True Story©... The Bakery


     It seems that these days you can’t swing a cat without hitting a “bakery refuses same-sex couple” byline in the news.  They ALWAYS end ugly, with the same-sex couple suing under anti-discrimination grounds and the bakery citing religious freedom and first amendment protections on their part.  Sure, their first amendment protections specifically suggest “fuck your first amendment protection up the ass” (pun totally intended), but no one seems to have time to explore that element.

     Following my ouster over titties and my inability to get up the funding through the generosity of others more recently, I decided that I have been spending too much time trying to create a niche that did not yet exist when I could have been working more diligently at exploiting one that was right in my face.
Sure, I don’t exactly bake very well and my oven in the house is only so big, but I can follow simple enough directions and I had myself an idea…


     …  I am going to EXCLUSIVELY bake cakes for same-sex couples.

     I registered my company name, “Love is Love Bakery” making it as ambiguous as possible to shore up as much foot traffic as possible until word of mouth could take over,  I worked from my FaceBook and a Metro cellphone until I could get myself established into some better marketing, I bought a giant-fuck bag each of flour and sugar and I sat home and waited.
     My first call came from a lady looking to ask a few questions…

Lady: “Hi, is this Love is Love Bakery?”
Me: “Indeed it is.”
Lady: “Wonderful! We hadn’t heard of you before in the area, and no one we knew had anything to say, you must be new?”
Me: “Correct again, ma’am.”
Lady: “Well, I am getting married in six months and my fiancé and I were looking for someone to handle the cake making for us.  We love the idea of staying local and away from chains for such things and would love to meet with you to taste some sample flavors and hash out the decorations.”
Me: “And I would love to meet with you for the chance to get some of you and your fiancé’s money, haha.  We can set up a time whenever is convenient for you and I will run down the list of flavors I have available for you and your fia--…  Wait, is that fiancé with one E or fiancée with two?”
Lady: “What’s the differene?”
Me: “Fiancé with one E is a man who is engaged to be married and fiancée with two is a woman who is engaged to be married.  I can hope to infer from your voice that you are of the two-E variety, but what about your other half?”
Lady: “Well--…  Wow, I never knew that, but I guess he would be a one-E.”
Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am…  We only do wedding cakes for same-sex couples.”
Lady: “But--…”
Me: “Sorry, company policy.  We are here for the cast-out who can’t seem to get a fair enough shake in Trump’s America with the simplest of accommodations for their special day.”
Lady: “But--…”
Me: “What did you think ‘Love is Love’ meant in our name?”
Lady: “Woooow.”
Me: “Is there anything else I could help you with today?”
Lady: “You haven’t helped me and it doesn’t seem you intend to.”
Me: “Good day ma’am, I wish you all the luck with your husband to be.”
Lady: “…”

That went smoother than I thought it might have…

… or so I thought.

TWENTY SEVEN FUCKING MINUTES after I finished that phone call, my doorbell rings and Bruiser goes all the way nuts.  It is 2pm on a Wednesday, so I check the blinds out front to see whose car is in front of my house.  To my surprise, there are SEVEN cars, with people holding signs and shit all the way out to and in the road!
Apparently the lady took to complain about my oddly specific knowledge about when to use how many Es in fiancé/fiancée and that I refused to make a cake for her and her future husband.

     As with anything, it fell on the wrong ears and every group of church folk with nothing better to do than to harass the fuck out of a small business owner decided to come to my place of business house and protest.

     I didn’t answer the door, but they refused to leave, trying to wait me out on the chance that I would eventually HAVE to leave the house or something.  I tried to run them off like I do Jehova’s Witnesses, by putting porn on in the big TV and speakers and blasting it.  No dice.
I tried to call the cops and see what they could do.  Two off-duty cops were apparently imbedded in the angry mob.

C’mon…  Think, Phillip, think.

     A three hour standoff in which I have done nothing illegal ensues.  No shots fired, no violence whatsoever.  Just some people walking around with their bibles out, singing specifically-picked hymns louder than my porn was playing.
WHY THE FUCK AREN’T MY NEIGHBORS COMPLAINING?!!?

     Finally, I walked out the house.  With my own bible out.

“… for I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me drink. I was a stranger, and you took me in. I was naked, and you clothed me. I was sick, and you visited me. I was in prison, and you came to me.

The faces in the crowd looked at me incredulously.
I continued…

Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry, and feed you; or thirsty, and give you a drink? When did we see you as a stranger, and take you in; or naked, and clothe you? When did we see you sick, or in prison, and come to you?

A couple of people saw where this was headed and tried to break out.  I reminded them that they were invited to stay if they wanted to talk it out.  They turned and stood where they were.  I finished…

I tell you, because you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’ Then he will say also to those on the left hand, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire which is prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry, and you didn’t give me food to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me no drink; I was a stranger, and--…”

I didn’t even get to finish.  The entire raucous crowd had been whooped with their own language and peace was restored to my home.
Oh, I am still broke and have yet to sell ONE single cake, but I am still open for business!
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