Dear Pint of Ben and Jerry's Napolean Dynamite Ice Cream,
You made me want you. With your colorful carton, and your descriptive words urging me to indulge in your cold, creamy mixture of Cherry Garcia and Fudge Brownie, swirled together in an intoxicating mixture of happy, gooey goodness...you teased me. And then, and then...it all went bad. You hiked up your skirt, batted your eyelashes, and let me buy you a steak dinner and four gin and tonics, and then you went to the bathroom and never came back, you dirty slut. You stole the keys to my car, opened a credit card in my name, depleted my savings, and kicked me in the face. Twice.
I don't feel good. And don't say it's all my fault for eating the entire pint. You teased me! You made me want you and then you hurt me, and that's not nice. You are bad, and I hate you. I hate you. But, at the same time I love you. I love the way you hurt me, you dirty, dirty ice cream.
I will never do this again. Until next time. Meet me back here on Thursday. And wear that one carton, the one with the...well, you know.
E. Spat.
