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Wazaam! (With Some Wazoo For Good Measure)

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I wanted to start the story off with a bang. Bangs can be good. Bangs that do wonderful magical things like turn your ice cream into a person, is definitely deserving of a wazaam. So. Vanilla. He went first.

No, I don't know what caused it, do I look like I know everything? I'm just telling this story as I know it.


He was a tall, skinny black man. Not what you'd expect with vanilla, but most people probably couldn't tell you what a vanilla bean actually looked like. (I'll give you a hint - tall, skinny … do I need to go on?)

Hands. Hands were weird. Hands were very ... appendengy. Phalanges, right? Something like that.

He looked around.

And saw the world. It was as simple as that. What you expected things to be more complex than that?

10 seconds ago the dude was a container of white ice cream.

First let's let the poor guy get over whatever existential crises comes from being white, then being black. Well, he was black first, then white, then black again.

That's not the point. Point is, dude has some magical powers.

And is now human.


Where was I?

Yes. Right. He looks around. Phalanges. Has some initial issue with those, but he gets over it.

The next biggest issue comes when he realises he doesn't have to be 'vanilla' anymore.

Dude can be whoever he wants to be.

Handsome black man, what would you pick?

Yeah, he went with Mr. White too.

Don't blame him.


Now that that was settled, he needed to figure out just how he came to be more than just a vat of white ice cream and instead human - with a brain! Thoughts! Memories!

Ooo, memories. Those are tricky. See, Mr. White had spent most of his existence inside a freezer. Unloved, because when given the choice at Ben & Jerry's, most pick something 'fun'.

Hurt his feelings.

Oh, shush, you always picked Half Baked.

And you!

You always go for Mud Pie. Coffee and chocolate. You're just ... you know what? You just stop talking to me. I'm going to be hurt at you for a while.

And you people! Complaining on your tour of the factor that your sample is 'only' vanilla. Do you want to give the poor guy a complex forever? I don't care about your chocolate polar bears.

Do you want me to keep ranting? I could.

Okay, if you're sure you're sorry.


Side tracked again. If you people would get over YOUR vanilla complexes, things would be different.



So he's looking around, figures out he has these magical powers.

What would you do?

Okay, besides create as much money as you need.

No, you can't live forever.

Your friends!

How did only a few small number of you decide on friends first?

Mr. White judges you. (And me.)

Or would. If he knew you were here. That's not the point. Again.

Point is, he wanted to bring his friends! Chubby Hubby was always so nice to him. And Cherry Garcia. Even Phish Food, (who had Rocky Road, but she had a name change), who was full of chocolate was kind to him. Chocolate Fudge Brownie? An asshole.

So. He had to use his weird little phalanges, his not-at-all-ironic-but-people-will-call-it-ironic name to figure out what was going on, and how to get his friends here.

So he went to the factory (yes, that factory, and you know what? He ignored the chocolate polar bears. You're just going to have to get over it) to find out what made the wazaam go so wazaam-y in the first place.

He went with Chubby Hubby first, because vanilla has to stick together, right?


Yes, it was really that simple.

(Yes, I might be glossing over certain parts. Shush.

I said shush!

You know, you're a Mud Pie fan, aren't you? I can tell. I can always tell.

Oh, Chocolate Fudge Brownie? Yeah. Shush.)

Now Chubby Hubby was also not-white. Vanilla beans, people. Did you forget already? You are exactly what is wrong with this world.

Chubby Hubby was beautiful too. Black caramel coloured skin, not nearly as tall as Mr. White (a little on the chubby side if you will). Says he's from Antilles.

Makes sense to me.

Google it, if you need to.

I can wait.

Okay? We're good? Yes/yes? Yes. Okay.

Anyway, he and Mr. White hugged tightly, while Mr. White explained about the wazaaming and maybe a wazoo or two thrown in there too.

Chubby Hubby was not interested in names. He wanted adventure. Makes sense. I'd want adventure too. He was bit on the wilder side than Mr. White, who wanted to bring some more of their friends back.

So. There needed to be some calming down.

This part I'm just going to gloss over, but let me just say, it involved a rather wicked trip to the grocery store and some revenge on Chunky Monkey. Not that I blame Chubby Hubby. Chunky Monkey is an asshole too.

No, I'm not impartial.

I'm Vanilla's fan, through and through.

But. Yes. After that little incident, we were back to the factory.

