I like candy.
Due to my interest in work having reached absolute zero, I decided to put coin to slot for a Twix candybar - all in a fit of eye-twitching inanity after my third cup of “work as a beverage”.
Upon inspection and subsequently misguided exploratory chews:
Firstly the chocolate was grey with white spots, this is something that doesn't usually happen to chocolate unless you've been saving it in your pocket since the seventeen hundreds, secondly - the centre biscuit could not hold - totally staled out from some sort of mysterious jungle humidity that can permeate solid objects. Lastly - the caramel had crystalised into a molasses so hard that only the Jaws of Life could masticate it, perhaps once or twice before shorting out into sparks and blue flame.
It was akin to the joyless candy bars they gave to Russian World War Two conscripts as a concession for not giving them actual rifles or ammunition - right before charging them off screaming over the front lines to battle German Panzer tanks with sharpened tea towels…
It didn’t necessarily sustain, satisfy or even pique your palate’s whimsy so much as it filled you with a quiet sort of shell-shocked dread.
And while carefully noting that the wrapper was still well within an edible date range, half expecting to find “disappointment” on the ingredients list - there it was... A hasty IOU from the gods of slighted confection.
Mr Twix, of the Mars Confectionary Industrial Complex maniacally exclaiming in big block letters on the inside of the wrapper "FREE BAR WINNER!".
Oh… Glee!
