As the silly season commences, morning teas all across the country are infiltrated by the most notorious snack in the game – the fruit cake. Resistance is futile and eventually, you’ll succumb to the will of a kindly old office lady and be forced to bite into the baffling popular fruity log of shit.
Anyone who has also been betrayed by a “mince pie” will know the rich blend of dried fruit, nuts, cardboard and whatever the fuck else they add to these abominations.
To add to the offputting mix of moist trail mix, the fruit cake is particularly unsettling given its shelf life. Much like Rasputin, these cakes are impossible to kill and offer the same culinary experiences months after being gifted one by your grandma.
Scientific bodies have confirmed that the current stock of fruitcake is expected to outlast civilisation itself, with boffins predicting a dystopian future full of mutants, cockroaches, and slabs of inedible fruity garbage.
Alarmingly, if we continue to manufacture fruitcake without a viable source of disposal the atmosphere itself may be choked and we can look forward to that apocalyptic hellscape sooner than later.
Every now and then you’ll meet a fruit cake enthusiast that will decry their devotion to the cult of petrified cake. They will swear that all you need to do to really enjoy a slice is to drown it in the cheapest brandy money can buy.
If you entertain their diabolical palate they may even lead you down a rabbit hole you wish you hadn’t gone down. Fruit cake enthusiasts also will try to get you to eat a piece with a big slice of sharp cheddar.
It’s unclear whether these people enjoy eating or just want to run a fuck train on their tastes buds. Nevertheless, they will swear to whatever heathen god they worship that this is a taste sensation.
Stay safe out there.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?