X-Entertainment: Baking Cakes Shaped Like Alf Is Fun.

If you've spent enough time browsing the web today, there's a good chance you've grown just a wee bit tired of April Fool's Day pranks. Personally, I did find the temptation to do an article about how I had a sex change last week so I could finally use the cleaner women's bathroom hard to resist, but the joke would've hit a little too close to home and I don't want to give myself any ideas. Instead, I think we should create a new tradition for April Fool's Day. Something foolish, something in April, but gosh darn nangbit tutti - something fresh and something new.

I got nothin. Let's make a cake shaped like Alf.

Up above is a montage (Or is that collage? Montage sounded cooler.) of Wilton Cake Pans from years past. If you've ever had a birthday cake shaped like your favorite cartoon character or Hollywood monster, there's a good chance that your cake-baking Aunt Trudy was down wit da Wilty Wilton. These purports of statuesque pastry treats have been the long-running kings in the world of character-shaped cake pans, spanning Smurfs to Star Wars for decades upon decades. Now, the real question is this: does Wilton just love giving kids the kind of cakes they want, or did they stumble onto the forbidden knowledge that cake pans are secretly the most lucrative business known to mankind? Or is it a little bit of both? Whichever case, Wilton has probably provided you with at least a few of your favorite cakes from childhood, unless you had the kind of lazy parents who'd always buy that testicle-shaped cookie cake from Carvel year after year. For the purists, it was Wilton or bust. Remember that, folks. It's an important point.

WILTON ... OR BUST!

Within the sea of themed super-pans existed one so inherently glorious that I firmly believe God made a critical error in having the females of the world give birth to more babies when they so clearly should be giving birth to more cake pans shaped like Alf. Lord knows I'd be more open to those middle-of-the-night hospital visits whenever some chick I impregnated on the street corner gives birth if Alf cake pans came out instead of babies. I'd even swing for the blue-dyed daisies at the first floor gift shop. Let's make the cake and see how all of this pans out. Ooh, I made a Pan Pun. Pantastic.

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The pan, which was layered and curved for the most realistic looking Alf cake you've ever eaten, came with a picture of how the finished product should appear in addition to tips on how to create 'special effects.' The special effects didn't amount to much more than party hats made from jelly beans, so I opted for a more grassroots, traditional version of Alf. I must admit, the task seemed daunting. I've tried to bake only two or three cakes in my life, but each instance turned into a massive frenzy of egg mess and human casualties within minutes. Still, while baking isn't my forte, throwing things shaped like Alf into the oven most certainly is. I decided to move forward and tread carefully. Not too carefully since I was doing this at 11 PM last night, and a really good Seinfeld rerun was on. The one where George orders tuna on rye. My attention was diverted, but I still treated the Alf cake with loving care.

There's the ingredients. The grocery store's grand total was a little bit more than I had wanted to spend, but you're supposed to be extravagant on holidays. The small and spirited plush Alf doll was more of a good luck charm than an actual ingredient. I chose Betty Crocker's 'Super Moist' mix, because if there's anything the world's seen enough of, it's dry cakes.

Though nobody really considers it as such, I always felt that spraying Pam into the cake pan was the best part of the whole process. It's sort of like using hair spray, but Pam smells a whole lot better and you won't die from the fumes when using a lot of it. Plus, you're already in a well-ventilated area. I tried it on my hair, but the end results were pretty shitty and rats kept trying to eat my head. Thanks for the 'For Cake Pans Only' warning, Stupid Pam.

The biggest problem was finding a cake mix of a matching hue to Alf's skin. I know chocolate seems like a natural fit, but I feared he'd come out too dark and bear-like. Alf's furry, but a bear he ain't. Instead, we opted to dye the batter lime green for reasons we never chose to fully explore. Call me crazy, but I think an Irish Alf cake might be even more impressive than a regular Alf cake. That's really saying something. Alf cakes in of themselves are one of the reasons people still buy into religion. Only something otherworldly could fashion a civilization advanced enough to include cakes shaped like sitcom aliens in the mix. Thank God.

After filling the pan with the minty mix, I cranked the oven up to 350 and waited. Waited, waited, waited. They said the cake would take around a half an hour to rise, but my oven was lazy and it took closer to a full hour. Oh, how anxious I was! Would my Alf cake come out okay? Would it look like the real deal? And my - how would I decorate it?! So many questions still left unanswered, and the only activity I could indulge in to pass the time was opening the oven door for spot checks, each of which added another 15 minutes to the cooking time. Did I suffer for my Alf cake? Yes. Was it worth it? Does the Pope shit in the woods, folks? OF COURSE it was worth it. It's an Alf cake! Time is a precious commodity, but nowhere near as precious as an edible Alf. That's Tao, in case anyone asks.

