Chicken fingers of the sea

Today, I was in an exam prep course all day. There is nothing quite like relearning 4 years worth of material to really make your brain melt into a puddle on the floor. So, when we finally finished, I was happy to go out with some friends to wind down. We went out for delicious pub food. I couldn't decide whether it would be a good idea to order the chicken fingers, because I usually try to eat things that are close to natural. I mean, I know that most pub food is pretty processed, but do chickens even have fingers? My friend had fish and chips, which I called "chicken fingers of the sea", and we laughed and laughed, because, as I mentioned, our brains were in a giant puddle far from us. We proceeded to have many similar laughs that they thought I should blog, but I thought I wouldn't remember. I'm often right. Once my friend assumed something, and I said, "You know what you do when you assume, right? You make an ass out of you and me. Actually, I don't really feel like an ass. You assued." Then we laughed and laughed.

This laughter was probably a combination of our missing brains, the pint we had, and the fact we'd just inhaled a bunch of ice cream. Two of us got the same Blizzard, but mine was made by someone who appeared a bit stoned (he seemed really confused when I tried to pay him), so it had way more Crispy Crunch. The moral: Always choose the stoned fast food server. (Unless meat is involved, then the rules all change.)

This made me think of the time I was at Marble Slab and the child in front of us was begging her mother to get her a cone. It was quite the ordeal and when she finally got it, she excitedly ran up to order. I thought, "Good job, little one" and was happy for her. Until she ordered. "What do you want in it?" the server asked. "Sprinkles!" she said. And I just felt sad. She did all that work convincing her mother to spend money on Marble Slab ice cream, where the entire gimmick is that you get to choose anything you want to mix in with your ice cream, and she chooses a fake ingredient. It was obvious that girl was not getting it again for a really long time, and she had no idea that she'd pretty much just added sugar. And dye. And maybe some sort of shellac. Okay, so I'm not really sure what the exact recipe for sprinkles is, but what I do know is that they add nothing but aesthetic value to anything. Well, except for vanilla dip donuts, but ice cream is not a vanilla dip donut. In fact, maybe if she had asked for a vanilla dip donut to be mashed into her ice cream, it would have been worth it. By the way, I had Belgian chocolate ice cream with Reese peanut butter cups and raspberries. It tasted like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but with the bread replaced by awesome.

I'd like to write more in this post, but I realize that it will likely just result in me repeating various bad jokes about chicken fingers. Tomorrow, I'll try to scoop my brain off the floor and use it to write something that will really blow your mind. Or, I'll just bitch about how much it sucks to be mauled by a bear. Either way, I'll enjoy it.