HAZMAT-RETRO HALL OF FAME (LOVABLY BAD FOOD FROM CHILDHOOD) by JONATHAN KIERAN
A rather arrogant goddess wants to skin the face off the most adorable warlock you could ever imagine. YOU can save him for only $0.99. Click HERE.
TODAY’S DUBIOUS HONOREE: SKITTLES
RUDIMENTARY ANALYSIS: Taste the rainbow of flavors? I think not. More like: “Taste the upcoming abject collapse of your entire culture and civilization in little brightly colored pieces of artificial garish plastic sweetness made out of stuff that some chemist stole from his wife while she was cleaning the kitchen sink.” Call it whatever you want, but we craved Skittles and begged for Skittles as children. At least I emanate from a generation where Skittles were the kids’ “drug of choice.” Who knows — it might’ve been a better decision to go with bath salts. And what a name for a candy! I was confused by this marketing nonsense as a child and often asked Mother to “get me a bag of scabies” when she went to the store. “Mom … you know those unclean neighbor children you told me never to play with? Well, one of them came into the yard today and I think she gave me the skittles.”
Only now can I see the advertising genius that went into naming a brand of candy as if it were a yellow bag of sexy disease-pills.
DEFINITIVE QUALITY: Drawing upon my vast knowledge as a connoisseur of tooth-rotting psychedelic Youngster Treats, I can say that Skittles struck all of us as distilled, quickie “pill versions” of the previously popular and much-more-difficult-to-chew Starburst candies. The arrival of Skittles heralded an innovation that sent tremendous shock-waves throughout the Under Twelve Community. Skittles certainly prepared children for the upcoming age of easily prescribed mood-altering pharmaceuticals. Indeed, Skittles were the chewy amphetamines of kids who thought they came from families too good and decent to ever even think of taking drugs. But I’ll tell you something: On a full pack of Skittles I could work my poor mother’s last nerve until she seriously pondered killing me, herself, all the people on our block and/or throwing her glamorous life away and running off with the mailman. And the mailman was a toad-faced dwarf with knock knees and a disfiguring case of acne in his thirties. That, my friends, is the power of the Skittle. What do Skittles taste like? Joyful unicorn farts. That’s what they taste like. Don’t ask me how I know what unicorn farts taste like. Just trust.
BRUSH WITH GREATNESS: Skittles became more than just another mother-maddening home-wrecking brand of garbage that kids could gnaw upon until their gums bled. Skittles became a Twitter phenomenon. That’s a candy with some damn ambition, and I like my childhood horror-candies to have ambition. I tell you what.
LAMENTABLE LEGACY: I consider Skittles to be Kiddie Klonopin with training wheels.
WHERE ARE THEY NOW?: Still preparing your children for a lifetime circus of pharmaceutical razzle-dazzle.
SPRUCE IT UP WITH A COCKTAIL!: Before Cosmopolitans became synonymous with clueless bourgeois housewives amped-up for a Fondue Date-Night that their husbands would rather spend in full cardiac arrest, I always thought a Skittle Cosmo would have been a major hit across all demographics (Well, maybe not with Mormons). Just think of the colors. The COLORS.
Escape the Imminent Collapse of Civilization, Friends, if Only for a Few Hours. Get acquainted with the comparatively sane world of Rowan Blaize …
One witty 2,800 year-old warlock. A suspicious storm that hurls him to earth near London. A goddess who wants to destroy the world. The catch? She needs Rowan’s face. REMOVED.
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