“Did I hear that right? Did someone say ice cream? It’s an odd thing to say in the middle of a eulogy, but hell yes, I could go for some ice cream. We could take a break, because it’s not like this guy won’t still be dead in a half an hour.”

“If I could lick the sunset, I’ll bet it would taste like Neapolitan ice cream.”

“I like ice cream with my cake. But in moderation, and not like five gallons with a cupcake. For that much ice cream, I’d need at least two cupcakes.”

“I love like a lawnmower in the desert. I love like a solar-powered lunar vehicle. I love like a wind-powered kite factory. Some might even say I love like an ice cube in an oven, but I’d vehemently disagree. It’s not an ice cube, it’s an ice sculpture—of your heart, and it’s melting at this very moment.”

“My love is a flower shaped like a snowflake. It won’t melt, so perhaps ice cream should be made out of it.”

“On second thought, maybe “Penis on a Stick Ice Cream Parlor” is not such a good name for a business—even an ice cream shop—but especially not a day care center catering towards the albino dwarf community.”

“On the frozen tundra, I milked a cow and pumped out ice cream. Strangely, it had chunks of strawberries in it.”