Your social media post:
I got an ice cream maker for my birthday, and I just churned some homemade pistachio ice cream. It was delicious!
The reply:
Hello, it’s me, the single most humorless and pedantic person you have ever met in your life. We briefly encountered one another eight years ago under circumstances you can no longer fully remember, and there’s a good chance we have passed one another in public multiple times since without recognizing each other. However, I monitor your social media closely and I have a lot of thoughts about the seemingly innocent thing you just posted and you’re going to hear all of them.
First things first, I am lactose intolerant, and I cannot believe you would brag on social media about eating ice cream. Many of us would LOVE to eat ice cream, but unfortunately, our physiology does not allow it. Maybe you think there’s something funny about someone eating dairy and then having flatulence so loud that it sets off a car alarm, but believe me, there was NOTHING funny about the time it happened to me and I happen to have a very well-developed sense of humor.
What’s more, did you know that every time a cow is milked, it shaves five years off of its life? A guy outside of the co-op told me that once, and he had a face tattoo indicating that only God could judge him, so who am I to question his wisdom? Milk is murder, meat is slavery, and eggs are misdemeanor embezzlement.
Furthermore, I CANNOT believe that you chose to make pistachio ice cream. Talk about adding insult to injury! Do you have any idea how much water it takes to grow one single pistachio? The equivalent of eight Olympic swimming pools, probably! And do you know where they grow pistachios? California, which is facing a terrible drought! I saw a documentary just the other day about how bad the drought is in California; everyone there is dirty and sunburned and once a week, the Governor pulls these big levers and water pours out of this mountain that’s shaped like a skull, and that’s all the water anybody gets. And then Charlize Theron drove this big rig around the desert and a guy named Mad Max teamed up with her. Best documentary I’ve ever seen in my life.
Finally, I can’t believe you would brag about churning your own ice cream. As you no doubt well know, I suffer from Elective Fatigue Syndrome (EFS), which prevents me from doing strenuous activity when I don’t really feel like it. This disease, which is recognized by nearly a dozen doctors of homeopathy, afflicts literally tens of people every year. We suffer so greatly and hardly anyone even knows about our disease because we don’t feel like writing a pamphlet about it. I don’t mean to sound dramatic, but when you boast about how easily you churn ice cream, you might as well be setting me on fire and then scissor-kicking me into a combine harvester.
Now, I know you’re just going to say what you always say: “This post isn’t about you.” That seems unlikely because every situation I have ever encountered and every comment I have ever overheard has been about me. No statement has been fully evaluated until I’ve had the opportunity to swoop in with my carefully curated chiding mother hen personality and surgically drain every last drop of joy and levity from its tattered carcass. Much like Judge Holden in Cormac McCarthy’s “Blood Meridian,” whatever exists in creation without my knowledge exists without my consent, and I do not consent to your pistachio ice cream.
Anyway, I generally enjoy your posts, I just hope you’ll be more considerate in the future and try to avoid such controversial topics.
