Vermont is a terrible place. In fact, it’s the only state in the Union of which nothing nice at all can be said.*
Moose attacks. Forests teeming with flesh craving, lyme disease infested vulture ticks. More extraterrestrial anal probings per
anorectum capita than any place on Earth. Blizzards of bloody ice and frogs. Bed and Breakfasts. Skeleton Witches. Flannel.
To most of us, however, Vermont is only known for three things: Maple syrup (a sticky insect attractant that tastes like bark and is poured from the head of an effigy of a woman molded in glass — no thank you!), Bernie Sanders (“…there’s too many varieties of deodorant. All you need is Victory antiperspirant: Only people guilty of ThoughtCrime sweat!”) and of course, Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.
An ice cream so foul and perverted that they named a once wholesome fruit flavor after the epitome of all that is noisome, barefoot and dirty, Cherry Garcia.… Read the rest