I like to eat things that taste like junk you’d use to cover up a lady’s vagina smell.
There’s this lady at work and she would walk around and smell like she was about to be attacked by a bear (they can smell periods. SCIENCE). If her life were a cartoon she would have flies and smell lines coming off her bushel of stink. And then one day she shows up smelling like a summer morning and lavender and then I was all like “Oh fuck, I’m going to eat ice cream that taste like what her vag smells like”.
And I did.
And it was good.
So there’s this ice cream shoppe (note double-p/ e combo, denoting its high price and increased snootiness) near my parents’ place that exclusively makes home-made ice cream. They have some fucking wacky flavours: Honey, Mr. Barbu, Musk Oil, Trapeze Show Disaster, Family Picnic in the Rain.* In addition to that raucous combination they also have Lavender.
I figure I’m a fucking dude who spells “OR” words with “OUR” (example: colour, humour…) and I have a vocabulary that includes words like renaissance, dowry, and parkway so I’m obviously a classy enough dude to get down with this.
This ice cream tastes like that movie Marie Antoinette with Kirsten Dunst. Except in my movie I cut a hole in the cone and slip my wiener in it and then Kirsten Dunst eats the ice cream and then sees it and then I go to jail and she decapitates me. But at least I got to show her my creamy wang.
Fyi, THAT’S THE ONLY WAY I CAN CLIMAX. If I don’t show girls my dick covered in frozen, pasteurized, cows milk I will not be able to achieve an orgasm. It is a very specific condition that requires me to spend all of my time in the frozen goods section of my supermarket, idling behind boxed pizzas waiting to dip my pecker in some rocky road and show you.
OH FUCK YOU’RE GOING TO SEE MY DICK!
*only Honey and Mr. Barbu are real flavours, the others I made up in a sophomoric attempt at humour. Sometimes dogs poop. Poop fart shit. HUMOUR.