Skinny Bitches Don't Make Fabulous Cupcakes

If you want an amazingly yummy cupcake, do yourself a favor.  Bypass the skinny bitch and find yourself a woman on the chubby side.  Personally, I'm reluctant to let women with a BMI of less than 25 cook for me.  I don't trust them.  What if they try to make my cupcakes organic, low-fat, or (horrors!) gluten-free?

There's a reason Paula Deen has diabetes and the body of, well, Paula Deen.  Her food is freakin' kickass!  If Paula Deen were shaped like Madonna, you couldn't pay me to eat her food.  If Madonna made cupcakes, that bitch would probably put applesauce and tofu and carob and shit in them.  Cupcakes should be made with butter and sugar and, if you're feeling frisky, beer!

Why yes, I'd love some fried pork products in butter sauce!

Kill it!  Kill it with fire!

In fact, if you see a woman browsing the baking aisle of the supermarket with a butt as big as Alabama, you should follow her home and get her to bake for you.  You will never regret this.  (Unless she freaks out about the being followed part and pounds you into an indistinct grease spot.  'Cause that's a possibility.  In fact, women on the curvy side are probably much better at scrapping than tiny waifs.  So, yeah, you might regret it a little bit.) 

If you're that concerned with your health, kindly step away from the cupcakes and find a bran muffin.  Or a salad.  Here are some cupcakes I recently made.  Full of sugar and butter and three kinds of booze!  They're based on the Irish Car Bomb cupcakes I found here with some slight modifications.  First, the batter is made with Lagunitas Cappuccino Stout.  Then I made the ganache filling with heavy cream and Knob Creek Bourbon (because I feel like I need to take up drinking bourbon).  The frosting is made with Bailey's Irish Cream, and a ton of sugar of course. 

I do try to be healthy, though.  Unfortunately my coworkers staged a rebellion and I was forced to make brownies (from scratch, of course, and with more chocolate than flour). That got them off my case until the weekend when I had time to make the Irish Car Bombs.  Apparently, you don't get nurses used to delicious baked goods and then make them wait weeks for another batch.  There's really nothing worse than a group of pissed off nurses. 

In the interest of not alienating my skinny friends, I'd like to note that there ARE exceptions.  I'm talking to you, sweetie.  Yes, you.  Really.  I simply adore your low-fat gluten-free treats.

Rule #2:  If you have to choose between baked good made by a skinny bitch or a curvy bombshell, pick the girl with the 'Bama butt.