For those of you that actually read these with some regularity, please lean back in your chair and chuckle in remembrance of 'Ridiculously Glorious.' This was a blog written in incredulous astonishment at the work colleague who took it upon herself to stretch the boundaries of decency and wear booty-cutters to the workplace. Complete with ass-cheek leakage and uterus viewing.
In you haven't - go read it now. Funny stuff.*
Well, since I'm always on the lookout for silly conversational fodder, and to my advantage it sometimes falls into my lap, consider my experience during a trip to my local grocer. Albertson's on Lincoln in Santa Monica, yes, I'm talking about you . . .
I was shopping for the necessary ingredients to make ice cream sundaes - nothing says 'Get Well Soon' better than ice cream, whipped cream, flavored syrupy sauce in fudge or caramel (I mean, really. Who eats the pineapple sauce? I'll never understand.), topped with nuts, cherries, and sprinkles.
Since I was buying with someone else in mind and have yet to have cracked the code as to his favorite flavor of dairy delight
I browsed.
I searched.
I read flavors carefully with the scrutiny of a fatty satisfying the jones of her next sugar fix.
Vanilla? Chocolate? Strawberry? Too pedestrian.
Dulce de Leche? Rocky Road? Too complicated.
Cookies and cream? Mint chocolate chip? Sooooo junior high.*
As I peered through the frosted glass of flavor upon flavor upon deliciousness . . . My breath caught in my throat. The air rushed out of my lungs. My mouth hung open in suprise:
There is an ice cream flavor called Fudge Tracks.*
People, I'm not kidding. It's made by a perfectly reputable ice cream company called Dreyers.
But seriously, when I was growing up 'fudge tracks' were something to be avoided at all costs. Because if you didn't your mom would find the pair of offensive drawers and bring it immediately to your 5 year old attention by yelling at you while waving said drawers in front of your face. While your friends are over. Playing Chutes and Ladders or maybe a rousing game of CandyLand.
"But I wiped!" is simply not a good enough excuse.
A girl in junior high PE unknowingly displayed her 'fudge tracks' during the mandatory shower after class. We pointed. We made fun. She didn't have many friends.
THOSE are fudge tracks. NOT an overpriced dairy dessert.
What ice cream exec ever thought that this flavor would be okay and gave final approval? Thought it might be tasty? Tantalizing? Mouth-watering? Dreyer's fucking Fudge Tracks.
Ridiculous. Glorious.
Footnotes:
- Seriously go read it. I'm a big fan of utterly shameless self-promotion. It'll be worth your while. If not, I'll give you a dollar. I'm good for it.
- Also, I'd like to mention that I couldn't pick the chocolate flavors anyway because I'm deathly allergic. And please save the 'you can't eat chocolate? but YOU'RE chocolate?!' bullshit. It's unoriginal. I call myself Hershey for obvious reasons, not because I love the cocoa bean but because I have ample amounts of melanin and I wear it well.
- I would've have liked to take a picture of the half gallon of dairy dessert with the camera phone for verification purposes, but I left it in the car. I was expecting a call but not trying to wait by the phone for it so I could "accidentally" miss it and be mysteriously unavailable. You KNOW you do that shit too. So, sorry. But I'm not making this up; Fudge Tracks are real.
Please don't eat them. Please.
Friday, August 26, 2005
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