Adventures in freakdom.
February 27, 2008
Mr. Bruce R33d, Founder
Brust3r’s Real Ice Cream
730 Mulb3rry Street
Bridg3water, PA 15009
Dear Mr. Re3d:
I am writing this letter to share with you a recent experience I had when trying to enjoy some of your delicious ice cream, a horrific affair that nearly landed me on Skid Row, and to make an impassioned plea to you for a change in the way your ice cream is served.
This past Saturday, on the way home from a funeral, my wife and I decided to stop at our local Brust3r’s for a couple of peanut butter cup sundaes. While we enjoy the plain ice cream and Blasts, we adore peanut butter cup sundaes. As far as we’re concerned, there’s not much better in life.
At home, my wife handed me the cups with the admonition to be careful because they were overfilled, and while she went to lock our chickens in their coop I made my way to the door with the sundaes. Unlocking the door with both hands full presented a bit of a problem, so I set one sundae down on the stoop. When the door was open, I picked up the sundae and started into our house. Unbeknownst to me, the very loose top on the cup had tipped slightly, and like Niagara Falls, ice cream suddenly poured over my hand and fell like rain to the floor.
I tried to set the other sundae down on a table just inside the door, so I could get my hand under the flood of dripping ice cream, but in my haste I actually bumped the table with the cup and it slipped from my grasp. When it hit the floor the ensuing geyser went almost as high as my head. Had I not been so upset I would have been impressed.
One of our cats raced over and set about licking up the ice cream. Fearful that she might ingest some chocolate—deadly to cats—I picked her up with my now free hand and pitched her out onto the stoop, slinging ice cream all over the place. Angry because I knew the dropped sundae would be labeled “mine,” I slammed the door behind her. The melting sundae was still plopping bits of melted ice cream and whipped cream all over the floor, so I carried it into the kitchen, where I found our cat Mister Boogers urinating in the sink, probably because the slamming door scared him so much.
I grabbed some paper towels and went back to wipe up the mess just inside the door, leaving Mister Boogers to finish his business in peace. My wife came in, laughed at me, and went off to change clothes. I got the ice cream wiped up, managing to only grind one knee right down on a peanut butter cup. Later, when my wife was cleaning up after me with liquid floor cleaner—for some reason she didn’t think wiping the ice cream up with a paper towel was good enough—I tried to be helpful by suggesting she get some q-tips to clean in the crevices between the boards in the floor. Our house is 75 years old, and some of the floor boards have shrunk a little, which let the ice cream really get down in there.
My wife did not appreciate my suggestion.
I had to take Mister Boogers to the vet the next day, because we were concerned that a urinary tract infection may have caused him to urinate in the sink. It cost $176 to find out he’s perfectly fine. The chocolate wouldn’t wash out of the pants, which cost $30. In my haste to get my pants into the washer, I neglected to take my cell phone out of the pocket and it went through the full cycle, rinse and all. The used phone I bought on eBay to replace it was $40. Finally, my wife got so angry when I helpfully recommended she use q-tips to clean between the boards that I had to go out and get her a new sewing machine, which set me back almost $200.
As you can see, this incident nearly put me in the poorhouse, and it’s all due to the overfilled sundae cup with the loose-fitting top. Therefore, I would like to suggest that Brust3r’s make their sundae cups just a bit bigger to prevent overfilling, with tops that fit just a little more tightly. I’m sure experiences like mine happen every day across the country, so you can imagine how much those small changes would help our economy.
Yours in destitution,
Fred Anders0n
No pigs yet, dammit.
Everything is pretty much ready: I fired up the electric fence, I’ve clipped the t-posts to the field fence, and I disassembled the old chicken shade structure and used the hog panels from it to enclose a small area in front of the pig shelter.
All I need is for the pig man to call–
pig man callin’ now, nothin’ is real
he’ll never know just how I feel
from out of the county he’ll call on the phone
sell me some piggies let me make ‘em my own!
(apologies to J. Cafferty)
–and tell me it’s time to come pick them up, so we can start makin’ bacon.
Every time this song comes on the radio, I turn into this guy.
If you want to get notified whenever Fred writes a journal entry, this link will do the trick.
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I can always count on you for a laugh or three, Fred. Thanks for the chuckle. And, for the record, q-tips?! What were you thinking, man! Get on your own damn knees and clean those cracks and crevices yourself, if you’re so inclined. I’m with Robyn on this one. So, what kind of sewing machine did you get your lovely wife???
:-)
I really, really, really hope you actually mailed that letter out!
LOL Good one!
Okay. Someone’s lyin’ and it ain’t ME! Either someone wanted to falsely accuse a fabulous ice cream establishment for a clumsy f*ckup which actually TRUTHFULLY involved an innocent container of healthy yogurt, or SOMEONE is in denial about someone’s ice cream addiction! Admitting you have a problem is the first step, kids! Your stories don’t agree, my friends! Isn’t it true, Mr. &nderson, that you claim the spilled dairy product into your floorboards was the wonderfully sugary and fattening desert product which is put out (in very generous portions, I might add) by a franchise with a cherry in the logo? Isn’t it ALSO true, Mrs. &nderson, that you tell the story in a much different light? You stated, on Monday, February 25, 2008 that your husband, clumsy f*ckup that he is (especially on this particular occasion), but ever the thrifty handyman (which ALL husbands should strive to be) in fact was enjoying a MUCH healthier snack of yogurt, which was what was so clumsily spilled all over the ENTIRE floor?
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to keep in mind as you judge these people on their dietary habits, who is at fault here? We all know the actual spilling goes to Fred. He is just working far too hard and can’t be expected to be light and nimble in his loafers with perfect balance ALL the time. But what of the lack of corroboration in their stories? Could it be that YOU as a jury of people, have forced these fine people into manufacturing stories because, in fact, they KNOW that they will be judged and criticized? Mr. and Mrs. &nderson, I urge you to come forward and bring us the truth. Everyone knows that a high-calorie treat of ice cream following a funeral is only reasonable. Expected, even! The truth will set you free!!!
This whole thing was hilarious, but I think the funniest part was where you wrote….. “Angry because I knew the dropped sundae would be labeled “mine,” I slammed the door behind her.” Hells yeah, that sundae would be yours indeed!!!! ha ha!!! Thanks for making my day!
OK, totally off topic here…(though I thoroughly enjoyed your ice cream story, and am TOTALLY jonesing for a sundae now, darn you) but the electric fence, is there no danger one of your escapee cats or other miscellaneous menagerie of pets could get zapped by it? I know the cats “shouldn’t” get out that way, and I believe McLovin is the only one who can fly the coop….just curious.
I laughed until I had tears in my eyes. All I could picture was Mister Boogers peeing in the sink…and the list of expenses was the best!
please, dear god, i hope for robyn’s sake, that you never become light in your loafers! if you do, she may become suspect of your frequent trips to “manly” places like home depot, lowe’s and tsc.
My childhood home’s living room had ten foot ceilings.
During a holiday dessert time when I was about five,the family gathered in the living room to partake of ice cream.
I lost hold of my plastic bowl of ice cream and as the bowl hit the floor,the ice cream amazingly flew up,all ten feet up,and hit the ceiling…and a goodly amount stayed on the ceiling.
My usually quiet and staid grandfather couldn’t get over how the ice cream bounced all the way up there. And I was immortalized(as if “I” had something to do with the physics of it all)in just one of many childhood stories in a family of five children.
I think you should send this story into a magazine,Fred.
Now that is definitely Readers Digest material.
Man, you and Robyn sure keep my funny bone tickled.