By Skittimus Maximus | Lists | October 31, 2013 |
By Skittimus Maximus | Lists | October 31, 2013 |
YOU MEAN RAZOR BLADES AND APPLES ARE BOTH ON SALE? OMIGAWD, YAY!
1 Sour Patch Kids — There’s an assload of candy that touts the “sour” moniker; but for my money, there’s only one true champ, and that’s Sour Patch Kids. They don’t really look like kids, per se (at first glance, they look like someone dusted a wet gummi bear with cocaine), but for what they lack in appearance, they more than make up for in the ability to punch your enamel right in the dick with an acid-dipped fist. Granted, there are a few other contenders that take top prize when it comes to the actual sourest-tasting candy, but unless you want your face to look like Zelwegger’s after you tell her you’ve been banging her sister on the sly, Sour Patch Kids win.
2. 100 Grand Bars — I’m not sure why this particular gem seems to get overlooked every year, but if more people made a point of handing these out, we might be able to set aside our differences and come to the agreement that there should be a half-hour Netflix special where Sean Hannity gets drawn and quartered by food stamp recipients.
3. Sherbert Lollipops — I don’t think they have a specific brand-name, but these are those oblong, tri-colored spheres that amount to nothing more than compacted, chalky sugar in soothing pastel tones. It never matters what color you get, because they all taste exactly the same. However, here’s where the Sherbert Pop shines — when it goes up your nose. Let’s not fool ourselves — when you were a kid and wound up with a shitload of Smarties, you knew at least one of those rolls was going to get crushed to powder and snorted up each nostril. The Bible practically demands it. One Sherbert Pop is the equivalent of four rolls of Smarties (I know this because I have nothing better to do with my time). Not only are they more efficient when it comes to producing powder, but the stick they come on is hollow, for fucks sake. Subtle genius at work.
4. Sugar Babies — Another oft-overlooked beauty, Sugar Babies are awesome bits of awesomeness that’ve been kicking ass since 1935. I’d bet what’s left of my foreskin they’d play a more prominent role in the Halloween goodie gallery if Tootsie Roll Industries would pull their head out of their ass and replace “Sugar Babies” with “Not Raisinets.” Because raisins are nothing more than grapes that’ve given up on life. And that’s some sad shit when you think about it.
5. Liquor — No, I’m not suggesting that kids be given booze in lieu of candy. But think about it — as an adult, what other holiday allows you to walk down the street with a Radio Flyer full of hard liquor and nobody bats an eye? And when you’re kid, who’s going to dole out the most candy? The well-dressed woman who carefully rations out the goods in order to make sure everybody who comes to her door gets a little something, or Captain Scotchbreath, whose motor skills have been on a steady decline since five o’clock, when the stopper was thrown from the decanter in a frenzied rush to quell the brain tornado that’s been building upon awakening? Scotchbreath, that’s who. Because there’s nothing in the world he wants more than to flick off his porch light and move on to chugging Mrs. Scotchbreath’s wine straight from the box before slipping into fuzzy oblivion. And if you happen to be the child of parents who suffer from brain tornados, guess what? You get to eat candy for breakfast! Why? Because Daddy’s too hungover to move and Mommy Number Two’s too busy trying to figure out how her hair got tangled in the zipper of the Sexy Mustard costume she passed out in and doesn’t have time to make you any lousy breakfast, you goddam nuisance.
I HOPE OBAMACARE TAKES AWAY YOUR PUMPKIN CANNONS!
1. Goldfish Crackers and/or Fruit Snacks — Hey, are you one of the upbeat diptardables who hands out the little snack-sized bags of Goldfish Crackers and/or Fruit Snacks? Do you know what happens after the kids get home, dump their bags, and start the tedious process of sorting out the good shit from the bad? Do you? I’ll tell you what happens — your “treats” get pushed to the side, where they eventually make their way into the giant Costco boxes that Mom & Dad keep under the kitchen counter. You know, the ones that have “BECAUSE DINNER’S NOT FUCKING READY YET” scrawled on the side in Sharpie. Those boxes. Congratulations. You’ve made Halloween forgettable by giving out the same goddam thing they ate in the minivan on the way home from school. Or daycare. Or whatever the hell it is your kids do while you’re away at work.
2. Foil-Wrapped Bullshittery — The novelty abominations that pop up every holiday (e.g., veiny eyeballs, pumpkin-stamped coins, Santa dicks, those goddam foil Easter eggs, etc…). Sure, they’ll do the job when it comes to getting your sugar fix on, but the roadblock lies within the cheap-ass foil that never comes off in one piece. Never. It’s as if the floor sweepings at Reynolds Wrap get shipped to the Grainy Peanut Butter Eyeball Factory (probably not the factory’s real name), where they dump a bulldozer full of piping hot eyeballs (probably not the real delivery method) into a giant cauldron (probably not a cauldron) of foil bits during the cool down process. The only thing more frustrating than picking away at the stupid foil with your chocolate-packed fingernails is when you miss a piece and your fillings make you aware of your shortcomings with a wincing kiss of pain.
3. Russel Stover’s Big Bite S’Mores — There’s this candy blog I read (like I said above, I have nothing better to do with my time) that said “It turns out that Russel Stover has a proper little fix for one who is jonesing for s’mores. The S’mores Big Bite is a chocolate-covered marshmallow between two graham crackers in a foil wrapper.” Horseshit. Webster’s Dictionary loosely defines s’mores as “Graham crackers plus chocolate plus marshmallow plus fire plus tongue-blisters.” Unless there’s a flame involved, Mister Stover can shove it right up his shovehole. S’mores are a fiery rite of passage, not a package you tear open and eat, you sniveling pussy.
4. Jolly Ranchers — Listen, I’m all about Jolly Ranchers. That’s not what I’m bitching about. I’m specifically referring to the ten-pound bag of Jolly Ranchers purchased on the first of November and kept in the orange Rubbermaid tub that’s spent the better part of a year in the garage rafters. There’s a chemical reaction that happens over those eleven months where the cellophane wrapper melds with the edge of the Rancher (which has developed a gummified outer surface due to Science and stuff). What you’re left with is a multi-layered sugar brick that serves no purpose other than handcuffing your top and bottom molars together in a deathgrip reminiscent of what happens when you forget to get a tetanus shot.
5. Candy Corn — I’ve never mentioned candy corn in these annual lists, and there’s a very simple reason: they’re not even worth mentioning. It’s a glob of waxy sugar. Yeah, they’re indicative of the holiday, but… meh. Who gives a shit? Candy Corn is a cop-out. It’s like when I was a kid and the single mom down the street showed up at my parent’s Halloweenabong party wearing a black Hefty garbage bag and a red bow-tie. “What are you supposed to be?” asked my sister, as I was walking her downstairs to the basement (we were never allowed to be on the same floor as the bongparty). “I’m a California Raisin!” she laughed, and I remember thinking, “No you’re not. You’re a drunk lady in a garbage bag.” That’s what candy corn is — a drunk lady in a garbage bag.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN! THERE’S ONLY 54 DAYS LEFT UNTIL CHRISTMAS! WHY THE HELL ARE YOU STILL READING THIS?! GO, GO, GO!
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