by Steve Liddick
People who are trying to quit smoking cigarettes have many aids to help them kick the habit: nicotine patches and gum, self-help books, support groups, nagging spouses.
But what about those of us who are addicted to, say, ice cream?
There is no ice cream patch. If there were it would be pretty messy.
Like Pavlov’s dog, my mouth begins to water when I hear the ice cream truck’s song as it cruises neighborhoods in its unholy quest to get the very young hooked.
I suppose it could be worse. If ice cream were outlawed there would be many more addicts. That’s what happened when a Constitutional amendment banned alcohol.
There is a law of nature that says that if you can’t have a thing, then that is the very thing you will want. It also works that way with the “must-have” toy around Christmastime every year. Word gets out that a toy is in short supply and that your kid will be scorned by his and her peers if you don’t stand in line at the local toy store to get one for him or her. Meanwhile, he and she are at home crying their eyes out because they will be pariahs if they don’t get one of the rare thingamabobs for their very own. People got violent when the Cabbage Patch dolls and Tickle Me Elmo toys were hard to find. Fights broke out at toy stores. Pet Rock sales really took off when the rumor started that they were only a few left. Prices soared and a black market developed for each of those items.
Bad enough if consuming ice cream were a crime. What if churches declared it a sin? That would be the cherry on top, so to speak. There would surely be a run on the stuff. Most ice cream addicts would do their sinning out of town, of course. Either that or at small back room ice cream parlors where, if you had the right connections, you could feed your addiction.
Organized crime would again flourish, supplying the illicit product to eager scofflaws. Modern-day Elliot Nesses would be combing the land for modern-day Al Capones. Shady characters would lure people into dark alleys to sell fudge ripple out of the trunks of their cars.
Those deprived of their ice cream would by lying in dark rooms, crying out pathetically for butter pecan, French vanilla . . . their mothers.
Families would be ripped apart. America’s already-overcrowded prisons could not accommodate the enormous influx.
Fortunately I have my own ice cream maker and a large freezer.
The only way you will get my ice cream away from me is if you pry it from my cold, dead fingers.
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