I remember where I was when these came out. It was summer, an incredibly hot summer. The air was thick with apathy, boredom bordering on madness. We were hungry for everything…and nothing at all. Our mania was a bottomless pit of listlessness. But something in us was alive and it was surging, it was growing and it needed that sweet stuff. The fructose, the sucrose, that saccharin drip, motherfucker.
We threw open the heaving doors of the convenience store. Our artificial oasis packed with The Shit, the time-honored nitty-gritty, everything us bratty, self-made tin gods could want…candy, soda, shitty toys, comic books, half covered up titty mags & the frosty grip of a soul-stabbing air conditioner. The perverted glare from the grunt at the counter meant we had to move fast. So what would it be?
“WarHeads?” “Are you fucking kidding me?! Masochism isn’t in my vocabulary yet.”
“Mega WarHeads?” “Motherfucker, what did I tell you?!”
“Ok…Airheads?” “They got “white mystery”?” “Nope.” “Then fuck ‘em.”
We snatched up some Laffy Taffy & a couple Caramellos. You had to eat those fast because they were always half melted. Whatever, we got off on the challenge. We yanked the handle on the ICEE machine waiting an eternity for that syrupy red nectar to fill our cup while that polar bear in the sweater mocked us from the top of the rumbling machine. Asshole. The lid looked like an empty plastic breast and we’d fill it till that red cherry freeze made a nipple out the top.
Greasy Grunt at the counter licked his lips while we paid with mom’s spare change & probably our innocence. Stumbling out of the devil’s lair, I saw it in all its teeth-tingling azure-sparkling glory, a box labeled BLUE RAZZ BERRY. Most of the time, Blow Pops just pissed me off. Sure, they were delicious. They satisfied that sugar high & scratched my sweet poison itch. But at what cost? Dealing with a wad of flavorless bubble gum was an unwanted gunky mouth pregnancy—a bleak atonement for fulfilling my wanton confectionary desires. But BLUE RAZZ! This was different. This was the game changer. The mark-up on Blow Pops was criminal to say the least, but I plunked down the coin and made off with the stash. It was worth it. It was so fucking worth it. That BLUE RAZZ was a femme fatale. She knew what she was doing. I pulled back that wrapper so fast, it was half-on, half-off. It was dirty. It was wild. That bare orb of deep blue goodness strutted across my tongue, her decadent dance of tart & sweet left me high & dry. There was no going back now. She made me her bitch. She tapped my veins and filled it with that sapphire dope and I loved it.