Sometimes, nothing beats a good re-run. Especially if you’re a writer facing a deadline that’s coming atchya like a freaking freight train. So allow me, my friends, to introduce (drum-roll, please)
Old posts, classic content, good enough to read! And now, without further ado, I present,
SILLY SOAPBOX: POPSICLES
(Originally posted in October, 2011)
Popsicles. I love ‘em. For so many reasons. So sit your butt down while I wax poetic about the virtues of the rainbow colored family of frozen treats.
#1: They’re dangerous. You don’t think so? Listen to this: They’re cold. So cold, that if you eat them too quickly, you run the risk of freezing your brain plumb off. PLUMB OFF, people. I swear I’ve had this nearly happen to me multiple times, and while in the moment it’s terrifying, after it’s over…whew! What a rush. The danger factor is definitely a perk, especially for those of us who wish we were into extreme sports, but aren’t. I never feel quite as dangerous as I do when there’s a popsicle in my hand.
#2: Adding to the danger factor is this little fact: They melt. You have to eat them quickly (running the risk of destroying brain matter), and if you don’t, they melt. All over your hands, your clothes. Leaving you sticky and stained. You walk a fine line while eating popsicles. Too fast, dead brain. Too slow, permanently stained garments. Sure, your hands will wash, but facts are facts: Red Cherry and Blueberry flavored popsicles stain forever. Some people think that souls are the only thing that are eternal. I say souls, and popsicle stains.
#3: Danger isn’t the only thing that makes popsicles so attractive. They’re sweet, but not in a heavy, ice-creamy way. Don’t get me wrong. I love ice-cream. I do. But sometimes you just don’t want a creamy, sugary concoction resting in your gut. Sometimes you want an artificially flavored, high-fructose corn-syrup sweetened watery-frozen concoction instead. *raises hand and jumps up and down a little* I do! I do!
#4: The thing that sets popsicles aside from the standard ice-cream cone is this: The jokes. The popsicle takes the cake for this fact alone. Because the popsicle is a giver. It doesn’t simply satisfy our child-like pallets, or our need to live dangerously. No, the popsicle wants to invest in our minds by asking us questions. Questions we have to wait to get the answers to until our tasty treat is gone. Questions that not only make us think, but make us laugh. Oh, dearest reader. This is the sign of a true friend.
Take a couple of these gems, straight from the sticks that I collected today (there is a small chance this post was brought on by a four-month old fetus demanding popsicles, and the sticks might be the evidence) as examples:
Why did the baseball fan give the house a pair of sneakers? Because he wanted to see a home run. *ba-dum-bum*
What do you call a pony that surfs? A seahorse. *giggle, snort*
What did Mr. and Mrs. Steak name their son? Chuck. *snicker*
And so, my friendlies, let us all revel in the wonder that is the popsicle. I wish you all happy weekends with dye-stained tongues, non-frozen brains, and new jokes to share with your friends.