Frosting

I heard a story told to my mom by a man who works at her prison. He was walking across the compound when apparently he saw an inmate swinging a sweaty brown tube sock in the air before pounding it into the cement. When the man asked the inmate what he was doing he squinted in the sun and casually said, "making frosting."
Just 3 days previous to this incident this man celebrated his 36th birthday and was presented with a cake the inmates had made from scratch themselves. Such toil and labor obligated him to have a piece, yet after taking a good look at that stenchy tube sock and the naked, hobbit-like foot next to it he vowed never again to partake in inmate-crafted confectionaries.