William Shakespeare

Do you like ice cream?

To like or not to like, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous flavors, or to take arms against a sea of sweet delights, and by opposing, devour them. To like, to indulge no more, and by indulging, to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that ice cream is heir to. 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd. To like, to indulge. Ay, there's the cream. For in that indulgence what dreams may come, when we have freed ourselves from the earthly shackles of our cravings must give us pause. There's the respect that makes addiction of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of low-fat options, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's disregard. The pangs of guilt, the insolence of health nuts, the contumely of tasteless cones, when he himself might his palate make with a simple scoop? Who would bear the trials and tribulations of delayed gratification, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's fatigue. The pangs of abstinence, the insolence of self-denial, the contumely of flavorless days, when he himself might indulge in the sweet splendors of frozen confectionery? Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary diet, but that the dread of something creamier after, the undiscover'd country from whose borders no ice cream-eater returns, puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear those ills we have, than fly to others that may make us groan? Thus conscience does make ice cream lovers of us all, and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of guilt. And enterprises of great flavors turn awry, and lose the name of taste. Soft you now! The fair Oreo sundae of indulgence! Nutella, in thy orisons, be all my cravings remember'd!