An angry letter to the popsicle stick people

I'm sitting here in my den typing away on my mac. I am pretty sure I am addicted to my computer, being that it has been on my lap for the past seven hours. Other things could be on my lap, but I won't go into details any further here because I am slightly weirded out by what I am saying.

As many of you know, I hate popsicle stick jokes with a passion. I really want to write a letter to the popsicle stick people to tell them how god-awful they are, and that they effectively ruin my day every time I eat a popsicle stick. It would go a little something like this (like this):

Dear Popsicle Stick People,

I am writing not as a overzealous fanatic, but as a dissatisfied customer. I understand the hard labor that goes into making frozen chemicals on bits of wood, and I am not here to disparage the work you do, as it makes a tremendous difference in the lives of thousands of jewish sleepaway campers per year. Without you, my childhood would have been more emptier than apartment yellowcard sings about in a song they do. You probably don't get that reference, and I don't blame you. Judging by the fact that your company took away the baseball glove ice pop with the bubble gum ball in the middle, you clearly are not in touch with what the kids want these days.

By the way, how dense are you? That ice pop was the greatest thing since Mike the Situation. Come on now.

Today, I babysitted my longtime royal pain in the arse, an eight year old named Bryce Ickle. Bryce, or "Ice," as his friends call him, is a big fan of the frozen treat. His father, Pops Ickle, used to drive around an ice cream truck, but retired after he saw Borat and realized he could no longer have a bear in his truck.

That sounded kind of ridiculous and didn't have anything to do with the story, but it was all supposed to be in good humor. You should know what good humor is being that its an ice cream brand, but the jokes on your popsicle sticks suggest that you clearly have no sense of the concept whatsoever.

As per tradition, every time Bryce and I get ice cream after he beats me up if I don't buy him any, we read each other the popsicle stick jokes. He's never really found any of them funny, but it was never a reason to complain. Maybe Bryce and I have an awful comedic IQ, I don't know. After todays joke however, I felt like I had to put my foot down. This monkey business can go on no longer.

The joke was as follows:

"Why didn't the car start?"

____

_____

Wait for it

dramatic effect

ANSWER: because it was tired

After I delivered the punch line, Bryce stood frozen about for about five seconds, completely dumbfounded. Then, all of a sudden, he burst into tears.

He would not stop crying for about 30 minutes. The entire time, he was sobbing about how he couldn't have a popsicle ever again because the jokes made him really really sad.

I hope you know that every time you publish one of those horrific jokes, an angel loses its wings.

Your one job is to make funny jokes. I don't understand why you do the complete opposite. This isn't Australia. The toilet doesn't flush counter clockwise. And neither do your popsicle sticks after I flush them in my shit where they deserve to be. Geez.

Please fire every employee you have and get bought out by ANYONE else. Even George Lopez would be better than you guys.

Respectfully yours,

Lance




song of the day:

Eminem ft. Lil Wayne: No Love