[brightly] "So let's just get started, shall we?
"First of all, you should note that I often use the words 'ice' and 'frost' interchangeably. So you brown-nosing idiots with the bags of ice can just go dump those in the sink. Yes, now. Thank you.
"Okey dokey, I will now hold up the results of yesterday's pop quiz and mock you each accordingly. And since I can't be bothered to remember your names, I've assigned you each a nickname based on the individual horrors of what I will laughingly call your 'cakes.'
"Let's start with you, Mr. Gap-Cracky."
"Yes, you. Your name is now 'Mr. Gap-Cracky' because I've seen less gaping holes in some of your hipster friends' jeans. Ever heard of a spatula? Or do you coil all your icing at home?
"Oh, be quiet; that was rhetorical.
"Next up is Ruffles."
"My dear, how is it that you managed to change the colors of your icing, but not the tip on your pastry bag? Is that leaf tip glued in place? Or are you just sentimentally attached to making really, really ugly things?
"Oh, you think that's funny, Stegosaurus? How about we look at *your* cake?
"Do you know why your nickname is 'Stegosaurus,' son? No? It's because the Stegosaurus has a brain the size of a walnut. What'd you, spread this with your feet?
[rubbing temples] "And next we have Sprinkles."
[sighing] "I would lambaste you with a withering criticism, Sprinkles, but I can see from your vacant expression that intelligent thought is lost on you. So just give me your sprinkles jar and go sit in the back. Go on. There's a good boy.
"I have to hand it to you, Ms. Puff n' Stuff; if I hadn't cut into your cake I might not have discovered your deception:
"Gopher guts, girl, I've seen meringue pies with less filling! What are you, some kind of plant sent by an insulin manufacturer? Are you trying to kill us all?
"What's that? You like icing? Well, Duncan Hines, girl, *I* like my pancreas. You think we can reach some kind of compromise that doesn't include me in diabetic shock? Hm?
"And finally, for your final classmate, I'm afraid I ran out of clever nicknames.
"So I'm just going to call you Crap Pile, son. Judging by this cake, I'm sure you're accustomed to answering to much worse.
"Ok, class, time for you to get back to your bakeries and ruining the happy occasions of cake lovers everywhere. Have fun. I'll just be here, weeping for your clients."
Hey, Courtney H., Kristi R., Gaye E., Jennette F., Jennifer V., & Val S., check it out; apparently the good teacher here also moonlights as a therapist: