I am the body, I am the blood, I am dessert: 1970's most astonishing cakes

Categories: Studies in Crap
Each Thursday, your Crap Archivist brings you the finest in forgotten and bewildering crap culled from basements, thrift stores, estate sales and flea markets. I do this for one reason: Knowledge is power.
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A stack of Mail Box News magazines

Date: 1970
Publisher: Maid of Scandinavia
Discovered at: Thrift store
Representative Quote:
"Mobile homes are really the homes of the future, according to those 'in the know.' This mobile home cake is a scale model of a relative's new home. The cake is give a siding-like finish and trimmed with brown icing." (page 24, September, 1970.)

Before anything else, here's that mobile home cake, just one of the hundreds of proto-Cake Wrecks waiting to confound readers of Mail Box News.

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And you thought a "trailer park dessert" meant a Mountain Dew with a side of ranch. The cake, created by Mrs. M. J. Degenhardt of Wisconsin, was 30 inches long, 8 inches wide, and apparently the inspiration for the future's power-strips and surge protectors.

Then as now, the magazine celebrates creative cakes, many submitted in photos by readers. (In much the same way that Penthouse rarely covers high-end apartments, Mail Box News is not at all about mailboxes.)

Many of these cakes are lovely, but we'll overlook them in favor of the ill-advised. Cleverly dying whipped cream the yellowish-white of Swiss cheese, this cake's creator enlivened her daughter's birthday with all the fun of a public-health crisis.

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When mice burst from your cheeses, you call an exterminator or animal control. But where do you turn when your party is ruined by Bottom, the Bend-Over-and-Take-It Clown?

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Remarkably, this is not the first crucified-clown cake in the Crap Archives.

Or the last:

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This next one explains why dad couldn't make it to your party.

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Sweet teddy bear . . .

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. . . or multi-armed eastern god of the melting crotch?

Animal carcasses are always a hit. Who wouldn't enjoy a birthday turdfish?

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Or this, seemingly designed to encourage you to eat an apple instead?

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But even in the easy-going seventies, decent people most likely frowned on this tribute to the birth canal.

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Constructing this next one involved tree branches, Contact paper, plywood, maseonite, screws and "little fairies with a granddaughter's name at the bottom of each." Also, the year had to be 1970. The result:

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"The Sex Dance of the Scrubbing Bubbles."

Ever wonder how your baked goods would turn out if you had to use a pterodactyl's beak as your mixing bowl?

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Finally, my two favorites. First, beatnik Slimer.

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And this last one has inspired my first play, Honest Abe and the Case of the Misfit Toys.

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Abraham Lincoln: "Good evening, Santa, Merlin, Evil Clown, Little Dutch Boy, Nanny McPhee, Noseless Boy Scout, Pervert Rabbit, Uncle Sam, and Marshmallow Snowman With a Hitler Mustache. I've called you all here this evening to reveal a shocking truth: the murderer is among us, right on this very cake."

Much love to Cake Wrecks!

[The Crap Archivist lives in Kansas City, where he originates his on-line Studies for the Voice's sister paper, The Pitch.]


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