Snackin' at the Savoy

Maybe I don't get to the junk food isle enough, but evidently you can now buy a mix of what they've decided to call "Sanckin' Cake."
Spelled like that. Snackin'.
Something about that spelling gets me.
Snackin' Cake.
It's too casual. Cake is meant to be an event. You have a wedding cake, a birthday cake.
Snackin' Cake? People snack, like, every few hours.
Here's what I hear mentally when I read the name "Snackin' Cake" :
"Hi. I've resigned myself to the fact that I'll never have sex again, so, just give us the Snackin' Cake. No, no fork, I'll just eat it with my fingers, thanks. Sitting here on the toilet. With the TV on. There's a John Ritter tribute coming up. No, another one. What's that? No, my fingertips are always purple like this. I dunno, some blood thing. What's that? No, I don't know who Ella Fitzgerald was, why? Both legs, huh? Bummer. Pass the Mountain Dew, I wish to dunk my Snackin' Cake. Snackin' Cake's a little dry, you know. They should cram more trans-fats in here. Mmmmm... fuckn' Snackin' cake. That's your full 2 dollars worth there, boy."