Beersicle

Ring-a-da-ling! It’s the Ice Cream Vendor. “Stop for me,” I shout, waving my money, “I would like to purchase something with bursting flavor!” — “Well,” replies the Vendor from inside her Ice Cream Rocket, “I suggest that you try this new treat: it is tasty and amber-colored, in the shape of a mug.” — “What is it?” I ask. And the Vendor smiles, licks her lips, and replies: “It is made in Germany, the country of love.” Then she kisses it, right where its name is, and announces: “It’s a big bad Beersicle.” She then hands me this treat that she just kissed, and I kiss it too. “Mmm: Beersicle!” I repeat. — “This frozen beer on a popsicle stick helps you lose more weight than fen-phen,” explains the Vendor cheerfully. — “So the wooden handle is for holding it?” I ask, repositioning my hands. — “Yes,” she winks. “Now, how many kisses does it take to get to the center?” — “Three!” I shout, and then I chug the whole thing, and she hands me two more and proceeds to lecture while I keep licking and kissing. “Beersicle! It’s the perfect way to beat the heat. Slurp it down. Suck it dry. Now let’s get physical. Enjoy several more: Polar Beer Pops, for mating season.” — Here, I interject: “Cut me off, I need to quit!”