They Should Name An Ice Cream Treat After Me

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Vol 33 Issue 19

Noxious Minions Of Satan Offer Free Installation Through July

CHICAGO—In an exciting new promotion, the hideous mewling lackeys of the Dark Prince Lucifer are offering free installation of TCI cable to any household responding by July 31. "Act now and get great basic-cable channels like MTV, Nickelodeon and CNN with no installation fee," sniveled TCI customer-service representative Wyrmwort, faithful servant of the Lord Of Lies. "Plus, TCI offers you more great premium channels than ever, from HBO to Cinemax to the biggest blockbuster movies on pay-per-view." Wyrmwort then befouled his body with goat's blood and hailed The Great Deceiver.

Tractor-Pull Fans Begin To Question Whether This Is What Life Is Really About

CLAPP, TN—After attending their fourth such event in as many weeks, several rural Tennesseeans have begun to openly question whether tractor pulls and monster-truck rallies are what life is really all about. "It just seems like life could offer more," said Arlo Taylor, the group's leader. "Books, theater, even simply appreciating the trees and flowers." Said fellow tractor-pull fan Wilbur Spann: "I understand the high-school theater company is performing Steven Sondheim's Into The Woods on Friday. Perhaps that would be a refreshing and enriching change of pace from our frequent pilgrimages to see Robosaurus."

Fugitive Movie Heroine Cuts Own Hair Perfectly

SANTA MONICA, CA—A desperate flight from FBI agents resulted in a knockout new look Tuesday, as fugitive movie heroine Nicole Woodring, crouching in a stranger's backyard tool shed in the dark, cut her long hair into a flattering, salon-quality pixie cut using a pair of rusty hedge shears. "I am extremely impressed," professional hairstylist Blaine Mattson said of the new look. "She looks absolutely gorgeous." The on-the-lam Woodring, who has blonde hair in FBI photos, also managed to dye her hair a stunning chestnut brown using a gallon of Thompson's Deck & Patio Stain found in the shed.

Naked Man Mingles Freely In Locker Room

NOVI, MI—Bally Total Fitness patron Fred Mahorn, 42, took a post-shower stroll through the health club's locker room Monday, casually socializing with fellow members for approximately 15 minutes in a state of total undress. "Hey, nice to see you," Mahorn said to numerous men he happened to pass in the locker room, his flaccid penis and talcum-powdered scrotum in plain view. Most patrons either nodded or pretended they thought he was addressing someone else. The naked Mahorn went on to sit in the most visible spot in the locker room and apply anti-fungal cream to his feet before eventually putting on a towel.

India Opens New Mohandas K. Gandhi Nuclear-Testing Facility

PORBANDAR, INDIA—Ushering in a new era of nuclear strength in the global theater, India dedicated the $1.6 billion Mohandas K. Gandhi Nuclear Testing Facility at the site of the famed Indian's birthplace Monday. "Gandhi surely would have been proud," said facility director Rajiv Pindar, setting off a ceremonial 25-megaton blast in honor of Gandhi. Visitors to the facility will be welcomed by an enormous bronze statue of Gandhi, who holds aloft an atom in one hand and a missile in the other.

Prize-Fighting In My Day

Do not even begin to describe to me the recent pugilistic matches, because I wish not to hear of them. The fist-fighters of to-day are like babies wheeled about in their perambulators. The great fighters of my youth—Sullivan, Corbett, Kilrain, Kid Ithaca—fought without boxing-gloves and hurled blows that would slay an ox. As an intrepid boy-scribe for the old Mercantile-Onion, I covered my first heavy-weight fisticuff demonstration in 1885, and it remains the most exciting fight I have ever witnessed. The contenders were Alfred "The Strong-Man" Talmadge and Patrick "The Gentle-man Who Hits Other Gentle-men" Reid, two leviathans who drank pain and dined on agony for break-fast. They were vying for a purse of $50 in gold and a fine Guernsey milking-cow.
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They Should Name An Ice Cream Treat After Me

My name is Frosty Fritz, and I want an ice-cream treat named after me.

Take a look at my picture. Would I or would I not make the perfect mascot for an ice-cream treat? For God's sake, I wear this Eskimo-style parka all the time, even in warm weather. Is there any doubt in your mind that I am the living embodiment of tasty ice-cream goodness?

Given my appearance, you'd think I enjoy a thriving career as a cartoon ice-cream spokesperson, right? Nope. Instead, I work this shitty third-shift job making industrial lye. I mean, what the fuck?!

I just don't get it. Pansy The Elephant® has a cushy job pitching those disgusting circus peanuts. Whizzy Whale(TM) makes big bucks plugging frozen fish sticks. And who doesn't think about steel-wool cleaning pads without recalling the whimsical image of the Tuff-Job Boy®? Why am I not on this list? Why can't I have my own line of frozen dairy novelties?

Dammit, I want my name to be a registered trademark!

What went wrong? With my looks, I should have been on Easy Street. My life should have all been mapped out for me. I didn't even have to get extensive plastic surgery to look this way, like that jerk Toilet Duck®. What you see is what you get.

I'm pleading, someone, anyone, come up with a new ice-cream treat, and name it after me. We'll split the profits 50-50. I'd put up my own capital, but I'm kind of low on funds right now. (As you may recall, I work in a goddamn lye factory.) The banks won't give me a loan, and when I asked some people at work to chip in, they either laughed in my face or ordered me to get back to stirring the lye.

To demonstrate how serious I am about this venture, I went to the trouble of writing my own commercial.

BOY: Gee willikers! It sure is hot today!

GIRL: You said it, big brother. Boy, a refreshing ice-cream treat would sure hit the spot right about now.

[An igloo magically materializes before the children. Out pops FROSTY FRITZ.]

FROSTY FRITZ: Did somebody say "ice cream"?

BOY and GIRL [in unison]: It's Frosty Fritz! It's Frosty Fritz!

FROSTY FRITZ: That's right, kids! Summer's a whole fucking lot cooler with a delicious Frosty Fritz ice-cream treat!

Etcetera, etcetera. Okay, so perhaps it could do without the swearing, but I think you get the basic gist.

Once we get the first frozen confection off the ground, we can branch off into other products. I spent all last night brainstorming some ideas. Try these on for size: Frosty Fritz's Arctic Choco-Blast, Frosty Fritz's Yukon Gold Peanut-Butter Nugget Special, Frosty Fritz's Fudgy-Dudgy Vanilla Twist, and Frosty Fritz's Super Coolberry Magic Fruity Surprise. I'm telling you, we can't fail. And another tip: Team me with a penguin, and you've got gold, solid gold!

You may be wondering if I've ever tried pitching my ideas to the big-time ice-cream manufacturers. Been there, done that. I wrote a proposal to Tinkydink Treats Amalgamated. (Can't get more big-time than that.) A month later, I got a rejection letter from one of their lackeys in product development. He thanked me for my interest and called my appearance "remarkable," but he said the notion of a parka-clad cartoon man-child hawking ice-cream treats was "no longer the image Tinkydink Treats Amalgamated wants to project."

Bullshit! Well, screw them. Their goddamn treats taste like sugared school glue, anyway. Well, I may not have an MBA or a degree in food chemistry, but I do have something no diploma can buy: street smarts. Don't let my whimsical exterior fool you. I have the instincts of a fucking shark. C'mon, folks, I'm talking money in the bank here. It's a sure fucking thing. Frosty Fritz Ice Cream Treats could be big. Big, I tell you, big!

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