Couch potatoes and the dawn of neurotic eating led to the question of what ice cream all of us wanted.
Human no. 1= chocolate chip and mint
Human no. 2=Mississippi mud
Human no. 3= Belgian chocolate
Human no. 4=”hmm,let me think…if they are ordering so much chocolate based flavours then maybe I should get a fruity one,but I don’t really like fruity flavours.What if I try them and turns out I actually like fruity flavours this time. Fruits are already fructose content and then an addition of sucrose may be a little too much for the body of inexpressible glucose. Will the colour of the ice cream, if fruity,be better in a sense that when put with the others’ will actually be a good decision?
Will it be of old stock because the sales of fruit flavours is much lesser than the generic sinful ones? I wonder who discovered ice cream? Did the apes have ice cream? Why didn’t they use ice cream to ward away dinosaurs in Jurassic park? I wonder if Steven Spielberg is still alive? Maybe I’m over thinking this question?!?………..what was the question again??
Meahhhhhhh…… Yeah…. Specimen #4 was a WOMAN!
In the true sense,I’m sure all of you knew this. Women are indecisive, over thinking, masters of analysing, maximisers with expectations, defensive to their opinion and will forever withhold their stand to the idea of options with outcomes. Which is why men are sent to the battle field. A woman in the battle field would most definitely think about the schisms and unifications of the parties involved and then lead onto the colour of her nails whilst the enemy is about to take out the entire squadron.And to top this off, she will single handedly manage to evoke a feminist party at luncheons and Friday night pajama parties to defend that women in the right sense are worthy of everything a man was set out to do. Ladies, breathe! They can’t live without you anyway. So run along and buy yourself a pair of shoes.
Here I go again. The point was to talk about the codification and structure of the likes and dislikes of our species and I’ve led on to the cure for the depression of a teenager.
Ask a man what his favourite movie is and in exactly 2 seconds if not less, you will have him as the narrator doing the mimesis and the diegesis of every word that he can remember. Ask a woman the same, few would have one or two that come out with a shrug of outgrown maturity, but mostly, you’ll be getting indifference. Not that this is bad( it’s left to your opinion), but I think it would help if we actually made note of it somewhere. Worst case, some one will find it one day and it could prove to be your memoir.
Memoir of Mrs POop Twatkelinsen,
Born In the cisterns of New Hemisphereshire, raised in the inspection tanks due to a clog in the economy of the kingdom of the household and died in a flash flood created by the governance of the same. The best moments of her life was when she was around the bedroom television and to have lived to watch:
1. Dingleberry Kane.
2. The pipeline father
3. Stark lag 17
And thus, a life well lived. May you be with the higher authorities. Amen.