Paper on Cones

I like ice cream. I prefer soft ice cream in what we Easterners call regular cones, but hard ice cream in a sugar cone will do in a pinch.  Since ice cream vernacular can vary with geography, allow me to explain that we call the cones in these pictures sugar cones. The pictures are from the event that prompted this particular diatribe, where while on vacation, my displeasure with the modern ice cream cone industry came to a head. For those of you disinclined to read the entire tale, the following summary should suffice:

Whoever had the bright idea to adhere paper to our ice cream cones needs to have canvas luggage straps stuck to their skin with a hot glue gun, after which disgruntled children, recently deprived of their half-eaten ice cream cones, will attempt to rip the straps off without breaking any skin.

Why would I envision such a harsh punishment for such a seemingly innocuous crime? Because I like the actual ice cream cones almost as much as the ice cream. I especially like the last bit of the cone that contains the ice cream that I’ve spent the last few minutes systematically filling with repetitive tongue pressure in order to achieve the perfect last mouthful. The perfect last mouthful of an ice cream cone can be popped into my mouth with the pride of a job well done, thus fulfilling the compulsion initiated with the purchase of said cone. Fulfilling compulsions is something that people like me need to do. It’s who we are.

You see, when an ice cream cone is first fitted with its scooped topping of cold, hard, delicious ice cream, the majority of the internal cone space is empty. Only by the proper application of force while licking the ice-cream on the cone does the cone fill with delicious, soft ice cream. By the time the bottom of the cone is reached, the proper balance of cone versus melted (but still cold) ice cream has been achieved, leaving the last, pointy, delicious morsel to be eaten. Eating this last, delicious morsel is the grand finale of the act of consumption when hard ice cream is delivered in a cone. The process is a ritual, and it is sacrosanct.

But someone, somewhere, has tampered with the way of things, and that someone deserves to suffer. Someone decided that ice cream cones should have paper wrappers, for reasons only known to him, and perhaps the corporate masters to which he serves. My guess is that this person hates children, or perhaps he just hates happiness. I think, perhaps, that as a child himself, this person must have had a terrible ice cream cone experience and in an effort to exact retribution on mankind, he has found a way to make us all suffer as he once did.

Perhaps he dropped his cone as a child and it landed on a piece of gum. Or maybe he had an overprotective mother who insisted on glueing a name tag onto his cones. Maybe he’s just an psychotic malcontent who gains satisfaction from the misery of others. All I know is that I hate him, and I hate all who have encouraged his wide-reaching scheme of treachery and destruction of this, the most delicious of childhood luxuries.

Having paper wrapped around the cone is certainly not the end of the world. I can hear the chorus of first world problem complaints from those prone to such retorts, but it’s not the paper, really, that gets me riled up. If all the cones came wrapped in paper that could simply be pulled off and discarded, I would have accumulated no angst, and would not have been moved to put fingers to keyboard. No, it’s not the paper that’s the problem.

It’s the glue.

I can see, perhaps, an ice cream cone company wanting to assault me with even more advertising than I already suffer through while waiting for my cone, and I can understand the debatable benefit of having a paper prophylactic wrapped around my cone to protect me from the cooties of the person who handed it to me. That’s all well and good, but for the love of all that’s delicious, does it have to be glued to the cone?

I’m sure the secret society that governs the use of paper on cones insists that the glue be edible, or at least biodegradable, but I don’t care; I want it gone! I don’t want glue of any kind on my cone, and if I’m being honest, I don’t want paper, rubber, latex, or any other protective material adhered to my edible desert holders either. I ate naked ice cream cones for years as a kid and I didn’t get cooties once.

Do you have any idea what happens to people like me when they can’t finish their cone? It’s not pretty, and my family is tired of hearing about it, so I’ve vowed to save up all my unresolved compulsion issues that have been triggered by paper on cones, and I’m going to seek retribution on the guy that invented this horrid, despicable practice.

If you’re reading this, you wrecker of the ice cream cone, you should understand that there are countless people who despise you, and hate what you have done to our beloved cones. We will probably never find you, and we will probably never get our revenge, but understand that we are many, and we are pissed. We also really like ice cream, so most of us don’t have much energy, but don’t let that give you a false sense of security, because some of us can type like nobody’s business!

Regardless of our energy levels, you suck, your paper-glued-on-cones suck, and I hate you for ruining countless cones for countless millions of us who like to eat the entire cone without also eating bits of the crappy paper sleeve along with its disgusting and unnecessary glue. Since I can’t find you, I propose the following as an act of passive-aggressive solidarity:

If everyone who reads this were to go buy a pint of their favorite flavor, and eat it directly out of the carton in front of a store that puts paper on their cones, we might send a message. I encourage you to bring extra spoons and share, since a crowd of people eating free ice cream in front of an ice cream store might actually make an impression with the cone cartel. With enough people and enough pints consumed, the message might get out, after which the perpetrator of this crime against happiness would at long last know of our displeasure. I imagine he might hear of our uprising while working on his plans to ruin Christmas, or weekends, or maybe even pizza.

Would we make a difference? I have no idea, but it would be a delicious social experiment devoid of the compulsion-killing angst of the kind triggered by paper on cones, and you might just make some new friends. Sure, we might all gain a few pounds, but I, for one, am willing to make that sacrifice for the good of mankind, or at the very least, the good of our frozen desserts. Besides, then we could all use “making a statement about an important social issue” as an excuse for the extra pounds, and if there’s one thing I can use a clever new excuse for, it’s the extra pounds.

Science has proven that stress causes weight gain. I’m too lazy to look that up, so you can go hunt for validation of that statement on your own if you’re into that sort of thing. Regardless of the veracity of that remark, consider this: If stress causes weight gain, and paper on cones causes stress, then I submit that removing the paper and the glue from all these cones will lower our aggregate stress levels and thus make us all healthier! Sure, we’d consume more empty calories by eating the last, delicious morsel of all those cones, but the increased happiness and lower measured level of angst (measured with an angstrometer) would easily offset the increased calories. Like I said, it’s science; look it up.

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