When you lick an ice cream cone, a really really god ice cream cone, you get that inital soft scoop of it on your tongue and you pull it into your mouth. Curled there on top of your tonge, it melts and squishes around your mouth and teeth, you sometimes let it slide down your throat, half-melted. Other times you give it the once over in your mouth, seeking chunks of stuff in it, just in case. Then down it goes and you go for that next lick. Never quite as good as the first one, but always great. You catch the drips down the side and in the end you dispose of the cone last and then it’s all gone. Melted away down your throat and sometimes on your shirt or shorts. The last of the ice cream gone.
In the summer time, all the Ice Cream stands are open for business. They have big signs that implore you to come try their amazing flabors. Some sell Gelato or Sherbert, soft-serve or sundaes. They all want your money for their wares. Bored teenagers and flamboyant foreign men all vie for your dollars as the summer marches on.
In Scotland you can get a 99, which is a cone (usually soft-serve) with two chocolate bars stuck in it (Flakies) that give the eater a chance to choose betwen keeping the ice cream from melting and eating around the chocolate bars, or eating the chocolate first and running the risk having ice cream down your shirt. The choice was yours.
In Ontario (and other places I assume) we had no ice cream trucks, ratehr the Dickie Dee cart, which was a bike-cart deal that a surly teenage boy or a jubilant girl would push around the streets, ringing a series of bells. The reaction was the same as that to the Ice Cream truck, balls and toys would drop, aliens would go unfought, cobra commander’s final blow never landed and children would stream to the street with whatver cash they could get from their parents to buy some seriously overpriced frozen treats.
Then Summer would come to an end, and the Ice Cream stands would close, one by one. The last holdout left with a big tub of pralenes and cream and heavenly hash to sell. Hard. Icy. Bricklike. It was the last of the summer Ice Cream and it was still better than anything else, because it was the last of Summer.
Tomorrow, School.
The Nerd Frog March
Published by NiteMayr on July 11, 2008I know that Karl Rove is kind of the Nerd Ascendant, a nerd who overcame Nerd Rage, got the Jock Assholes on his side and rose to a position of nearly untouchable privilege. It still kinds wanna see him go down though. He always comes off like he’s really ahead of the game, when all he really is doing is hiding behind his Jock Asshole friend and calling the other kids names. In any other situation he’d be doing 3-10 in the Pen and we’d all be talking about the Political Machievelli of Wormsuch or something.
He (Karl Rove) is just riding the wave of his friend’s popularity to the end, using all of his hard won Jock contacts to the very end. For that, I kind of admire him, he overcame his Nerd impulses and got in good with the Frat-Boys and the Jock Assholes. That’s something that most Nerds will never manage, the real crossing of the aisles from Nerd Nobody to Jock’s Friend.
But, Yes SUH, I want to see him Frog Marched in front of the Congress and forced to, under oath, lie to the whole world about what he has done in office. You think he’ll tell the truth? This is all theatre so he can say, “I don’t recall” over and over.
You’d think the American Public would wake up and start voting with their heads some day and finally elect a third party in serious numbers.
Anyway, Go Karl. Prove your innocence by running from testimony and acting like anything you have to say bears any value to the security of the US of A.