MR. BONES: OK, so somebody ruined the unveiling of today's awesome candy by blabbin' his cyber face in the comment section. Oh well, you can't control crazy, only harness it, point it in a direction, and hope for the best! But the point remains completely true. Mr. Bones was a pretty fucking dope candy to get. It was mega-rare, because most people suck and just get whatever for Halloween candy. Few folks think it through.
I still get excited when I see the stuff in CVS or whatever. My mind subconsciously scans the shelves for Mr. B during the October month. I can't control it. But it's been goddamn years since my last Mr. Bones encounter. Oh, where have you gone, you beautiful bastard? There's some bullshit impostor out there called Scary Skeletons, but they are bullshit. The candy isn't as hard and goes all powdery pretty quick. Fuck Scary Skeletons.
So, what is Mr. Bones? It's basically a crummy plastic coffin filled with various colored pez-like bones that you assemble to make...yup, Mr. Bones. But it was tough to assemble the fucker. You either were missing a precious bone, had three heads, or got a few busted bones bits which ended up being quite necessary. So you had to trade with your friends, but your friends are all dicks and generally withheld the precious finishing pieces and you just ate the shit bit by bit anyways because it's near impossible to just stare at candy when you're 10. As to gettin' a complete Mr. Bones all in one color? That's the stuff of legend. I heard some rich kid in the next neighborhood had one once, but it was probably bullshit.
Mr. Bones rules. Here's to you Fleer candy!
WPSTGAMITBOYPAMATOGCSTS: Now, the shit candy of the day. I don't even know what to call them. It took 10 minutes of various internet searches to even pull them up. For such hateful little things that are so hard to find, it sure seems like they always ended up in my haul. Always. Let's call them waxy-peanuty-shits that get all melty in the bottom of your pillowcase and make all the other good candies suffer their stink. Or WPSTGAMITBOYPAMATOGCSTS.
You knew from the second you set your eyes on that black or orange waxy lump of ass, that this stuff was no damn good. Hell, even the parents would toss 'em away because they were uber-suspect to tampering. Peanut buttery in nature, but gooey and mostly stuck tot he wrapper, these things sucked. They might have been the bomb in 1920, today, not so much. So, a hearty FUCK YOU to home owners who continue to perpetuate the existence of these worthless garbage candies by purchasing and distributing such crap.
IF YOU ARE STUPID ENOUGH TO GIVE THIS SHIT OUT TO KIDS: Fuck you. Instead of spending that whopping 2 bucks for 50 lbs of this crap, you should instead lay the 2 dollars on the ground and piss on it. Then, shutter your house, turn out your lights, and be that douche bag house on the street. You know, the one that isn't answering the door and will be missing lawn ornaments in the morning because you hate Halloween and are not paying the yearly Halloween tax which keeps your house on the "good list" in the minds of the neighborhood kids - thus protecting you investment from eggy transgressions during the night of October 30th.
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