Sunday, October 09, 2005

Ode to Ice Cream

Gluttony is one of the deadly sins, alongside other wicked passions such as pride and envy. Too much food on your plate and Satan will be your bedmate. Or so my father whispered to me across the table as a child, all the while swiping my roast potatoes from under my nose. He may have been morally reprehensible but he read his scripture as often as he brewed tea, so I can attest that God did have his ear. Even if that ear was only the beginning of a tunnel that travelled sheer through his head. He may have had power upon me but, since then, I grew up.

It has now been many years since I was a defenceless child - a plaything to Gods proxy - and with new age comes a certain cynical wisdom. An idea that decadence is perhaps preferable to two-hour sessions of forced prayer and the accompanying bloody knees. A thought that maybe lying on ones back, all the while rubbing ones rotund stomach, is definitely more titillating than climbing a chimney to scare a few nested magpies. So, with this age, I have gained certain privileges, certain undeniable rights, that allow me as an adult to spend half an hour in front of a freezer, in slippers and a bathrobe, deciding between Chunky Monkey and Karma Sutra.

That’s correct, I have paid my dues. I have seen free birds fly through the crack in the bomb shelter doors. I have heard the laughter of the kids down the street, playing innocent child games, as I sweep out the animal crematorium. I have cried so hard, so long, that my tears turned to blood. But no more. No more am I subject to their dogmatic whim. I am man and I eat ice cream.

If one was to listen the crazies in America, one might believe that freedom cannot just be bought but fought for, that it cannot be destroyed by those who hate it but protected by those who cherish it, that it is an inalienable right denied to no man or beast. Well, that may sound pretty in a poetry book, but I know that freedom comes at a price: five euro ninety in all good retailers. And not only that, but in many different flavours for those with narrow tongues, such as Dublin Mudslide, New York Super Fudge Chunk, Fossil Fuel, Phish Food, Cookie Dough, Cherry Garcia, Caramel Chew Chew… The list continues all the way down the gullet, into the small intestine. Out the bum.

Ice cream is freedom. Freedom is ice cream. Both are interchangeable and both are only fully appreciable when one has loosed the chains of adolescence and entered into the hairy-toed realm of manhood. Hundreds of years ago, the black man fought for ice cream and won it. Chinese slaves, fresh to the Americas, sold for gold dust in mud settlements, could only dream of ice cream. The Irish, sodomized by the English for hundreds of years, dying for potatoes, fled the Emerald Isle in search of ice cream and the population never recovered in the hundred and fifty years since. Cities were built on ice cream and societies felled for lack of it. Tonight, as you fall asleep in your cot, say a prayer for the frozen elixir and dream of swimming through oceans of dairy goodness.
God bless you.

This post is sponsored Ben & Jerry’s Homemade Ice Cream. Where everyday is free cone day.

12 comments:

  1. This is astonishing. The same thing again. I'll repost tomorrow.

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  2. Coolio... I will not do nothing tomorrow... though I did glace at your second Haiku and am aware of the content. I also agree with said content. Gloom.

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  3. Yet again, if you haven't refreshed you'll get a sneak peek.

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    Waaa. Sergeant Baba

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  4. Do that... an immediate head bomb. Especially to those not suspecting it... like fucking anyone else who visit the blog.

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  5. Yeah it just came to me near the end of The Hunt for Red October. Just like that. It's not great but it's better than my first effort. I think.

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  6. Haiku's are hard... not that I've tried... they just seem hard... So props and all that just for doing...
    Say... what did you think of serenity? Eh?

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  7. Ice cream is god's way of apologising for the pain of existence.

    By the way, I'm English and have never sodomized a single Irishman.

    Well, the was that one incident with the train guard from Dandrum but he did he did bribe me with a litre of Mississippi Mud Slide.

    That's what he called it anyway.

    Congrats on a lovely, well written blog.

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  8. Well, I do find ice cream more attractive than say... most women. Thanks for the comment... nappy.

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  9. You find Ice cream more attractive than most women? You'd better clarify that statement. Do you mean general vanilla ice cream? Do you mean general vanilla women? What about chocolate ice cream vs banana women? Here's a quickie just for you:

    Robert likes ice cream.
    'Tis better than most women.
    Is he gay? Maybe.

    So what is nappy fever then?

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  10. Ben & jerry's ice cream over vanilla women... oh yes.

    Damn Haikus are like a bullet now...

    And nappy fever is the colour red upon the colour white. Maybe with some brown.

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  11. I thought that was nappy rash? Is nappy fever the same thing?

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