Look, we’re living in strange times. Insane times. Wildly upsetting times. Frankly, there’s so much material to be upset about every single day that I find myself slowly becoming more tears than human being. More outrage than flesh. More strangled expletives than writer.
Now, if you know me at all, you’ll know that I am rarely hyperbolic. But I was upset again recently when I found out Mayonnaise ice cream is a thing because the only reasonable conclusion I could come to is that God is dead and there is no meaning or goodness in the world and we all may as well Purge all the time because…
“WHAT IS EVEN THE CONCEPT OF EVIL IF PEOPLE ARE ALLOWED TO JUST GO AROUND PUTTING MAYONNAISE IN ICE CREAM WITH NO BIBLICAL CONSEQUENCES. WHAT HAS BECOME OF US? WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING???”
And as I stood on my lawn at midnight, shrieking this at the moon, I realized something. There are way grosser flavors you could have than mayonnaise ice cream. We haven’t, as humans, crossed every barrier, right? I began, for the first time in months, to calm down. It’s just mayo and ice cream. It’s gross, but hey, it’s not like there’s ice cream made out of blood. ha. ha.
So, I set out to write an article of fake ice creams that have yet to be invented. To make myself feel better. And in doing so, I started googling. My God, the googling. Because let me tell you, I couldn’t find a single thing (the worst, most disgusting things) I could think of that wasn’t already an ice cream. No one would put mustard in an ice cream, I whimpered.
And yet. And yet…
Oh Dear Reader, I am so sad.
And maybe it’s silly to be disgusted and saddened by ice cream flavors when so many other terrible things are happening in the world. But I’m hanging on by a thread. A THREAD. And so tonight, when I return to my front yard to shriek of all that makes no sense in our world at the moon. I will scream extra hard. And this time, I will hope that the neighborhood wolves take me. And all of us. Out of mercy. For all is lost.
All. Is. Lost.
Anyway, these are the REAL ice creams that make me the saddest. Happy Friday, I guess.
Pig’s Blood Ice Cream
Hey — I like a bucket full of pig’s blood as much as anyone. Probably more than most people. You can write notes to your enemies (or editors!) with it. You can pour it all over your clothes to get a better seat on the subway. You can drop it on that dorky girl in high school who almost, definitely, probably doesn’t have the power of telekinesis. It’s very versatile. But one thing you should never do with pig’s blood is eat it. I’m sorry, but I have to draw a line in the sand on this one.
I was going to look up the details of how pig’s blood ice cream is made so that I could give you all some snappy information to share at parties or whatever (I find talking about pig’s blood always makes one pretty popular at the parties. I’m. Very. Popular.), but here’s the thing: When I googled pig’s blood ice cream, the phrase, “The blood makes it so creamy” came up. And I vomited. And then I died. And now I’m dead. So… I don’t know what to tell you. I’m a ghost and my non-corporeal form no longer has fingers to google. You’ll have to find out how it’s made on your own.
Mustard Ice Cream
A lot of people don’t agree with me that mustard is disgusting on sandwiches. Those people are wrong. But. Fine. Like, you’re the one who has to sleep at night, you know? If you can live with the choices you make with mustard then fine. I’m not going to judge you. Only Judy and Reinhold can do that. But why does it have to be ice cream?
Here’s the thing, I have a child. And one day, I know that he will ask me many, many questions as we wander across the post-apocalyptic wasteland. Some will be easy like, “What’s the meaning of life?” Or, “How do you get a pig’s blood stain out of a white shirt.”
But one day. Oh, one day, he will turn to me. Momma, why does mustard have to be ice cream?
I will not answer, but a single tear will slip down my cheek, and then I’ll take him in my arms, holding him tight.
It doesn’t matter, sweetie.
But did the bad guys make it?
Yes, the bad guys.
Are you scared?
Yes.
I’m scared, Momma.
I know.
Did you see the ice cream the bad guys made, Momma?
Yes. Oh, yes. Shhhhh.
Then, at the first grey light, we will set out to walk the barren, silent, godless road that runs through the smoldering ruins of civilization. The road is all there is now. Just me and the boy. Pushing our cart through the ash.
Pickle Ice Cream
Not everything has to be ice cream, does it? I get that people like pickles. And those people are like, “Give me more! I want pickle flavored chips and soda and hot dogs. I want a burger where the beef is pickles and so is the bun and the fries and all the utensils are pickles so you can eat them after. And make me a house out of pickles and we can call it ‘Pickle Palace.’ And I’ll live in Pickle Palace with my pickle wife who is just a bunch of pickles that I tied together using twine but I still make love to her every night. And, afterwards we lay on our pickle bed and pickle pillows and talk about our pickle future. She’s worried she can’t get pregnant. That’s because she has no ovaries because she’s not a human but a collection of many, many pickles. Shhhh. Baby, I say, stroking a pickle that’s positioned approximately where her face would be. You’re enough. You’ve always been enough. And we’ll lie there, night after night. Holding each other and dreaming of pickles. Until one day we are lowered into the ground… together.”
A lot of people are like that. And to each his own, okay? I just don’t think it should be ice cream. It’s gross.
Breast Milk Ice Cream
https://www.instagram.com/p/BZl82tuDRNO/
No. No, thank you. No.
I don’t want to go to there. DON’T MAKE ME GO TO THERE. NO.
Roast Beef Ice Cream
I know what you’re thinking, there are some collaborations with meat and sweet things that are delicious. Bacon in chocolate or a cupcake. Sausage covered in maple syrup. You’ll eat bacon on a donut, ALLISON. Where do you draw the line, ALLISON?
Well, we have to draw it somewhere, okay? We live in a society, you monster. And the line is G*dd*mned roast beef in ice cream. Choose a side.
Salmon Ice Cream
Once, a package that I ordered came to my apartment when I was out of town. And my neighbor, who was watching my cat, weirdly put it on the top of a very tall bookcase. Like that was a normal place to leave a package that I’d see. I didn’t see. I thought the package never came, and so I called (angrily) and asked them to refund the 40 dollar charge.
“I never got it!” I insisted.
Weeks later, I found the package on top of the bookcase. And I know it’s wrong, but I didn’t send it back. I kept it. And so I didn’t actually pay for it and that is technically stealing. And I thought, “No big deal. It’s a big company, and besides, it was a simple misunderstanding.”
The devil works through simple misunderstandings, they say. I get it now. I died and am now paying for my sins by living in a world in which salmon is blended into ice cream. This is the bad place.
Blue Cheese Ice Cream
Have you ever had a dream where everything was seemingly as it should be? You go to work or school and it all looks exactly the same? But everything feels just a little bit off. There are small tells — a strange ice cream flavor, a person you can’t quite place but looks familiar. One of your teeth is loose. Maybe I’m dreaming, you say. And you pinch yourself to wake up, but nothing happens. You do everything you can to wake up from this uncanny world in which you find yourself, but you stay in this strange, terrible place.
“Is that treason?” you type weakly to no one on Twitter, “Surely, Surely, this time it is treason!” You have no followers but the higher power to which you subscribe, but you keep typing. And the tweet goes into the nowhere which is everywhere. And you try to wake up. Wake up! You pinch yourself again and again and your neighbors are all Sean Spicer and crass, low-level reality tv celebrities are your leaders and you cry at night, in this dream that never ends. In your bed which is not really your bed even though it seems like your bed, because you have to be in your real bed and dreaming if you could only wake up? But you never wake up and the world is a nightmare and the colors swirl and it becomes more and more absurd until you are sure. Sure that you are in a dream. The top never stops spinning. But does it matter? Does anything matter? You do not wake up.
This ice cream is a little like that.
