The following is a Neatorama Shop Story, a narrative starring the products carried in this blog’s very own online store.
Stardate: the future as conceived in September, 1962. Cars fly, robots do chores, and meals are reduced to a delicious and fully satisfying caplet, like Xanax in party colors.
Stardate: the future as I am living it. My Smart can’t fly, my Roomba refuses to do stairs, and that automat in Manhattan has disappeared like a coin in a vending machine slot made sticky by teriyaki sauce. But all is not lost, for now we have Cupcake Mints. My cryogenically suspended childhood faith in futuristic fare has unfrozen faster than Austin Powers catching a glimpse of Judy Jetson. With a tin the shape of a cupcake’s silhouette and a flavor that is clearly meant to be evocative of something, these candies deliver. The cupcake tin even has cute sprinkles in low relief (that may say “Paul is dead” in Braille…backwards, naturally.)
My supersensitive palate notes that each color carries its own distinct taste when consumed with my eyes open, due to complex neuropsychological triggers in the food dye of my youth, present in all colors of candy-shelled chocolates other than the light brown ones. Ah, Oompa Loompas, you tried to warn me! The white are vanilla frosting flavored, as advertised. Depending on the consumer’s age, the blue ones taste either like “blue raspberry” or a certain spooky breakfast cereal. Boo! Somehow the pink ones distinguish themselves from the other two by tasting like strawberry-banana even if my eyes are closed. Also, keep in mind that the term “mints” is applied loosely here to decidedly un-minty pastel pellets with the consistency of that candy classic, Stick-U-Lick. That being said, the tiny tin contains a generous 130 candies per pack, so you can be confident that you have brought enough to share with the entire class, unless, of course, you attend public school.
I must dash, for I have to go decant and marinate a Spam before the moving sidewalk deposits dinner guests Mark Hamill and Billy Dee Williams at my doorstep.
The story above is written by the dynamic duo Drs. Ernest and Convalescence Bidet-Wellville (hey, I didn’t name ‘em) of the University of Self-Conscious Consumerism in Olde Busytowne, Connecticut. I suspect they write cover stories for the CIA, so if I’m inexplicably missing the next few days, you know what happened.