Whipped cream on the bottom.
Man, this whipped cream is really good too.
If those cows knew what we get up to with their milk they'd probably be discouraged with us. We're playing with the food they provide us. They would not understand all our messing around. We're deadly serious about playing with our food making milkshakes and popsicles, whipping their cream and blasting it into coffee and onto hot chocolate, making ice cream and forming little Eskimo sandwiches out of it. We smear their butter on our toast. Then smear it again with fruit preserves. We're insane.
Then you die and go to heaven and talk to God and he tells you, "Man, that was a good one. That thing that you guys did with those cows. You cultured their milk and made all kinds of stuff out of it. You whipped up their cream and put it on pies! You're insane. All the things that you did with that milk is just incredible. I did not anticipate all of that. You little cheesemakers amaze me.
Psych!
I saw it all coming. I just wanted to live it, and I just couldn't believe you would actually create full industries out of this. You took it all a lot farther than reason. You crackpots really are crazy.
And there is no end to your insanity. You keep adding onto it. Each year you contrive new things to do with cow's milk and with new ways to do them. You maniacs grew them much larger than sensible. Now they are handicapped living walking milk-producing udders with smaller cows attached to them, barely able to carry themselves to be milked. You did that through maniacal obsession. And that's why I love you. You goofballs are the best.
Some people do! The real people keep it real.
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