chiclet, cockroach, sloppy joe

While leaving a local eatery the other day I wondered, who still buys chiclets? that candy has been awful for years. How has a product so renowned for providing a displeasing, even demoralizing experience continued to exist? Is the chiclets presence in our a society a leftover plot of soviet days? aplot perpetuated by terrorist? or perhaps there is a wealthy person with either an extremely sick mind, a penchant for the nasty, or perhaps a twisted sense of humor that is responsible for their existence in almost classy eatieries .

After careful contemplation, doctoral contemplation in fact, I concluded that the responsibility for the chiclets does not lay on any of these scapegoats. Instead, chiclets existed because they always would in a badass capitalist society like ours.

All Andy Rooney bullshit aside, I think we can all remember the first time we tried chiclets. I personally recall mine occurred after a particularly satisfying meal. Looking for a smooth chewable candy to polish it off I selected chiclets from the array of other candies. What followed is hazy; I vaguely recall spitting something out in my grandma's hand and blacking out. I woke up minutes later soiled in urine (possibly not my own), severely parched, short twenty five cents and any sense of decency.

Despite this tragic experience (a foreshadow into how many of my tragic evenings would end later in life), I never took it upon myself to caution my younger brother years later when he himself opted to try the candy himself. Perhaps it was because as a child he was an insufferable twat whom I was constantly forced to beat into line. Another possibility is that even in my youth I understood he was participating in a essential capitalist ritual.

While this juncture would normally lead one into a wicked diatribe on brand names and the commodization of society instead I will just note that it is fun, perhaps even our duty and Chiclets purpose, to teach children a lesson. That lesson being that just like any other commercial product, (cars, drugs, burial relics from saint) if you are willing to buy candy from anywhere, or stray too broadly in your quest for a new candy consciousness, eventually someone will sell you some fucking oddly colored squares that taste like sugar and cigarette tar.

Chiclets are America’s communal kool-aid. They are the Adam Smith litmus test that determines whether or not one is capable of understanding the rules of capitalism and abiding and belonging to surrounding society. Its sugary salivation is the ethos to becoming a citizen. Sure, your grandmother might disown you out of embarrassment, your brother might grow up to become a raging alcoholic, and perhaps sometime in your life you might recount this entire experience at your expense to a man named Samir, calling you from India, to check and see if you have paid you American express bill from three months ago. But seriously from then on, you will know about the superiority of the Spree (hard not chewy).

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