Oh look, a sponge, a carrot, and velvet. For gods sake, who made these? Whoops, I almost just spelled it. Layered, stacked, iced and topped for occasion, so many a flavor, with candles a blazin’.

I’m a rhyming compound word who works hard so your hands are free. Sure, I may make you look like Quasimodo, but. . .

Put your arms up! Put your arms down! The arm bones connected to the shoulder bone. But nobody talks about me, I feel so hollow.

I have some serious drip. Literally lit. Of the darkness worry knot!

You might find me in a pack, Though I'm not part of the main group. I'm often foiled by a bat. And I'm the one who can't be serious.