When I came across the glazed, psychotic looks on the faces of these cake-wielding women an involuntary shiver ran through my body. This sort of maniacal happiness only appears under two sets of circumstances: mom's gotten into her kids stash of brown acid or we're dealing with the Stepford Wives. I'm not sure which, but neither possibility makes me want to run out to my local appliance store to buy a new Hotpoint Pushbutton Range.
I do wonder if its coincidence that the hot burner element behind the women forms a glowing, hypnotic spiral...stare into the spiral...you want a new range...you want cake...you will obey...
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