I sneaked into West's Hayward Dairy, cloaked like a dope fiend in an opium den.

After excruciating gout last week, my Hayward friends more than promised to shame me about eating foods that give me the dreaded condition.

But I can't go stone cold. 

My secret entry undisclosed, I looked at the 40 flavors, overwhelmed by choice. Is this what it's like to buy pot in a legal state?

I finally spied something more tantalizing than pot or opium: blueberry cheesecake ice cream. I quickly ordered a bowl -- small -- before the gout cops were on me.

And oh, the treat was worth it. Imagine high-end ice cream liberally spiked with cheesecake, in turn notched with blueberries. Add to it the occasional delightful crunch of the Graham Cracker crust.

I gorged so that should a gout cop wander past, I would be undercover again, happily sated, an innocent empty cup in front of me.

I ate so fast.

"How is the ice cream?" a server asked.

"Goo," I said.

"I'm sorry," she said in the form of a question.

"I crea goo," I said

She approached me with the face of concern.

"Sir, are you OK?"

I grasped what was happening.

"Torry," I said. "Mah tong num."

She smelled for alcohol on my breath and finding none she became more concerned.

"Your face seems contorted, sir."

"Dat i crea in my chee," I said, as slowly and clearly as I could. I had stored the remaining blueberry cheesecake in my cheek, using my tongue to flick bits of the cold dessert into my throat trying to hit my uvula -- sorry for the language. Consider it the world's tiniest and coldest game of jai alai. 

"Sir, I think you're having a stroke," she said. 

"No, no troke," I pleaded. "Goo goo i crea tong num."

"Sir, I'm calling medical services."

Oh you know they're going to be gout cops. Even though my tongue would eventually thaw, I needed to get out out of there.

"No," I said. "I goo goo. I goo goo go ni ni now."

And I bolted. Except -- except -- the gout had already curled my toes and started gnawing on my leg joints. I stood and made a noise reminiscent of any manner of the ungulate -- hooved animals.

Instead I fled like the Elephant Man from his tormentors, heaving and lurching and still trying to explain my condition.

"I goo goo go ni ni now," I said at the doorway, and then tried to paraphrase the Elephant Man with my numb tongue.

"I not an Emema."

And off I was into the night.

Peace and blueberry cheesecake ice cream unto all of you my brothers and sisters.