Sunday, April 15, 2007
There are a lot of ice cream sandwiches out there. The world is full of them, so if you want soggy chocolate bread mushed up with bland soft-serve vanilla, you're in luck! There's probably a thousand brands to choose from, even if they all look like the same crappy thing, with those lame paper wrappers that never open right.
For a truly fulfilling ice cream and sandwich marriage, you need look no further than the Chipwich.
In concept, it is so simple. It seems like the most natural thing in the world! Two cookies with ice cream in the middle! But it took a team of Nobel Prize winning scientists to concoct the perfect formula. The Mayor of Snacktown awarded them a chest full of gold doubloons, and a parade was held in Santa's North Pole Village for them. And when they died, Allah gave them all one-hundred and fourteen virgins. That's how excellent the Chipwich is.
A few key elements make the Chipwich the perfect ice cream sandwich. First of all, take apart the Chipwich, and you have cookies and ice cream that would be just fine all by themselves. Most ice cream sandwiches cheat; the ice cream would suck without those flaky chocolate wafers, and vice versa. But not King Chipwich. He is made from only the finest ingredients, and knows it. Do I detect a bit of pride behind his frosty smile?
(Probably so... that smug bastard...)
The other key to Chipwich's domination lies in it's excess. Not only do you have two big chocolate chip cookies, and not only do you have rich, sugary ice cream, but the sides are rolled in even MORE chocolate chips! That's like having an orgasm while you poop on a water-slide!
My old roommate used to eat a Chipwich every single night. He was also seven feet tall and had the metabolism of a mutant cheetah. I can only have one Chipwich every three years, or else I will be struck with Adult Onset Diabetes and none of my pants will fit anymore. I'm already such a fat pig that I completely disgust myself. I have to curb my bad habits here and there or they will totally take over.
If I could, every meal I ate would include a white russian, spaghetti, country fried steak, chocolate cake, apple pie, and a Chipwich. I would also never leave the couch, and drink chocolate milk all day while I watched cartoons in my pajamas. But I can't allow that to happen, as spectacular as it would be. I'd go blind and lose circulation and totally hate myself.
Around age 25, I became a disgusting lard-ass, and haven't ever really recovered. I have to ride my bike almost every day, and never eat anything I want, just to keep from breaking the 35 waist barrier. I broke it once, and almost never came back. After that, it's a slippery slope to size 40, and then it's No Man's Land. Next stop is one of those scooters at Wal-MART for people who are so obese they need a go-cart to buy socks.
It's probably been five years or more since I enjoyed an ice-cold Chipwich, but I still salivate like a fucking Pavlovian dog when I see one. A true testament to Awesomeness.