I got the best payday in the world, today. An old friend, let's call her Ms. M, was in a small bind, recently, and asked if I might procure a small musical loop for her to use for the little voodoo that she do to put food-oo on the table-oo for her family-oo. [She needed me to record a music file for some work thing -- get to the fucking point, Blabbydad!]
Anydoo, it took me maybe seven minutes to record the thing, I sent it off to her and that was that. She wanted to compensate me, somehow, but I basically said, "Look, don't bother. Any time I get to do anything music-related, I'm just happy as a clam." (And see, if you do enough of that kinda shit for people, they end up saying really nice things about you at your funeral... so, you know... hey.)
But I know her, and I knew she would end up sending something my way -- a book, a subscription to "Dwell"... I dunno, maybe name a star after me.
Well, today, a package came for me today from a place called... "Candy, Candy, Candy" in Geneva, Illinois. ME LIKEE CANDY! I rip the thing open and not only was it a big ol' bag of candy, it was WACKY candy! Check out a sampling:
Here's my review of the selections:
1. Bun. The greatest/worst candybar name for a big, brown bolus of chocolate-y, nutty goodness ever coined. It's basically a glob of caramel (and it's fucking KAR-mull, not CARE-uh-mell, goddamit) peanuts and milk-chocolate.
Now there's a history with "Bun" and Ms. M that I think is very funny and you, mostly likely will not give a shit about. (Something about which you will not give a shit.) So, it's like 1995ish, and I'm working where I'm still working (oy -- someone fucking kill me, please!), and Ms. M starts working there as well. We realize that we had similar childhoods, both growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, and we have a pretty similar sense of humor. Somehow, I suggest that I can read her thoughts, or some stupid shit like that, and she says, "Okay then, what candy bar am I thinking of RIGHT NOW?"
I pause... pregnantly.
Then I confidently state, "Bun."
It was at that moment that Ms. M shit her pants. Of course, I was right. The fucked up thing was, up until that moment, I had never even thought of that candy bar before. Sure, I had seen it at the Candy Shoppe, sitting betwixt the Bubs Daddy and the Marathon Bar, but I had certainly never uttered its name.
I don't know -- you had to be there. But that was the "Bun" story. I'll wait for you to stop laughing.
Where was I? Oh, the review of the candies. Jeez, this is taking a long time. Fuck this -- gotta shorten these up:
2. Skybar = try... bar!
3. Valomilk = "olde-fashioned mouthgasm"
4. Flake = crumbly and dusty -- like old, chocolate skin
5. Hot Cinnamon Fire-Pix = Spicy wood for teeth pickin'!
6. Red Licorice Pipes = Toot! Toot! I've got candy mouth cancer!
7. Idaho Spud = An abortion of a candy bar. Tastes like wet pantyhose, dipped in coconut and sprayed with ass. Like the wrapper says, "The Candy Bar That Makes Idaho Famous." Remind me to never go to Idaho.
So, yeah, it's candyland in crabbytown tonight. I even let the kiddies have some samplings. Tried to push the "Idaho Spud" their way, but they could smell the fear in my voice. I'll slip it into their school lunches tomorrow. Maybe they can trade it for some rotten egg-salad.
Oh wait, that's right... SCHOOL IS OVER! AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!