In part one I decided to combine the two mini-cakes to make a regular sized dessert masterpiece. So how did things turn out? Let's find out.

According to the box, a toothpick would determine if the cakes could be taken out of the oven. If the toothpick, after being stuck in one of the cakes, came out creamy they would need to bake longer. If the toothpick saw it's shadow, uh, the recipe didn't have any tips on what do in that scenario. The cakes would no doubt explode.

24 minutes later, the toothpick came out cleaner than when it went in. After another 24 minutes they were ready for frosting. I tossed one on top of the other. Wa-la! A perfect match. They made a great couple.

Only 3/4 finished, this thing was already a rousing success. Yes, this fetal cake was worthy of the chicken plate challenge.

Ta-da! Meet the chicken plate (not the cock plate. Get your mind out of the gutter). I used to have two of these. The first one tragically broke under the weight of a million dirty dishes. For some reason, any food placed on this plate mysteriously slides off. Once a heaping portion of spaghetti flew off it and landed on a sand-colored carpet. The resulting stain cost me a portion of a cleaning deposit. Despite this, I can't bring myself to throw it out. It's not everyday you run into a chicken plate.

I removed the top cake and covered the bottom in chocolate frosting. It was time to do a trail run with the writing gel. I drew this stick figure with a question mark over his head. Did this Stick Man have any idea the grim fate that awaited him? Obviously not. He was about to be crushed under the weight of a dessert roughly 5,000 times his body weight.

I tossed the top one back on. Mwahahahahaha! Death by cake! What can I say, I baked this thing on a boring Thursday afternoon. Plus, it was a Halloween cake and what's a true Halloween cake without a body count of some sort? Better him than me.

It wasn't until I had the two of them covered in chocolate frosting that the one on the bottom began buckling under the weight. As a result, the entire cake slumped forward as if someone had sat on it. While it didn't slide off, the curse of the chicken plate had reared its ugly head once more.

So maybe my Halloween masterpiece didn't wind up being the best one ever baked. At the very least it tasted like cake, and, given my kitchen skills, this is fairly impressive. Still, I figured it was worth the following inscription. At the very least it had an edible ghost on the top.

No, I couldn't get a decent picture. The writing gel didn't show up well against the chocolate frosting background and no amount of Photoshop magic could really make it legible. The inscription?

"THIS CAKE KICKS ASS!" Those blobs along the edges are supposed to be, going clockwise from the top, a ghost, a bat and a pumpkin.

See, this is why I eat at Taco Bell twice a week.

I will never bake again.