Here’s a category of food that I love: food that looks like fingers and eyeballs. And I realize that by categorizing these giant marshmallows as food, I’m doing so very loosely.
On the left, we have the severed finger hot dog topped with blood and chopped ears, and on the right, we have the eyeball pizza with maggots and worms. Both are made by Flix Candy, a company that I’ve noticed makes a lot of cool and innovative candies.
Each candy contains three servings, and the entire package contains a whopping 420 calories. It’s worth pointing out that’s more than a real hot dog or slice of pepperoni pizza. Just think, at least with those, you’d be getting real guts and toenails instead of just fake marshmallow ones.
Here’s another category of food that I love: food that sparkles and glistens like a pristine snowfall in the woods. I mean, it kind of reminds of Christmas. I love the bun, which just looks fluffy and fresh and buttery. And then there’s the gray, rotting fingernail, a hard candy shell, a beautiful touch.
One time I got a real gray, rotting fingernail in my Chinese food. That however, was not a beautiful touch. And I haven’t forgiven you, and I never will, No. 1 Chinese. It’s okay, I’ve been hurt before. There was when Domino’s Pizza forgot the damn dipping sauce. That time I had to sit alone in the food court. When Taco Bell didn’t pack my Pintos ‘N Cheese. The hair in the salad. It was red. I didn’t like it.
Fast food can be heartbreaking. At least marshmallow food will never deject you or spurn you.
This pizza goes all deluxe with the gummy eyeballs, gummy worms, and candy maggots. Let’s make out, eyeball pizza.
Also, the packaging goes one step further with the Try a Slice of Pizza P’Eye written along the side:
At this point, it doesn’t really matter how they taste. For marshmallows, they look awesome and somewhat realistic. I’m easy. I’m in love.
But here it is—they have the texture of the upholstery of my leather sofa. They’re very chewy and difficult to get a handle on. I’m chewing and chewing, but the initial process of the human digestion, the enzymes in saliva, are just not breaking this stuff down.
Well, like I said, I was loosely categorizing this as food.
Taste-wise, they don’t have much flavor. The marshmallow is flavorless and cud-like, as though I’m going to need to regurgitate it and chew it again. The sugar is gritty and the gummy candy is tough. Overall, it’s a bland chewy affair, making me wish I was eating real fingers on a buttery roll.
And I’m not sure why, but I carefully wrapped up the remainder of the eyeball pizza and finger hot dog in plastic cling wrap, as though I’m going to snack on it throughout the rest of week.
I guess it’s what I call snacking preservation, for those moments when I’m absolutely starving, and I look in the pantry, and there’s nothing to eat. Sadly, I go back to sit down. Several minutes later, I decide to check the pantry again, in case something appears that wasn’t in there before. There’s still nothing.
I sit back down.
Usually by the fifth pantry stare down, a new level of desperation strikes. And it’s not quite “guess I better go to the grocery store-level” desperation yet, but it’s a “oh hey, maybe I’ll eat that cardboard marshmallow finger.”
Note to future, hungry self: DON’T EAT THE CARDBOARD MARSHMALLOW FINGER. It just won’t be worth the feelings of guilt and dirtiness afterwards. Actually, I’m not so sure it’s worth those feelings right now, post-review. I guess that’s a lesson. Marshmallow food can do you wrong, too. I think I need to go listen to some Celine Dion, Falling Into You, and wallow.