I like beer.
I love you Zep. I love you as much as the self serve stations in specific fast food chains. And SK too. You’re all banned.
What they should do is have Ice Cubes for every beverage, and the ice cube is actually made of that beverage (i.e., you put cubes in your Coca Cola, they’re just frozen Coke). It would chill it, and you wouldn’t lose volume!
Or hey, just give smaller cups!
BTW: A&W doesn’t ice their drinks. They have this entire thing in big bold red font in the cup saying why they don’t.
Ice cubes suck. They water out the drinks.
One of the reasons I don’t drink soft drinks, nor order any sort of beverage at restaurants.
BRILLIANT! :victoly:
You’re the smartest person I know. You should market that idea and make millions 
HEY KIDS!
Here is a fun thing you can do at home!
Take some of your favorite fruit juice and poor it into an empty ice cube tray. Then cover the top of the tray with cling wrap. Put a tooth pick in each ice cube in the tray, and freeze overnight. Take off the wrap and HOLY SHIT YOU JUST MADE POPSICLES.
Eat and enjoy before your parents find out and burn you alive for witchcraft.
Little Boy had a hat. He loved that hat. He wore it everywhere. He named it Christopher. He thought about a lot of things while he wore that hat. He went to a lot of places while he wore that hat. He went to the shopping market to purchase grapes. Little Boy wanted to get green seedless, but Christopher informed him magically by falling off of Little Boy’s Head onto the sign for the black seedless, which amazingly enough happened to be on sale. The green seedless weren’t. If it weren’t for Christopher, Little Boy might never have seen that sign. Little Boy would have spent more money than he should have. Fucking A, Little Boy thought, I love Christopher.
Little Boy thought about the strangeness of hair while wearing his hat Christopher. How strange it was, Little Boy thought, that human hair would just keep growing almost endlessly without cutting it. You never saw that problem in wild animals that Little Boy saw at the zoo while wearing his hat Christopher. Those animals never got haircuts. But their hair always looked clean and neat. They didn’t need one. Little Boy tried to grow his hair out to see what would happen, but Christopher did not like it. He was not comfortable sitting on all of that hair. He told Little Boy to get a god damned haircut, or he would choke on his own blood and feces in the middle of the night. That would suck, thought Little Boy, so he got a haircut.
One day Little Boy had the idea of making ten little hats for all of his fingers. It wasn’t fair, Little Boy thought, that only his head got to wear a wonderful hat like Christopher. Christopher was really wonderful. Why not have ten times the fun? So Little Boy went home from school and started constructing ten little pirate hats out of assorted colored cardboard paper. He had already decided on the names for the hats. They would be, in order from left to right, Jonathan, Sebastian, Corey, Philip, Jacob, Ferris, Motley, Kevin, Lenny, and Vance. Oh how excited Little Boy was at the thought of wearing ten magnifcent new hats on his fingers. If this experiment worked, thought Little Boy, he would make ten more for his toes, and then if that worked, he would learn nuclear physics and construct millions and millions of micro-sized hates for every single hair on his body. But even that wasn’t enough. Little Boy’s mind started to race with the possibilities. Why stop with just the hair? He could make a hat for each separate skin cell. For each molecule inside of his skin cells. For each atom in the molecules. Forget for a second the fact that Little Boy was too young to comprehend the existence of skin cells and molecules and atoms and particle physics or to even know that hair grew on his body. The power was channelled through him from an alternate source, clearly. Maybe God, or Stephen Hawkins’ paralyzed phallus. His mind was overwhelmed. He began to think of names for all the hats. But first he had to count all of his skin cells. And then when he was done counting all of his skin cells he had to count the molecules. And then when he was done counting the molecules he had to count the atoms. And when he was done counting the atoms, he had to count the protons, the neutrons, the electons, the gluons. There was no time to waste. Little Boy commenced immediately. But it was too difficult, Little Boy found, to count the skin cells. He would start at one point, but then he would forget where he started, and he was no longer sure that he wasn’t counting a cell that was already counted. So he started to peel off each cell that he counted and placed them in a neat pile on his desk. He started with his right arm. He peeled off the little cells one at a time, meticulously arranging them in piles of 2 million on his desk. Little Boy died 17 hours later of massive blood loss.
Christopher was laughing. He then ate the peeled off skin cells, sacrificed twelve young virgins to Ra, and went to chill out at Starbucks for a few hours.
Ah, obsessive/compulsive behavior with a power-object fixation. You’ve gotta love it.