Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream is so Fucking Good.

Ice cream is good, right? Like, ice cream is really good. Yeah, okay, it isn't very good for you and can give you a bRAiN FrEEze, but fuck all that you pussies, that's not what this is about. This is about how scrum-diddily-umptious ice cream is, and ESPECIALLY when we are talking about the East side short kings: Ben & Jerry.

Something these boys put in their many, many, MANY flavors always adds an extra slap-to-the-face of taste and sweetness that makes them stand out. I think it's something them kids in Vermont like to call, "sugar". Yeah, whatever THAT is, Be and Jay like to put a shit ton of it in the 16 ounces they work with.

Actually, they really like to put a FUCK TON of it in.

In most of Bob and Job's pints, they pack more than 100 grams of sugar inside. By "most" I mean the large amount that I have eaten...alone in my room...at 1 AM. Look, it's not something I'm proud of, but sometimes you want a little BJ late at night when no one is around, am I right?

But seriously, Brock n Jade's ice cream is unmatched in the dairy dessert game. Try to put it up against it to their competitors, go ahead. I'll let you know now, EVERYONE ELSE AIN'T SHIT. Yes, eating Beeb and Jimble's makes you realize how many trans fats you're putting in your young, impressionable body, but it also makes you realize everyone else replaced their delicious fats with AIR.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of breathing. I love it, do it everyday. But if I'm planning on shoving pure frozen sugar and milk into my sensitive digestive system, the last thing I want is to be breathing through each massive bite. I want that shit to suffocate me like Joe from You. Joe wouldn't hold back, Joe wouldn't stop until I was satisfied.

Anyways, Beck and Joe's ice cream is really the best. It's hard to describe only through words, so I am limited to only two things. First, I can tell you to go out and get one yourself, and see what the fuck I'm talking about. Second, I can tell you this story from my childhood:

I was only nine-years old in the old days of 2009. It was pre-Michael Jackson's death but post-Farrah Fawcett's death, and I had just finished doing my laps around the house in only my underwear, making sure they were pulled up between my butt cheeks as much as possible (we called this "The French"). I was sweaty, tired, and most importantly, tired. Lucky for me, my parents had just brought home a new sweet for me to try. To my stupid child eyes, the carton spelled "Blink & Jizz's Ice Cream". At the time I only knew how to do one of those things, so you can assume I was very confused at first. However, once my loving mother popped the top off the non-stop sugar shop, my life spiraled into an abyss of confusion and misunderstanding. How could I have gone this long without tasting something so exquisite? This ice cream, it is chocolate, but with marshmallow? What...and is that goldfish in my ice cream? No, it's chocolate fish. This...this is genius. I may never recover from this moment. I have reached my life's peak, right now eating this ice cream called...what is it called? Phish Food...fucking perfect.

Indeed, my life did, in fact, only go downhill from that moment. But alas, there is only one last thing to say. Buster and Dave's ice cream: good. Any other opinion: bad. Bye.