Conephobia

Ever since I donned my first dunce cap in a dark n’ dreary corner at grade school, I have never been a fan of cone shaped objects. Think about it, whenever cones shows up outside a party it almost ALWAYS means trouble - or at least a lot of traffic congestion. Yeah, it may be hip these days to condone garden gnomes and worship Harry Potter’s talking wizard topper, but let me tell you nothing good (especially my grades) has ever come from pointy-head geometry.

Oh sure you can use your Cone-dome to single-out South East Asians who truly love their Mekong rice-paddy hats to keep and look cool all at the same time. Remember though, not so far away pimple-popping Pacific peaks freely spit-up lava in your face, like a bad baby brimming with gut-gas and a craw full of over-ripe pineapple pablum. Yep, the only comely Cone-y that a big APEx like me will pony up to at a table, is one slathered in mustard, onions, and oh so fashionable neon-green relish.

Also, what ‘dim-tin-tin’ dog of a marketing ‘goo-roo’ decided that ice cream is far more fun in a pencil tipped ‘sugar cone’ rather than in the confines of a safe, sane, and POINT-LESS ‘cake cup’? Does this waffling world of ice cream wimps REALLY need two types of edible receptacles; especially when the one with the bayonet for a body makes us dig a hole FIRST before we can sit the drippy mess down?

Double ditto for phony-coney coffee filters – after all these years, other than the Easter Bunny and his marshmallow nougated ilk, what’s the ‘prob’ with packs of flat n’ happy BASKET cases? Remember though, since I’m from the Midwest, you have to slice me a scintilla of slack. Because around these parts, both alley dwelling funnel clouds and funnel cake blowhards like myself have been known to run amok on occasion which often leads to great damage of both the tree-line as well as my waistline!