A Couple Served Pizza “Cake” At Their Wedding And They’re Officially The Worst People Alive

Dear Pizza-Loving Lovers,

Weddings are a trade-off. You get to rub your supposed marital joy directly in the faces of your family and friends (and Facebook feed) for an entire day, and we pretend to be happy for you. In return for our cooperation, you owe it to your guests to deliver on certain traditions: an open bar, hot groomsmen to keep us entertained, and the excuse to binge on wedding cake until our Spanx threaten to split open. Unless you’re some romantic idiot, free alcohol and cake are literally the only reason to sit through the torture of a wedding ceremony, but you had the nerve—the audacity—to serve a pizza “cake” at your wedding. I ask you: What the fuck?

Obviously, betches love pizza. Fucking everyone loves pizza. That’s why there’s a pizza place on every corner of every street in America. It’s so cheap that you can get a slice for a single dollar, which is like half the reason pizza is the perfect drunk-binge food. Waking up hungover and surrounded by pizza boxes means you’re out, like, $30 at most for the food (and $90 for the vodka, but whatever). But pizza at a wedding is an abomination.

Yes, weddings are expensive, but really? You’re so broke you had to order a bunch of delivery pizza like it’s your 11th birthday party and you couldn’t convince your mom to take you to Chuck E. Cheese? I barely understand the meaning of the word “budget,” but even I know that if you’re that strapped for cash, you can just fire the DJ and make a Spotify playlist for the reception.

Instead, you served pizza. As I already pointed out, drunk pizza binges are practically an American tradition, so I guarantee 95 percent of your single guests had eaten it in their hotel rooms the night before, when they were drinking away their fear of dying alone. You think they were excited when they saw you bring out four fucking pizzas stacked on top of each other instead of a wedding cake?

The answer is clearly no, they were not. I don’t care if it was “what pizza dreams are made of”—everyone was expecting cake, and you reneged on that promise. And how did that work, BTW? Did you bring the “cake” out after everyone had already eaten dinner like a couple of monsters? Have some fucking respect for the people who are currently showering you with wedding gifts you clearly don’t deserve. 

By the way, despite what you may believe, a gelato option—which they served—doesn’t make up for the lack of wedding cake. Sure, it tastes good, but the two foods are in no way equivalent. Bingeing on cake at the reception is an integral part of eating your feelings before you progress to drinking away your feelings and banging the semi-hot bartender in your car when the maid of honor calls dibs on the one hot groomsman. Bingeing on gelato just gives you a brain freeze. Do you see how these two activities are not equivalent?

Honestly, I’m not sure why there wasn’t a revolt immediately after the “cake” was brought out. Are your friends that polite? Was everyone so wasted they had already reached the pizza bingeing point of the night? Either way, please spend your honeymoon considering how to word your apology letters, and repeat after me: Pizza will never count as cake.


Dr. Frankenbetch

A Strongly Worded Letter To The Girl Who’s Still Posting About Her Vacation

Dear World Traveler,

I would say welcome back, but I get the feeling you’re not all that happy to be here. Although nobody’s excited to come back from vacation, you’re taking the whole “take me back!” thing too far—so far the light of acceptable behavior won’t reach you for millions of years. Allow me to walk you through every faux pas you’ve committed since returning from your international vacay.

First, let’s talk about the endless Instagrams. While you were out of the country, I was forgiving of your habit of posting multiple times a day. Sure, it’s fucking annoying and better suited to Snapchat, but what’s the point of going somewhere cool for vacation if you can’t rub it in everyone’s faces back home? But as much as you may pretend otherwise, you’ve been home for weeks now. Stop posting pics like you’re still traipsing around Thailand. Literally everyone knows you’re back at the office, largely because you won’t shut up about how you’re saving up to go abroad again. If you must post your 342nd bikini pic in a week, at least have the decency to tag it #tbt.

Let’s also discuss this obsession with blending in with the locals. You’re not Beyoncé. Not a single resident in any given country gives a shit whether you specifically come visit. Tourism is an industry; as long as dumb Americans are spending their money in some way, the locals you so heroically befriended (read: followed around) couldn’t care less that you’re, like, super in tune with their culture. Newsflash: You’re not! I don’t care if you consider yourself a “traveler” instead of a tourist—either way, you don’t fucking live there. Partying with your surf instructor and learning how to order coffee in another language doesn’t make you an honorary citizen any more than twerking made Miley Cyrus black.

While we’re on the subject, everyone knows the U.S. grows shitty coffee; you don’t need to keep comparing it to the espresso you drank in your favorite café every morning. Suck it up and go to Starbucks like the rest of us.

Then there’s the one-upping. Good God, the one-upping. Not only do you find the excuse to turn every single conversation into a story from your vacation, but you refuse to entertain the possibility that anyone in the history of white girls visiting exotic party locales had a better time than you. Honestly, the only upside to this is your expression when someone busts out a story you can’t top. 

In conclusion, I get it. Visiting another country is super fucking cool. But there’s a time and a place for bragging about your newfound worldly sophistication, and you flew past both a long time ago. Save the vacay pics for your grandma—nobody else cares.

We Will Not “Take You Back”,

The Betches

A Strongly Worded Letter Happy Birthday Collages

To the girl who just posted that clearly very time-consuming collage, 

We couldn’t help but notice it’s your best friend’s birthday. We don’t know this because we’re also friends with your bestie, or because we got a notification that it’s her birthday. No. We know this because you evidently went back in time and gathered every single photo you’ve ever taken together and slapped in into a collage-making program, then posted it on her wall for all of us to see. AND you tagged her in it. Like, okay. We know the whole “happy birthday” post situation was a big deal when writing on Facebook walls was actually a thing (and when Facebook walls were still a thing) and people uploaded new albums like, every two weeks, but that was a lifetime ago and it’s time to move on. Everyone knows it’s not cool to be overly active on social media anymore. I mean, just ask Kim K.

Here’s the thing. Your 35-photo birthday collage is excessive, and no one can even see any of the photos because you tried squeezing so many into one fucking frame. I mean, did we really need to see the same skinny arm pose of you guys from every semi-formal, Halloween, and New Years photoshoot from the last four years?

Oh, and don’t even pretend you’re actually posting this for your friend’s benefit. Do you even know how old she’s turning? I mean do you actually know without having to check her birth date on Facebook and do the math? Yeah, didn’t think so. If you were going to assault our eyes with this obnoxious collage, you could have at least pretended you did it for your friend’s benefit. For one, you could have chosen some pictures where her eyes were actually open—even if you didn’t look as skinny in that one. We know you compiled all of your best shots on your phone in the hopes that people will find this collage, actually look at it, zoom in on your face, and be like, “Wow, she looked great in Cabo that time. She prob looks like this everyday.”

And while we’re on the subject, could you at least vary up the word choice a little bit? If I have to see another post that starts with “From freshman year frat parties to our first real job and beyond” I’m gonna vomit. I get that you love your bestie, and that she’s “practically your sister from another mister,” but could you at least try to be original? I know that’s a lot to ask, coming from two people who pose the exact same way in every picture, but at least do it for my benefit if not for your bestie’s. 

Happy Birthday To Your Bestie (I Guess),

The Betches