Chubby Hubby wanted to bring back New York Super Fudge Chunk, saying he would be a super awesome asset to the team, but Mr White, wisely sensing that that had been a particularly bad breakup between the two, picked Cherry Garcia instead.

Yes, Chubby Hubby was in a relationship with New York Super Fudge Chunk.

You have a problem with that?

Two 'male' ice creams getting together?

Cos if you do, you're going to have a REALLY big problem with Phish Food.

So you stop reading now.


You're good?


Cherry Garcia came stumbling out, petite little girl. White, with red little pigtails and dark brown eyes. Oh, did you think this was going to be a tiny little Asian girl because of the cherry?

You racist.

She's fierce too. She'll cut you.

Okay, you're not a racist. I'm sorry. That might have been me too quick on the trigger.

Anyway, onto the rest of the story.

Cherry Garcia, interestingly enough, decided to go by Wendy, because of that one pigtailed girl that's on all the french fries.

Yeah, I don't question it too much.

Mr. White, Chubby Hubby, and Wendy.

All walk into a bar ...

No. Not yet (later, I promise, they do all walk into the bar).

They needed to bring Phish Food. Wendy wasn't going anywhere without Phish Food, and Chubby Hubby and Mr White agreed that a party without Phish Food wasn't a real party at all.


More Wazaams. Couple-a wazoos for good measure.


Forgot the wazaam and wazoo on Wendy! Well, you'll just have to use your imagination and pretend it was there.

Out stumbles a burly looking girl, bushy brown hair, toothpick in her teeth.

Yo, she says, thumbs tucked in her baggy jeans.

She reeks of pot.

(I know, I call you a racist and Phish Food is about as stereotypical as one can get.

What do you expect though?

I mean honestly.

Who else but every hippy ever could she look like?)

Miss Andy, she says, when they tell her about the names thing.


Except Chubby Hubby, who was still anti-name.

She looks exceptionally pleased with her name choice.

Until Wendy politely points out that it's not a girl's name.

If I had nuts could I be Andy? Miss Andy asks, examining her phalenges. Cos I got rid of 'em, she adds, grinning wickedly.


Remember, if you've forgotten, like that whole vanilla bean thing (ha! See! Now you'll remember for the next few sentences!), about Chubby Hubby and New York Super Fudge Chunk?


Miss Andy used to be Rocky Road, but when he moved to the factory, he asked to shuck his nuts (didn't want 'em, didn't need 'em) and be a she.

And you know Ben and Jerry.

Liberal Hippie Commies.

The both of 'em.

So they were totally down with it.

He shucked his nuts. Went from Rocky Road to Phish Food. Him to her. Happens all the time with humans, don't act all scandalized.

No really.


She's a lot happier without her nuts.

(You want nuts? Go have pecan ice cream.)


The end.

For her at least!

No worries, I still have more of a story to tell.

Because ... well, they'd just mastered phalenges and memories.

So why not add alcohol too?

Mr White, Chubby Hubby, Wendy, and Miss Andy all walk into a bar.

And get rip roaringly drunk.

Like, plastered.

Mr White, feeling the love, makes out with both Wendy and Chubby Hubby.

Wicked, man, says Miss Andy, who is at the pool table, asking for a joint.

Mr White, wisely sensing this isn't a good road for Miss Andy to go down, puts the kibosh on that.

We need jobs, says Wendy. I know where I want to go!

Oh, guess.

Go on.

If you're good at remembering (HINT: HER NAME), you'll figure it out.


That wasn't hard.

Miss Andy wanted to be a painter, but since we're stereotyping, that doesn't surprise us, does it?

And hey, since we're stereotyping, guess where Chubby Hubby wanted to go?

Go on.

I'll wait.

No, you need to guess.

Give up?


(He was pretty successful. Everyone just called him Chubs.)

That leaves our dear Vanilla, Mr. White.

He'd done what he set out to do.

Had a wazaam made on him and he went out and wazaamed and wazood his friends into existence.

But here's the thing.

He might have just been a plain, looked-over, unloved ice cream, but as a man, whoo boy.

Watch out world.

If you happen across a tall, skinny, black man with a west african accent ...

You'll know.


No, that's it.

Yes, I'm ending the story there.

No, they didn't go back and make anyone else.

Well, I'm sorry that pecan is only scoop shop now.

I really can't change that.

Or that.

You know what?

Go ask Mr White.

If you ever find him.

(You are a very bad listener story-told-to person.

Just so you know.)