Well I'll be. Success! To be honest, I didn't think I could pull this one off. I can't even heat up coffee without managing to somehow spill it in every room of our apartment, so making a cake seemed like the kind of thing that'd be beyond my scope of finesse. Let's give some credit to Wilton for making such great and easy pans. Go on, give them some credit. Wilton loves credit. Now browned and baked to perfection, all I had to do was make the vaguely defined cake mold look more like Alf. And really - how hard could that be?

Using a tube originally intended to squirt cookie dough, I began working on my opus and hoped society was ready for a new kind of art. I was positive that my finished product would both bring the world together and make the world a little less hungry. I'm serious about the art thing. Decorating Alf cakes is art. If someone can get a portrait of the Virgin Mary painted with horse shit in People Magazine, there's no reason I shouldn't be able to get my Alf cake into the Guggenheim. As I gushed chocolate frosting all over Alf's sensual chest, I prepared myself for a future that would surely be full of guest speaking jobs at hip colleges, and French painter's caps. I'd be the Edvard Munch for a new generation; a Crayola king who blew Da Vinci clear out of the water.

Then I realized... I had none of the ingredients (or talent) necessary to make the Alf cake look anything like Alf. My dreams suddenly disappeared, or at least lessened in emotional weight to the point where all I expected from the future were a few cold nights where I win a free small beverage on one of the railroad pieces from McDonald's annual 'Monopoly' contest. Oh, I had made an Alf cake all right. Problem was, I wasn't quite sure anyone would believe it was really Alf. What's the point in making a cake shaped like Alf if you can't get people believing you're that special kind of guy who makes Alf-shaped cakes even when it's not Valentine's Day? I wasn't going to be denied my comeuppance; I marched on with soul and spoon.

Soon, Earth and Melmac would be joined at the chip. Paaaantastic!

Uh oh. Is that Alf? Is this the best I could come up with? No, there's just no way. That couldn't possibly be Alf. This photo is a trickster - it's probably just a close-up shot of the colorful pattern on Alf's wacky Hawaiian party shirt. That couldn't be Alf.

But it was. It was Alf. It was the worst looking Alf ever forged. The 'text spot,' where you'd usually scribble in various birthday well-wishes, had to be used as a nametag instead. It was the only way people would know what they were looking at. Are you ready, friends? Are you sure you're ready to see the Alf cake in all of its glory? I feel like that doctor from the Twilight Zone episode where the girl gets the surgery to make herself less grotesque, but all of the other people are actually the gross ones and she looks perfectly normal. That's EXACTLY what I feel like. Before I show it to you, know this: I gave it my best shot. I did the best I could. I dedicate your opinion on the cake to the memory of any grandparents I have that are deceased. Don't disrespect.

It's a commentary on society, see. Notice how I use the white chocolate chips to illustrate Alf's frustration with and anger towards the world's current political climate? The eyes, line with 'Red Hots' candy, help bring to light Alf's inner empathy.

HE EATS CATS.

There's the comparison shot. On the left, my Alf. On the right, their Alf. But really, who's to say which is the better Alf? Isn't that always a matter of personal opinion? Are we so naive and jaded that we actually think the world does - and should - think alike? Personally, I find the notion insulting. I'm sure many of you feel the same way, so why don't we stick it to the stereotypes and pick myyyy cake for the Best Alf Cake Award? Really, it's the least we could do, but small gestures are better than no gestures at all. I think that's Tao again.

Fine, my cake sucks. So what? At least I tried to make an Alf cake -- that's more than I can say for most of you. I didn't really use the right ingredients, so eating it was out of the question. But then, what do you do with an Alf cake no one's gonna eat? Do you just throw it away, like useless Alf trash? I don't think so. That'd be wasteful and cruellyful. Poorly crafted Alf cakes must have some purpose to serve in the world. I made it my personal mission to find that purpose.

Folk art. The fluffiest folk art in the land.

Making Alf cakes is fun, but I wouldn't recommend it for the perfectionists out there. I mean, first there's that big nose of his - that's no easy task to get on the batter. The color requirements force you to try to conjure up several different shades of brown, which is neither possible or at all amusing. Still, it's all about the experience, and the experience was worthwhile. Wilton as a company isn't something most of us are familiar with, even though we've been eating candy crap out of their aluminum leaf bowls for half a century. While the Alf pan comes from a past era, you can still usually find 'em on eBay for just a few bucks. (click here to see if any are up there currently) Course, you don't have to get an Alf pan. Wilton's made variations to fit just about anyone you could think of - Ninja Turtles, happy clowns, Super Mario, you name it. To end our forage into the world of Alf-shaped cakes, here's another collage (montage?) of Wilton's pantastic cake pans...

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