Hocoa 3

If one finds oneself in eastern Ohio, as we so often do, you can't avoid seeing Glorious Stingle, the City by the Things. Glorious Stingle is well-known as the ice cream capital of the province, having won nearly every award for the confection there is. Indeed, the prefix "Glorious" was awarded to the town of Stingle by Harper himself, after he stopped by the province and tasted some "Mint Chip Surprise" in a local eatery. The secret of the town's delicious ice cream, residents tell me, is their giant cow Steve, an escapee from the HydroDoris research farms. Steve was created by HydroDoris as a prototype of a giant race of cows made to provide top-quality dairy supplies to off-shore oil concerns. But HydroDoris (a subsidiary of the Mexican Unigrow conglomerate) did not realize the sheer power of their prototype until it was too late; by the age of 50 (two in human years), Steve was able to walk through transparisteel without difficulty. Try as HydroDoris might, they could not contain Steve, and she wandered throughout the Provinces, settling at last in Stingle, as Stingle's residents were the first ones who didn't try and make giant steaks out of her. A comfortable agreement was reached; Stingle would protect Steve from steak-seeking interlopers, and Steve would provide the residents with top-quality dairy supplies. And thus, Glorious Stingle's ice cream legend was born. To walk down Glorious Stingle's main street is to be swathed and doused with ice cream as one might be swathed and doused with odorous oils in the most perverted of Turkish salons. You cannot escape Glorious Stingle without eating at least forty scoops of their private reserve-caliber dessert, nor would you want to. There are over 750 distinct ice cream-selling entities within the confines of Glorious Stingle, and double that amount of ice cream distilleries for export only. Glorious Stingle is a haven not just for Steve, but also for the world's ice cream lovers. As with many eastern Ohio towns, Glorious Stingle is not immune to the recent danger of attacks by the venomous, feral Amish, but the residents have fought them off before, and claim that another attack is of little concern to them. I spoke to Reebus Poprin, a local toppings specialist, who lost his arm after a bite from what the townspeople refer to as "a Silas". "Yes, I concede that the venomous, tricky Amish used to be a pretty major concern around here," Reebus said, "but between Steve, our system of waffle cone punji sticks, and our constitutionally-protected right to bear sharpened ice cream scoops [which are ever-present in Glorious Stingle], I'm not worried. We're a lot better-prepared than we were when I lost ol' grabby here." The Amish seem to be the town's only concern. Ice cream futures rose over a thousand percent last year alone, and continue to rise. "It's a good, stable currency," remarked town councilman H. J. T. Pieterhoops, "as long as you keep it between about negative twenty and negative five fahrenheit." And, as Steve is in excellent health, there's no reason why the town's dominance in the field can't continue. As it stands, Glorious Stingle is an excellent little place, and I can't recommend a visit highly enough.