cbforever

Like French vanilla with eggs and butter and sugar and, like, Chardonnay already therein?

Is ice cream just cake without flour and then frozen?

I kind of want to test this out now.

Depends on the type of ice cream, I think, but this seems like it could work.

Might be a bit too watery? But it's pretty much just frozen milk and sugar plus flavoring.

so did someone try this? is it in any way related to desp's premature birth? is that what happened?

I will have my revenge.

By the way, that salted caramel cookie skillet with ice cream on top that they have at Outback Steakhouse is about the most amazing thing ever.

There's also a small counter-service ice cream sandwich place local to me, and you can pick your ice cream, what kind of cookies you want around it, and toppings. Their sugar cookies with salted caramel ice cream and chocolate sauce topping gives a very similar taste, meaning holy crap where has this been all my life? (Also it's good with oreo crumble topping too.)

*Rip blinks the sleep from his eyes and reads dexeron's post again, for the second time. There is a feeling here. He becomes simultaneously painfully aware of several truths, around about the time he reads the words "all my life?" again, for the third time. He looks down at the tie he wore to his steady job today. He considers the modestly-priced SUV he drove here in, and the two children he kissed goodbye before doing so. Briefly, he considers the list of chores he needs to perform to maintain the quaint suburban home he owns. Terminix is supposed to come today, and there was that hail damage, and the doctor's appointment he's been putting off since before the twins were born. He reminds himself of how much older than he dexeron is. Why, he does not know. Rationalization? Comfort? Masochism? All of them? He catches himself about to read it yet again, quicker and angrier this time for some reason. He checks his forum name. Still says Rip, right? It does. Seems strangely unfamiliar. Like a sweater that used to fit better with all the holes in, but now seems dusty, musty, and not worth the trouble cleanin. He finds he's been pulling at his tie. It's already half off when he decides to just tear it off over his head, finish the job. He gets the urge to flippantly slap something, so, there goes a cup half full of water. His head swivels in the opposite direction like a cat no one trusts, before he pushes the phone set off his desk. Who uses landphones anyway, he thinks over the clatter. He stands, Ripping the button-down open to expose decade-and-a-half old tattoos, possibly while snarling. There is definitely spittle from somewhere, he barely thinks, as he mounts the desk in such a way as to tear open the seat of his modestly-priced slacks. He thinks he can hear some sort of commotion outside his office, but the shuddering noise of his swiftly-bloodied fists pounding primally into the plastic pithy pap populating his desk puts paid to that pettiness. Oh god that alliteration was awful, he concentrates on thinking as he finally slips over the computer monitor, crashing in a heap with it to the floor in front of the chaotic swirl of corporate detritus that was one his workspace. Upside down, bleeding, and staring awkwardly up at those who came to stare awkwardly down, Rip coughs once, to steady the mood. He seems to have lost what the universe was trying to tell him anyway. Everyone seems to be waiting for something, and he removes the stapler from atop his head to say

"Don't worry. It'll be good with oreo crumble topping too." He sighs deeply, looking around at the office more than the destruction, and repeats, entirely to himself, that it will be good with oreo crumble topping too.

It will be good with oreo crumble topping, too.

Sometimes, we need revelations like this, even at the cost of our dignity and office equipment.

It's all about finding the joy in the little things.