Baked goods. Half-baked values.

No, we use boxed mixes — because unlike people, we believe recipes shouldn’t change. They come pre-measured, pre-approved, and resistant to modern reinterpretation. Just like scripture. You start letting folks add their “own spin” on things, next thing you know, cakes have pronouns and weddings have two grooms. We don’t bake from scratch — we bake from tradition - because why would you need to make things better than good enough?

No. God made flour and eggs — if you’re swapping them out, you’re basically accusing the Lord of bad recipe development. Allergies? That’s a spiritual shortcoming. Pray harder. We don’t support transitioning ingredients just because your body “feels different.” At this bakery, cake is between two eggs, one cup of water, and a deeply traditional higher power. And frankly, if God didn’t want flour to be white, He would’ve made it otherwise.

If it’s one of those flamboyantly happy weddings with open communication, mutual respect, and two grooms who planned everything six months in advance — we simply can’t compete. It’s not fair. Straight marriages are struggling. We’re out here dry-heaving through gender roles and hoping our partner doesn’t forget our anniversary again, and now we’re supposed to clap while you twirl down the aisle in matching velvet blazers? If you are a straight like me, then yes, we’d be delighted.

People these days want to change everything: their names, their pronouns, their frosting colors. But we believe what goes in is what comes out — unless it’s cake batter, obviously. That transforms completely, but that’s baking, not biology. God made flour white, eggs yolky, and people unchanging — never mind that every ingredient we use changes under heat, pressure, and time. But sure, if your kid turns out layered, rich, and complex, we’ll assume it’s demonic — not development.

Absolutely not. If you want my cake or my approval, you better come crawling — I don’t do delivery, I do ultimatums. Meeting people where they’re at? That’s liberal nonsense. If Jesus could carry a cross, you can carry your own shame to my porch. I don’t move an inch for sinners, family, or facts. You’ll find no empathy here — just boxed cake, iron-clad opinions, and a woman who thinks compromise is how the devil gets in. If you want dessert, repent. If you want delivery, pray harder. I’m not the problem — you’re just lazy and wrong.