they say.  “It can’t be done!”  But thirty minutes later, the bell chimes.  Lightning splits your neighbor’s tree.  Trembling, you pull that bubbling bundt from the oven and marvel in its vanilla-sweet glory.

You taste.  It’s good but…strange.  There’s an alien tang underlying the sweetness–subtle notes of weird.  You turn the no-bake cookie box over.  Soybean oil?  Who the heck puts soy in cookies?  And then it dawns on you.  You could’ve easily made a cake without the mix.  All the ingredients were there.  What is wrong with you?  

“Don’t worry,” you whisper, sprinkling powdered sugar over your monstrous creation. “They’ll except you.  They have to.  You’re the only dessert in the house, baby.  You’re going to be a star!”

Michelle Joyce Bond