241 years ago some dude named Thomas Jefferson and his bros,
ugliest president of all time John Adams, party animal Benjamin Franklin, unknown dude #1 Roger Sherman, and unknown dude #2 Robert R. Livingston wrote up the ultimate break up letter to Great Britain: The Declaration of Independence.
As anyone with an elementary school education could tell you, this declaration was basically the good old original 13 colonies telling Great Britain to go fuck itself because they were a strong independent woman who don’t need no man. This ended up going pretty well for the colonies, after a few years of getting down and dirty during the good old Revolutionary War, they ended up whooping G.B’s ass and forming the kick ass first and ask names later US of A.
Well, since it worked out so well for America, and because it is my patriotic duty to follow the beautiful example of doing whatever the f*ck I want set forth by our founding fathers, I decided to do something crazy…
I present to thee: The Declaration of Ben & Jerry’s
When in the final course of eating events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve their diet plans which have connected them with misery and to assume among the powers of the cravings, the delicious and decadent station to which the Laws of Foods and of Dessert’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of skinny people requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the feasting.
We hold these foods to be self-indulgent, that all ice creams are created delicious, that they are endowed by their Creator (cough Ben and Jerry cough) with certain unalienable Flavors, that among these are sweet, savory and the taste of Happiness. That to secure these flavors, freezers are installed within kitchens, deriving their just pints from aisle 8 of Publix supermarket.
That whenever any Form of Diet becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the Fatties to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Diet, laying its restriction on such flavors and organizing its freezer in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Fullness and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Diets long established should not be changed for skinny and health causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that fatties are more disposed to suffer. But when a long train of starving and hangriness, pursuing invariably the same diet evinces a design to reduce them under absolute malnutrition, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Diet, and to provide new Guards for their future dessert. Such has been the patient sufferance of these Fatties; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Dietary Restrictions. The history of the present Healthy Diet is a history of repeated grossness and salads, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Misery over these Fatties. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.
- No ice cream suck
- Salads and healthy things suck
- Making people eat salads and healthy things instead of ice cream sucks
- Diets suck
- People should get to eat what they want unless you suck
- Suck a cock you skinny twat
We, therefore, the Overeaters of the United States of America, in General Kitchens Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judgmental Bitches of the world for the rectitude of our eating habits do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good Fatties of these Kitchens, solemnly publish and declare, That these overweight Fatties are, and of Right ought to eat all the ice cream they desire, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the Gluten and Dairy-Free Diets, and that all physical workouts between them and the Gym, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent Fatties, they have full Power to try all flavors, finish all pints, take cookies and make cookie ice cream sandwiches, eat a dessert after dessert, and to Eat Anything and Do Nothing which Independent Fatties may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Calories Don’t Count on the Weekend, we mutually pledge to each other our Stomachs, our Taste Buds, and our sacred Freezers.
Vermont: Mr. Ben and Mr. Jerry