You sly fucking bastard. You incredible, beautiful beast. record scratch You might be asking yourself how I got here, sitting in my living room with a fork in Val Kilmer's crying face. It's a long story.

Background: I love cake and I tolerate Benadryl fairly well. All of that culminates in the strange description I wrote in my Val Kilmer exchange information which rambled on about an imaginary date I had planned with the poor guy involving an animal shelter, brunch, a cake with his face on it, and beer made from his tears, and then I promptly forgot about it and went about my day to day life, cakeless and bored.

And then the messages started coming. They were cryptic at first. I didn't know if Val Kilmer himself was wooing me from afar. But then a pattern appeared. There was a mission in place. A destination. A package to pick up. The messages continued. We discussed sandwiches and sandwich-related controversy.

The day came. It was a rainy Sunday, it was gloomy. I pre-gamed with brunch and a bomb-ass Mexican coffee. I walked into the shop. I glanced at the receipt- "tear drops on the cake."

What is happening.

We opened the box at home and promptly FLIPPED A SHIT, because not only did it have Val Kilmer's face on it, it had TEARDROPS ALL OVER THE CAKE, thus proving that there is still magic in the world and the magnificent staff at the Bean Counter procured Val Kilmer's ethereal tears via my mysterious conduit so that I could bask in the joy and wonder of Huckleberry.

Santa, you have made my week and inadvertently provided me with a new band name; "Tear Drops on the Cake". But more importantly, you have intrigued and surprised me, and I cannot possibly thank you enough for that. I want to write more, so much more, but I have to go eat Val Kilmer's neck now. I love you. I love you so much it hurts.