There are many things on this planet that I like. I like sitting on a patio in the middle of the summer with a big glass of cold beer in my hand. There's nothing like lounging around on a sunny afternoon, sipping a pint and watching the world pass you by. It is a very Zen-like, comfortable feeling. I also like that feeling of satisfaction I receive after finishing one of my many Bold Opinion articles. Nothing puts a bigger smile on my face than the knowledge that I have written another column that could quite possibly change the face of the planet. Ahh, web-columning, how I love thee. I like the smell of fresh cut grass. I like throwing snowballs at children much smaller than myself. I like opening up a newspaper and reading the comics first before anything else. I like the challenge of wrestling a twelve-foot alligator with one arm tied behind my back. I like the satisfying crunch of a toasted bagel smothered in butter. As much as I like all of these wonderful things, above all else there is one thing particular that I like most of all. Bold Opinionites, I like ice cream.

I have so many fond childhood memories of ice cream. My first feelings of loss were discovered that fateful day when a delicious scoop of vanilla ice cream tumbled off my waffle cone onto the sidewalk. For the first time in my life, my three-year-old brain was subjected to my first experience with losing a loved one. A hard, bitter lesson was learned that day. It was then I knew that this world was not all sunshine and lollipops, but a cold harsh place. I symbolized the moment by expelling numerous tears and cried aloud for "MORE ICE CREAM!" I will never forget the pain I felt that fateful day.

I remember the garbled calliope music that rang through my neighbourhood as the infamous Ice Cream Man drove his dilapidated truck down my street. Like the pied piper, this music commanded all the neighbourhood children to spill out onto the street in droves and impatiently wait their turn at purchasing overpriced assortments of ice cream. Groups of children painstakingly counting their various coins in their grubby little hands and gazing at the crudely painted menu on the side of the truck desperately trying to figure out what their life savings would be able to purchase.

There are not enough words in the English language to describe the wonders of ice cream. It is truly the most magnificent of all the dairy products. Although I do have a fondness for the various varieties of foreign cheeses, they still do not compare to the glory of ice cream. How different my world would have been that if in 600 AD, King Tang of Shang, China had not made the effort to formulate this wonderful concoction? If not for him I probably wouldn't be even writing this particular column. Instead, I would probably be pontificating on the glory of some kind of cookie or some other dairy product that wasn't ice cream. I salute you King Tang and I hoist a glass of the astronauts favourite orange flavoured drink named after you in your honour.

Ice cream bars. Ice cream cake. Waffle cones, regular cones, banana splits, chocolate syrup, whip cream, so many ways to enjoy ice cream. Chocolate, vanilla, heavenly hash, the list of so many different delicious flavours is endless. I love you ice cream, I really, really do. This is one opinion that I definitely cannot be swayed. You can send all of the emails you like trying to convince me otherwise, but your efforts will be fruitless. Like the Rock of Gibraltar, I am standing firm on this position. You militant lactose intolerant terrorists can save your evils of dairy products propaganda for some other web columnist. Take your pseudo ice cream bean curd creations and place them in a place where the sun refuses to bask its golden rays. This my opinion and my opinion alone! I don't care what anyone else thinks. My name is Christian, I am a world-renowned web columnist and I like ice cream.

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