Everytime I go to the movies, I get Good n’ Plenty.
People look at me like I’m crazy, because who goes to the movies and picks a box of purple and white-colored covered black licorice pieces over M&Ms and ice cream bites and popcorn and so on and so on and so on? Who goes to a supermarket and just walks out with a red onion? Who loses a limb in a tragic car accident and goes to the limb-replacement store and chooses a wet piece of steak for a left arm instead of a hi-tech gleaming metal claw?
This thought process made me decide that I really don’t like Good n’ Plenty after all.
I’ve already bought the candy.
I’ve packed it away in the cupboards and the fridge so that nothing will melt or look questionable. I’ve discarded the cheesy drugstore costumes in favor of a cool little number that will make me look as if I don’t need to dress up for the dark holiday. I’ve carved pumpkins and I’ve draped lights, I’ve discarded pennies and apples… I’m doing everything I can with one very important goal in mind:
I am going to be the coolest Halloween candy giver ever.
When I was a kid I ate Flintstones Chewable Vitamins as a replacement for candy.
There was the Flintstones Chewable Vitamins Incident of ’84, in which I had eaten an entire bottle of the glorious, sugary pills after finishing off a half container of Vienna Fingers. That came hours after having drank three Coca Colas and two Yoo Hoo chocolate drinks. There was a black out, a struggle and a mandate that followed: there will be no more Flintstones Chewable Vitamins for you from this day forward.
That’s why it’s good that Tums are the new Flintstones Chewable Vitamins.