I went to a place, recently, that I think was one of the most fucked up places I’ve ever been to. I’m convinced this place is the epitome of American excess, of American greed. I’m talking about a place called Cold Stone Creamery. Whoa. If you have not been there, the basic gist of Cold Stone is that they take ice cream and they just go apeshit with it. There’s like slamming brownies and gummi bears and just hammering it in there. Whatever fat people want in there: Snickers bar, cheeseburger, let me fuck a Butterfinger into it for you! It’s like, whoa, whoa, whoa! Jesus! This is way too intense, for me! Is that guy’s dick a Butterfinger? What just happened? Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. I think I’ll just have a small vanilla, if that’s okay. This is just too intense, for me. Lady behind the counter is like, “No, no, no! You should try one of our creations like Birthday Cake Remix, where we take cake batter ice cream, yellow cake, fudge chunks, sprinkles-” and I was like, “You know, that just sounds too intense, for me. I’ll just have a small cup of vanilla.” She goes, “Quit being a bitch!” Whoa! And then, I couldn’t even get a small, because there sizes are actually Like It, Love It, and Gotta Have It! What kind of crack-head terminology is that? “Hey, what size you want, man?” “I don’t know, man. I just gotta have it. Put some ice cream in a cup. I’m tweaking, I’m tweaking, I’m tweaking!” And, you know, I felt bad for the people that had to work there. So I was like, “Aw, I’m going to drop a couple of dollars into the tip jar, on my way out.” Whoa! That’s when all hell broke loose! Because apparently, whenever they get even a dollar, in the tip jar, all five employees are required to bump out into a song and dance number where they take current popular music and shove Cold Stone lingo into it as if they’re some retarded second cousin to Weird Al that’s obsessed with ice cream and it’s ridiculous! Five people are singing and dancing for a dollar! That’s twenty cents a person! If you saw a homeless person outside of Cold Stone and were like, “Hey, man. I’ll give you twenty cents to sing some songs about Cold Stone.” He’d go, “Hey, man. GO FUCK YOURSELF. That’s degrading!”
Aziz Ansari: Intimate Moments for a Sensual Evening
(via fujiidom)
