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In my youth my family referred to me as "The Sneaker" as I was always sneaking around and getting into trouble. I routinely stuck Play-Doh and glue on surfaces they never should have come in contact with. The handle for my Easy Bake Oven was bent and malformed from leaving it inside as the lightbulb burned away at it with the scorching intensity of 100 watts.

I was a crafty child in both senses of the word. I was mischievous and fond of creating things. I was a crafty crafter. That's not to say I was good at creating things -- often far from it. My poor mother was convinced I was mainly interested in creating messes.

Mixing up miscellaneous ingredients in a pan and frying it in my Easy Bake Oven wasn't my only creative outlet. I also had a pink Singer play sewing machine. I used it to make slutty dresses for Barbie while she was out working the clubs. My Barbies were such whores, I don't know why I put up with their shit for so long.

One thing I always wanted as a child and never received was an ice cream machine. There were all kinds from Barbie to American Girl to ones that made slushies as well. The one I had my eye on was the boastful 3-Minute Ice Cream Maker. It might not be branded with the image of Snoopy, but it struck a cord that made me salivate like Pavlov's dog. Well -- not really. I just wanted to sound smart for knowing such a random fact about psychology.

I never got my ice cream maker. After all the Easy Bake fiascos, I almost can't blame my mother for that. Chances are she'd come downstairs to find a spilled gallon of sugar milk fermenting in the carpet. Chances are she still might, because I bought the fucker off eBay.

I can't believe this thing still has the original mix and cones. Even the original sprinkles! I'd have downed the things the second after I opened the box as a kid. ½ a second is they had been chocolate. Let's not even get into the ramifications of them being crumbled cookie pieces.

First thing's first, we need to replace the cones and the mix.

That's better.

I examined the instructions thoroughly as I had no idea there was such a process involved in making ice cream other than "mix and freeze." I was intrigued at the prospect of solidifying it against a metal canister and scraping it off as if you were cleaning and old freezer.

I bought a box of Junket ice cream mix at Wal-Mart and a big canister of salt. I could have bought a container of ice cream for the cost of these items alone. I still had to buy milk and cream on top of that. Shit. By now I could get a bucket of vanilla ice cream for the same price and it would not only be ready to eat, but would come in red, white, and blue as well!

I set to work mixing the slop together in a large bowl. It was double the size of original packets, but it looked like it could hold it all. I was right. It did hold it all...

... for about 3 seconds until it started leaking out of everything, including the handle. The instructions stated to begin cranking slowly. I started slowly and then assumed I was to gradually pick up speed. I was on that crank like Garfield on lasagne, simultaneously holding the machine down with the dampened towel. I cranked and cranked and cranked.... 2 minutes.... still runny.... 3 minutes.... still runny.... 6 minutes... oh fuck! I can't wait any longer!

I brought down the scraper and shoveled the ice cream off the canister. It was a little melty, but I managed to scoop it up and build a mighty homemade cone.

On one hand this was a total catastrophe. On the other hand, I shouldn't have overloaded the maker. On the other other hand.... which I guess would be like -- a foot or something -- the ice cream wasn't that great. But I got to make a giant mess and that was the whole point of the article.

I think.



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