The photo above came from a Sadvertising reader. It's of her friend's daughter's birthday cake. Ok, it's not really a cake but one of those ice-cream things sold by Dairy Queen.
You know, you've got to hand it to DQ - they sure do step up to the plate and try. Kind of like parents, who enroll their kid in every conceivable sport program - you know, for his self-esteem and all - only to slump in defeat when they finally realize, "Damn. We gave birth to a band kid."
But that's life. And business. When the franchisor sees the lucrative custom-cake segment going to all those little old ladies and grocery stores that have edible-ink cake printers...
"We can do that, too!"
And so here you go. Little Cindy's Barbic cake! In typical franchisor-minded, politically-correct fashion, too! Why, Barbic is part Eskimo, African-American, Asian, Norwegian, Scottish...and even German Rottweiler! And Persian Cat!
And down-on-her-luck Showgirl!
Can you imagine the party? A flutter of little party girls giggling and talking, readying for presents and treats... mom unveils the cake...then the stunned silence and prickly psychic static generated by the wordless wondering, "What the hell is that?!"
And little Jenny starts to cry.
Then Lauren.
Then Betsy says she has to go to the bathroom.
And Cindy...sweet little Cindy on her beautiful day asks, "Mommy? What did you do?" Cindy points at what Mommy now will forever refer to as The Thing...
"It's..." (mom inhales) "...$25 down the tube."
Cindy joins the wailing.
Meanwhile, far away, at a Dairy Queen, an hourly employee with no art training doesn't understand why he's suddenly consumed with guilt.
And Dairy Queen corporate issues a memo, "We've just licensed Justin Bieber's face for party cakes! Hurray!"
