We've got a Klingon captain!

A few days ago my friend Mo-Balls asked me to make a birthday cake for her.

I was dreading it because I'm terrible at cooking sweet stuff. I tore around town in the morning, blowing way more money than I needed too (I should've checked... we had everything I needed and more at home) on ingredients and then getting to work.

I had a plan:

It was going to be awesome. Vanilla-y with chocolate icing and red decoration and stuff. I knew it wasn't going to go to plan because I'm me and I love to improvise on everything.

So I set up, with a trusty coke-and-chicken-fajita combo and my back up cake on the bench incase I cucked up and needed something to ice that didn't resemble a round, charred brick.

What can I say? It ended dismally. I got bored of waiting for the cake to cook and started playing 'Star Trek Meets The Mob' and then I decorated the cake, which turned out to be oddly picturesque in a vision-of-hell sort of way.

Afterwards I went outside to cool off and walked into a delivery man on the balcony, who took a look at me in my Donald Duck t-shirt, jeans, neon green socks, pink sparkly headband and skeleton apron and said "Well look at that! Someone normal lives around here after all".

Bonus pictures: Playing Star Trek.

Meets The Mob.