Day twenty-seven of 30 blogs in 30 days
Ice Cream is the devil’s work.
I really can’t get enough of the damn stuff. My addiction is mint chocolate chip in those colored cones that stand up by themselves. I vindicate eating two of them because “the cones are so small”.
Their crispity crunchity goodness cannot be denied!
Although, I have discovered Blue Bunny’s Birthday Party Ice Cream Sandwiches:
If I was the Blue Bunny CEO I would stock my entire nuclear holocaust bunker with Birthday Party Ice Cream Sandwiches. There’d be nothing better to live on for the next several nuclear winters…
They are incredible and almost like soaring away on a magic carpet ride with Jasmine (not Aladdin)… she was hot.
What exactly is it about ice cream that dissolves me into a shivering mass of uncontrollable muscle spasms? Well… I think it’s because all ice cream contains some sort of addictive drug or sedative.
Every time I eat an ice cream cone or an ice cream sandwich or a scoop of ice cream off the nape of Bunny’s neck… I’m not only hungry for more but I could eat so much more ice cream I may just resemble a rotting, bloated carcass of a beached whale! It’s only my extreme will-power that stops me from taking the dive into an ice-cream overdose.
Ugh. That last ice cream sandwich effed me. I’m going to be here a while…
So… Ice cream is my Achilles heel. What’s yours?
WHY!!! WHY!!!! WHY WON’T YOU PARTICIPATE IN MY FUN GAME!!! WHY MUST I STOOP SO LOW AS TO MAKE MYSELF AN OLDER PLEADING WOMAN TO GET YOU TO PARTICIPATE!!
What’s that? No one likes it when you start to beg?
Okay fine. Don’t submit anything. See if I care.