Here is one gigantic marshmallow heart, about the size of a Thanksgiving turkey. I found this at Wal-Mart for five bucks while scouring the aisles to find some stuff for the countdown this week. There’s slim pickings on the Halloween shelves this time of year, with all the Christmas stuff starting to rudely shove its way into the seasonal aisle. It’s sad, but by the last week of October, Halloween is already is taking a backseat.
It just wasn’t looking good as I wandered the wasteland of the picked-over masks slumping on peg hooks and pumpkin buckets grimacing across the section at smiling snowmen and jolly Santas. A bag of Kit Kats laid on the floor collecting dust. A misplaced bottle of laundry detergent took up empty space on the shelf. A little girl stood right on top of me, eating from a random container of movie popcorn. Oh my god, where are the parents. Where did this random popcorn come from. The Halloween aisle was no longer fresh and clean. It was trashed. Everything left sucked.
And then, well, be still my marshmallow heart. A glorious, sugar-coated, enormous marshmallow heart. Take that, you bully Christmas decorations. When I got home, I weighed it, and it was heavy enough to register a weight on the scale at two whopping pounds. You could tone your arms with it. Containing ten servings at a 160 calories each, this entire package delivers 1600 calories. No surprise there. Just look at the sugar glistening on it.
It looks like a fat glazed ham.
That’s the left atrium, sparkling with a pound of sugar. In fact, that’s exactly what your entire heart would morph into if you were to eat this thing. I’m not even going to open it and taste it, because I already know exactly what it tastes like. A giant, bland marshmallow thing dyed with red food coloring. And crunchy sugar goodness.
No, I can’t open it. I need to save this. This marshmallow heart is meant to be sliced into and savored among friends.
So we got in line pay for the heart, and as usual all the lines at Wal-Mart were bullshit. People had their shopping carts packed and stacked with seemingly random assortments of goods. We staked out the best line that appeared to have the greatest odds of moving at a decent pace, and we found one. There were only a few people ahead of us, and the man in front of us only had three items in his hands.
Then the girlfriend whispered to me, “the man in front of us is buying The Human Centipede.”
And bananas. A lot of them.
That picture doesn’t necessarily illustrate anything, except maybe the fact that my cell phone is from 2005.
He was an older gentleman, gray hair, a collared-shirt, 100% cotton, tucked into Mom jeans. Alone. Buying The Human Centipede. A DVD of it. To own forever and display in his collection. The movie where people are sewn together ass to mouth.
And approximately sixteen bananas. I’m not really sure if he was going to have a great night or a really awful one.
So if you need me, I’m going to be rocking in the corner, clutching my marshmallow heart. But herein lies a heartwarming lesson. Though the aisles may be getting less spooky as another holiday nudges its way in, real life will always find novel ways to disturb us.