Stinky slowly looked at me, before looking at the party pony that was going on and on and on about how to make the perfect cake. So while she was doing that, my brother motioned for me to stick the cake in the oven at the temperature he told me, for the exact amount of time he told me. Meanwhile, Stinky grabbed a rolling pan and smacked Pinkie in the side of the head with it. Moments later, there’s a broken window, one less Pinkie Pie, and we had a cake that was baking perfectly.