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The Christmas Misfits: Sprinkles the Birthday Cake

Hello all, and welcome to the second Christmas Misfit, I hope you enjoyed Buddy, and I’m so excited for you to read the next one: Sprinkles! I had so much fun developing this concept from a small idea, and I hope you see the point of difference in each story! This series took many drafts to complete, but by re-drafting and taking on feedback, I aimed to grow and develop as a writer! As always I hope you enjoy, AND I hope that you are having a wonderful day and that you’re enjoying the Chrissy season!


All right, you little whippersnappers. Sit down, I’ve got a story to tell. Do you even remember me; do you know who I am? You should, I’m at all of your birthdays. You ungrateful pests. I’m Sprinkles. Sprinkles, the Birthday Cake, as in the birthday cake, as in YOUR birthday cake. I’m the one you’d rather replace with envelopes of money. I’m the one who you blow spittle all over. The one who gets carved up by your parents to then be thrown into the dirty hands of all of your snotty little friends. Devoured and tossed away! ME! I was at your first birthday and I’ll be at your last.
When I’m not been paraded around or sung at or spat on – an occupational hazard from all of that wish blowing! – I sit in the Baked Goods division at Magical Foods ‘n’ Co, scratching my ass and waiting at your beck and call. When I’m not on a plate or at a gathering, I’m suffering on a shelf with a brainless broad to my left, who works as the Wedding Cake, and a waste-of-space peace-loving Chinese Fortune Cookie to my right. I’m here with these nitwits, doing my damndest NOT to throw them all into a pre-heated oven. It just fires me up inside. Which brings me to my next point:
Anger. Management. ANGER MANAGEMENT!
Of course I’m angry! First off, I’m forced to exist among these idiots. I’m obviously the most important. I’m the Birthday cake: granter of wishes, igniter of taste buds. It’s ‘supposed’ to be my job to make everyone feel special, wanted and loved.
But what about me? Which brings me to my second point: I do everything for you! Show up in my icing, provide you with the best day of the year and make your heart fill with a gooeyness that just makes me sick. Do you ever do the same for me? No, not at all. No one’s ever wished me a happy birthday. Not. ONCE! You’re all a bunch of spoilt schmucks!
I hope you feel bad. No one thinks of the Birthday Cake, do they? What does Sprinkles get? A few seconds of song, a little smile as the birthday boy or girl blows out their candles and then nothing. I’m consumed within minutes (or not, by those of you who pretend to not like cake) and not thought of again. Morons!
You inconsiderate little twerps make me ANGRY!
I’m forever working, I barely get any time to myself. Do you think I like looking this sweet all the time? No. WRONG-O! Oh, it makes me melt thinking about it.
Don’t you think that I want to hang up my strawberries, wipe off my frosting and let my sponge filling air out? I’m always there for you, for your friends, for your family, I’m here for everyone on this ruddy planet. So why is it so hard to give me the time of day, five minutes of your time, respond back to a letter, a morse code, a smoke signal?! I’m literally melting, the fury is sliding off of me. My frosted eyebrows are schlumping down, my cream filling is coming out of my tummy – I’m having to hold myself together – I do not need this!
This nonsense with ‘anger management’ is nothing but a waste of everyone’s time. I’m. Angry. I’m Sprinkles the Birthday Cake, and I’m angry. OF COURSE I’M ANGRY!!!!!!!!! And I will continue to be. No time, no affection, no appreciation, no thanks. I hope you good-for-nothing turds are happy!
The only creatures that give me the time of day and know how much I work are the Christmas elves. They work almost as hard as I bloody do! They’re the ones that baked me in the first place, you know. Before me there was no concrete way of keeping track of how old Saint Nick was. They used to place a candle for every year of his life on a shelf. A shelf? What fun is a shelf? A shelf hasn’t got my pizazz.
One year on the eve of Saint Nick’s birthday, hundreds of years ago, the elves thought up the idea to make something sweet for him, something to commemorate his years. Santa loves his desserts, so they whipped up me, the best thing that anyone could have thought of: a double-layered sponge cake, strawberry, with lots and lots of thick vanilla frosting. And they stuck the candles from the shelf on my head – the root of the tradition, by the way – but I’m sure you figured that out, smart-alecks!
When I came alive, the elves talked to me! For hours and hours, we talked. We talked about what I liked, and a lot about what I didn’t like. Those are my best memories, the best of times. Just reflecting brings sprinkles to my eyes!
So how about on your next birthday you have a good chinwag with me. A chit-chat, a good gossip session. It would show me that you actually appreciate what I do. That my efforts are worth it, that you actually want me at your parties. Make your day about me for once. I deserve it after all these years.
Duty calls. I’m off to be a seven-layered ice cream cake in Paraguay. Thanks for NOTHING, and I’ll see you next time on your special day*.

*My special day. DON’T forget it.


Worst Regards,
The Birthday Cake
‘You can have your cake, and eat me too… NOT.’
Magical Foods ‘n’ Co.
Baked Goods Division.

My Autobiography: “I Hate Everyone, Starting With YOU!” comes out Jan 24th.
Pre-order at:

  • The next Christmas Misfit debuts soon on The Knight Life.
  • This narrative was edited by my wonderful editor: Kayla Marie Murphy. Contact: for any inquiries.
  • Creative Credit for this image goes to Kushal Singh, whose Instagram you can follow at: Thank you so much Kushal for this wonderful collaboration!
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