Do you know the one I am talking about?

The husband finds his wife making brownies in their kitchen. She lets him lick the batter off the beaters, which are still in the mixer, which is still plugged in.

You can see what's coming next.

Of course, the appliance gets turned on, and the guy starts screaming in pain as his tongue gets caught in the beaters. The screaming is horribly realistic, and I suspect that Dairy Queen may have received feedback  as there is an abbreviated version of the commercial with substantially less screaming.

At the end, the husband says that he likes Brownie Batter Blizzards better, 'cause "they're much sthafer". And, it is obvious by how he is talking that he has not recovered from his injuries yet, or perhaps he lost part of his tongue for good - you'll never know, especially since Dairy Queen didn't bother to add any realistic spewing mouth blood to the mixer incident.

In spite of the excruciating commercial, I had to try this Brownie Batter Blizzard. Since I am new to "Blizzards" in general, I'll tell everyone what they are before continuing.

A "Blizzard" is Dairy Queen's version of a mix of soft-serve ice cream, with some "stuff" mixed in, served in a cup, kind of like a very thick milkshake with chunks of things like cheesecake, M&Ms, Oreos, mouse parts (okay - just checking if you are reading), etc. I think this is so that places like Dairy Queen, which specialize in cheap yet inexpensive soft serve, can compete with the premium ice cream places such as Marble Slab, Cold Stone Creamery, etc.

Before the Dairy Queen guy gives you your finished Blizzard product, he spins the cup(s) around in the air like a wild west gun-toting gunman would twirl his six-shooter, so that you can see for yourself how thick it is! And, this is not just a local thing because my first Blizzard was in New Mexico this June, and they did the same thing there.

They may give it to you frozen, but if you think you are going to make it home three miles without it melting all over your car's cupholders, and possibly making it into your seat-warmer switch assembly, think again.

But, in spite of all that, it was really good!

I go to a nice gym. It's one of those huge open 24 hour nationwide chain affairs with a fair mix of serious fitness buffs and transient overweight new year's resolution types. I fit somewhere in between, a hybrid mix of the cardiovascularly fit and chubby do-gooder.

I've belonged to a few gyms in my day, going all the way back to (pre-Bally Total Fitness) Holiday Spa in California, where the only thing co-ed was the track. I've belonged to big gyms and small gyms, and I've actually used apartment gyms and employer-provided gyms.

Come to think of it, I actually used to ride my bike about seven miles each way on a major boulevard to a for-ladies-only Pam's Figure-tique, circa 1982. With that kind of commute, who needs the gym? No wonder I didn't go often.

Anyway, even with all my gym experience, I'm often surprised by some of the things I've seen at my present gym:

Almost without fail, there is a large Burger King bag full o'fast food garbage behind the brick pillars right next to the front door. Binge. Purge.

Beer cans! The big 40 ouncers! And this gym is in its own huge building with its own parking lot, so this is not likely carry over from some other business.

And here is my all-time favorite:

Two strips of crispy bacon laying on the floor in the middle of the ladies locker room. Like they fell off someone's Grand Slam breakfast platter or something. I had to look twice, but that is what they were.

Makes one wonder.