I think the only reason it’s still in production is because it’s such a horrible product. I think it’s sold by sadists torturing kids. The kids eat it, vomit, and then go suck a dick to get the taste out of their mouths. Damn pedophiles using candy corn to tempt kids into bad acts is just damn wrong. But it still doesn’t add up to anything. Molesters aren’t random strangers; they’re usually close friends and family, so why do people actually hand out candy corn anymore if not for the kids I wonder.

It’s the longest running gag in the history of modern society. The joke needs to fucking stop and stop immediately. I remember going door to door as a kid and running up with all the other kids with a huge smile on my face. I remember the person at the door with a huge bowl of candy saying whatever it is they say when opening the door; usually something stupid and not worth remembering. I remember them tossing something into a bag or plastic pumpkin I’d be holding to collect the candy and other treats. I remember running off without looking at the gift horse, and then when I rendezvoused with the rest of my gang to examine our spoils, my heart sank. I didn’t receive the crown jewel of Halloween candies, Reese’s buttercups, but instead was left with the flattest note around. I was left with plastic triangles acting like candy, the spy in our army’s base. You couldn’t trade anything for them, nor give them away. Nobody wanted them, not even the parents stealing their kids’ candy; yes, we knew parents stole our stuff. Candy corn is the old maid of candy, and even worse than a 7-2 off. There’s no point to them, and how the production companies have tricked so many people into continuing this game befuddles me entirely.

I got a kick out of people who’d give away nickels and quarters because I’m a numismatist. I thought it was funny when they’d offer a trick instead of a treat. I laughed at people who got all worked up about everything. We all wanted one thing in the end, candy and lots of it. When the kids go to trick-or-treat, they’re wanting candy, not tri… Oh, it’s all one big fucking joke, one big trick. Ok, I get it now, touché salesman, but I still hate the shit.

The place is more of a cock tease than one girl I was with who gently pulled down my pants and gave me a gentle kiss down there, only to say, “we’ll revisit this tomorrow”. Fuck it all! When I’m able to pitch denim, I really want that itch scratched. I don’t care if the founder gave people a day off to be with their families. There do exist people who must eat seven days a week, and more importantly, there are people who would gladly work because they need the additional money that day would give them. Win, win, no?

I do all my traveling on the weekend. I’ll be driving along, and I’ll see a huge billboard with statues of cows standing on each other saying to “eat mor chikin”. I look at the sign and immediately start craving the chicken. I’m like, “oh yeah, time for some holy goodness” then I drive by and see darkness, and all I need is a fucking tumbleweed to roll on by and the scene would be ripe for an explosion by me. I forget about Chick-fil-A, not because it’s available 71% of the days for me, but because I can only seem to eat from there when someone else buys it, and I just sit there in disgust shoving the food into my oral cavity with only thoughts of lusting for more running through my head.

The worst torture imaginable was with a location I drove by to work a while back. I’d get up early in the morning, and the place was still fucking closed. I’d leave work late because I was part of slave labor, and they’d be closed before I got anywhere near them. I could never seem to get myself one of those delectable chicken sandwiches with the little, hidden present of a single pickle slice tucked away, and I had to drive by that damn place every fucking day. Those pickles are amazing, and it’s such a little touch. It’s like gently sliding off some panties and finding the girl left a little, mini work of art to be cherished by you; I just want to gobble it up.

I’d crash hard Friday nights, and recoup all of Saturday from the torture of work the previous week by not doing much more than lounge around. Then I’d get the craving for chicken strips, and drive my ass down there to see the place empty. Saturday had turned into Sunday, and I had missed my fucking chance. I wasted gas, I wasted my time, and I wasted my damn patience. I’d return more dejected than I typically did from work.

This endless cycle of missing when they’re open drove me insane. The blue balls were murder, and something had to give. I eventually snapped one day, and went to a grocery store and picked up bags and bags of frozen breaded chicken breasts, a huge vat of pickle slices, and more buns than I had at that bachelorette party that one time, crazy night indeed. When I trucked it all back to my place, I just sat my ass down on my futon, turned on some cartoons, and ate, and ate, and ate. When you’re blue balled, you want nothing more than to relieve that pressure, and this was like Boulder Dam rupturing. I fucking loathe Chick-fil-A for being such a god damn tease.

You fucking food and drink guys should go suck an egg for trying to force feed me the crap about there being no difference. I know the difference, I’ve tasted the difference, and y’all are full of shit. If I like cane sugar in my drinks like they used to be, give me that option. I’d like to order something from the manufacturer once in a while that has actual sugar instead of a syrup that doesn’t taste the same. Sugar has more zip, zap, pizzazz; a slight burn even. Nothing about HFCS makes my taste buds do back-flips or even bother rolling out of bed. With corn syrup, my taste-buds look over at the coyote ugly beside them and instead of gnawing off the arm to escape and the second one later on to avoid detection, they just break the glass of water on the nightstand and slit their own throats. I drink the drinks not because they’re good, but because they’re tolerable and I need something with flavor. I drink a lot of juices, but I like my soft-drinks too. I’d much rather seek out items without the syrup, but I’m a bit tired of contacting small manufacturers from hundreds of miles away just to get a couple bottles. Gimme the fucking option dammit!

I understand you must turn a profit, but you mustn’t always maximize profits at the cost of all quality in the product; yes, I can speak your jargon too. I don’t care if you want me to place an order for a “special” version of a drink; I’ll do it to get a proper Barq’s. I look at all the nation-wide vendors in disgust that every fucking one of them has pulled the same move. Go to Mexico and try a Sprite or 7up. Hell, go to China and do the same. It tastes far better than the crap we get here in the states. The gall of Coke and Pepsi, being the two largest companies in this game, trying to tell me they know what my taste-buds say is insulting. If they won’t give me the option, I’ll continue seeking out the little guys. I don’t care if they keep HFCS in the drinks; I just want my cane sugar option. Oh, and the “natural flavorings” bullshit I’m seeing on the cans is a nice try at avoiding the issue, dicks. Just give me the option to somehow get my drinks with cane sugar without the need to import it from Mexico already. Customs is really busting my balls on this one.