I am BITTER-ICE. (We are the BITTER-ICE.) We are the hated, the despised. (Why do they despise us? Why?) We are not cheap like Fla-Vor-Ice. (We cannot compete with our brother's price. We cannot.) We do not have the cool characters like Otter Pops. (DAMN the Otter Pops. We hate Sir Isaac Lime! We hate! We hate!)
I am BITTER-ICE, the bastard. (take pity on us.) When we want to watch a show, and the Otter Pops or Fla-Vor-Ice are in the room, we do not get to. (I have never held a remote control.) No one tapes our favorite show. (Do I have a favorite show? We are not sure. One time we saw a sasquatch special narrated by Leonard Nemoy. I think we liked it. I can understand Sasquatch's pain. He is cold, and alone.)
I am cold, and alone. (BITTER-ICE, BITTER-ICE, BITTER-ICE is my name.) Louie-Bloo calls me crazy. ("CRAY ZEE! CRAY ZEE!" he yells.) We are BITTER-ICE, I am not crazy. I imagine eating Louie-Bloo. (I am not crayzee.) I squish his bottom parts, and after I eat his top I slurp the bottom. (I slurp the bottom of Bloo.) That will show that Otter Pop bastard. (Show Louie-Bloo good.) But I only do it out of love for Bloo, out of love for Bloo love for
I am BITTER-ICE. I am BITTER-ICE. I am BITTER-ICE. The Native Americans believed that on the coldest day of winter if you ran towards the sun, you would run forever. (One time we ran to catch the bus but they closed the doors and the bus drove off. A Red and a Green Fla-Vor-Ice were both sitting in the back and laughed at us as they sped off.) We are BITTER-ICE. Please stop the bus for us.
In math class once, we said that the answer was "d2y/dx2 = x2 + 2y dy/dx - 5x" It was not. The answer was "Lincoln, Nebraska." (They laughed at us! They laughed!) We did not mean to be wrong. Do not mock us for our mistake, Otter Pops! Do not mock us for our mistake, Fla-Vor-Ice! (Why were we in class wearing only our underwear? Why did no one tell me of the exam?)
I am BITTER-ICE. I am in my underwear, and I am cold. (It's not what you think it's not what you think we are cold.)
We are BITTER-ICE. We get confused over the collective and singular, the many and the one. (Plural? Plural what?) While at lunch, they make fun of BITTER-ICE because I always grab more napkins than I really need. (We do not mean to.)
Misspelled, we are "Pip, CEO." No one else finds this as interesting as I do. I think it holds a fundamental truth. (Who is "Pip"? What is he the CEO of?)
I bet Pip is alone, and cold. (We think he is in his underwear.) Pip is not BITTER-ICE. But he is close.
I am BITTER-ICE. (Not Pip, but cold nonetheless.) When we drive our BITTER-ICE car, we always use hand signals. (We do not have good cars like Otter Pops do.) We have broken turn signals. I'll fix them as soon as we get the money. In the meantime, we use handsignals. (Stop laughing at me. Stop throwing things in my car when I am making a right turn. Stop trying to grab my hand when I am making a left turn.)
I am BITTER-ICE. I don't turn anymore. I drive straight. (Otter Pops turn when they wish. The Fla-Vor-Ice use public transit. We hate them all.) We hate them all.
We are BITTER-ICE. We are not as smooth, as rich, as the Otter Pops. We do not have their personality. We are not as plentiful and as loved by the people as Fla-Vor-Ice. We do not have their rustic charm.
We are BITTER-ICE, and we do not have our dry cleaner tag. (Can I please have my wrapper now? Please?)
We hate them all, but we love them. Especially Strawberry Short Kook. I imagine her sometimes outside of her clear plastic shell. Her insides slosh on the ground. (Slosh slosh we love her. Slosh slosh.)
We are BITTER-ICE.
(I am cold, and I am alone.)
I am BITTER-ICE.
I apologize for the brain freeze.