Will you eat the cakey part?
What is it about New Yorkers having beer and cupcakes for people’s birthdays? Don’t get me wrong, I jump at the chance of bringing sweets to a bar. I relish having inebriated and starving vixens approach me, demanding, “Who are you? Give me a cupcake.” There’s no pause before they snatch one up and lick that cupcake a new asshole. Unfortunately, they don’t make it past the icing, and instead wander the bar looking for a “friend” to “eat [their] cakey part.” But the cake just winds up in a dark little corner, looking like a mouse nibbled on it for a bit and gave up. That rush of sugar must catalyze some kind of positive reaction for the already overworked liver, but this would happen with any lickable sweet. Why cupcakes, New Yorkers?
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