Dear Santa, The cake you sent arrived in perfect condition, as I write this message it is currently being assaulted by all members of my family (including the smallest). The cake was damn good, but I now fear for my life as the only word I can hear or think about is "cake". Therefore, let me...

Cake cake cake cake, cake cake cake cake cake cake. Cake, cake cake cake cake.

So I leave you with this poem by Kaleb Beardsley:

The answer is cake

THE ANSWER IS CAKE

WHY AM I ALWAYS HUNGRY I DO NOT KNOW I ALWAYS EAT PIZZA AND I STILL DO NOT KNOW I DON’T GET WIDER OR THINNER WHO WILL EVER KNOW

I EAT PIZZA I EAT STARBUCKS I EAT TACO BELL I EAT SUBWAY I EAT TEXAS ROADHOUSE AND I AM STILL HUNGRY

WHAT CAN CURE MY HUNGER PIZZA? NO STARBUCKS?NO TACO BELL? NO SUBWAY? NO TEXAS ROADHOUSE? NO A CAKE…? PROBABLY

UM, A CAKE A CAKE SOUNDS GOOD NOW, SOMEBODY NEEDS TO BUY ME A CAKE