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OK what’s the recipe for a book launch at The Icecreamists?

We start with the scoop, the whole scoop and nothing but the scoop.

Firstly, we don’t do frozen yoghurt. Want to be a saint? Fuck off up the road to Snog. Remember, the devil has all the best licks. Second rule of The Icecreamists is no factory made ice cream. I’d rather kiss my arse than be like Haagen-Dazs.

Now get religion. Our creed for the night: melting down is capitalism, frozen out is socialism, nothings cool in liberalism we believe in Icecreamism.

For starters, become an armed and dangerous ice cream evangelist with a gun-shaped ice lolly loaded with Holy Water from Lourdes at 100 Euros a pop. Report any apparitions, miracles or mysterious healings to our mismanagement committee. Send four complimentary weapons of mass seduction to our Holy Father in the Vatican as he considers our designs for a new range of ‘Aposticle’ ice lollies. After all, Jesus Christ is a Scooperstar and we always look on the bright side of life at the Father Ted school of Ice Cream.

Want a licence to chill and a very coldfinger? Clasp gun in right hand, adopt Kurt Cobain position and place barrel in mouth before sucking hard. Remember to conceal evidence by using our latex ‘exam’ gloves and consuming entire weapon. Remember that unlike the Met Police, we shoot to chill, not to kill. After discharging weapon, lock gun cabinet securely in line with local licensing laws. Warning: product is laced with enough Absinthe to blow your head off and may leave you incapacitated rocking in a corner with permanent brain freeze.

For mains, administer The Icecreamists medication by way of our prescription for your addiction. Our militarily upgraded Sex Bomb ‘Viagra’ ice cream contains enough erectile properties to bring people back from the dead. Period. Wash down with our Steve Jobs Apple Martini. It’s not very PC but its been our best selling summer download laced as it is with enough Polish Zubrowka vodka to paralyse a baby elephant. Please binge responsibly.

For those in search of an organic, free-range and freshly squeezed palate cleanser, get your kicks with our licks and our Baby Googoo breast milk ice cream as seen on TV thanks to The Icecreamists answer to Max Clifford, Lady Gaga. Discuss the cross-dressing version in development, the ‘Lady Boy Gaga’ made with genuine Ladyballs. At this point pause for breath, consider the goose-stepping food fascists at Breastminster Council and the local Gestapo with their bye laws, why laws, rules, regs, and noise abatement issues and then say fuck it. You want health and safety? We’ll give you some real health and safety issues…

For our dessert storm lets get down to some choc and awe with our cabaret of cool, ‘Riding the Valkyrie’, which sounds like one of Hitler’s wet dreams. Insert one coat hanger into throat whilst looking for keys, swallow fire whilst nearly torching marquee, juggle sashimi-slicing knifes in Cameronesqe death by a thousand cuts, slit girlfriends throat, smash head into a pile of broken glass and execute melon on opera singers stomach with two-foot long sword whilst she sings Mozart’s requiem. Remove said melon and convert into sorbetto.

Finish with a foul-mouthed recipe book of ice creams, vice creams and other guilty pleasures presented by the enchanting ice maidens at Octopus Publishing and administered by a recovering Catholic, lapsed alcoholic and practising diabetic specialising in social revolution and genital origami.

Allow proceedings to digest, memorise book and prepare to make Heston Blumenthal look like Ronald McDonald and Gordon Ramsay sound like a choir boy. Your mission? To boldly go where no responsible ice cream man has gone before. To liberate the world one lick at a time with a holy water pistol in one hand and your ice cream bible in the other.

Amen.

Matt O’Connor 1/6/12

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