An assortment of Jolly Rancher candies

Image via Wikipedia

    Until recently I used to really love watermelon jolly ranchers.

   Here’s the reason why I no longer do:

   One day while I was at work, a watermelon jolly rancher looked at me from the candy dish. It was so innocent just sitting there among the starlight mints and butterscotch. There was a wily grape jolly rancher hiding out in the dish, but the watermelon and I locked eyes and it was too late. Besides, only Communists eat grape jolly ranchers.

   I plucked the watermelon jolly rancher from the bowl and with a loving hand, gently unwrapped it’s candy goodness. Angels were playing harps in heaven. The polar bears had plenty of icebergs to sit on. All was right with the world. I placed the jolly rancher in my mouth and a sincere warmth spread through my entire body.

   Sugar.

   Blessed Sugar.

   Then the phone rang and interrupted my tete-a-tete with the jolly rancher. I answered the phone in my normal, chirpy tone, moving the jolly rancher to the side of my mouth. It tasted just as good there as it did in the center of my tongue. Unfortunately, just as the call ended, the jolly rancher changed positions and lodged itself in my throat. I tried to cough discreetly in the hopes that the jolly rancher would pop out, but my cough only opened my throat and sent the jolly rancher down further.

     And it was lengthwise.

    It’s times like these when I really hate sitting at the front desk.

    Because I thought I was going to die and no one would discover I was dead until they needed a key to the bathroom.

    Trying not to make a mockery of myself, I pounded on my chest like a gorilla to force the candy out of my throat. That action only made it angry. With each hit,  it carved an excruciatingly painful path down my esophagus. Suddenly it’s sugary goodness felt like a hell-hound clawing its way up to the surface from the fiery abyss. My eyes teared, my spit flew everywhere, but that freakin’ jolly rancher didn’t come out.

    You’re probably wondering why I didn’t try to swallow the jolly rancher in the first place. The answer to that question is simple: I’m dumb. About 2 seconds into my choke-a-palooza I thought ‘Why don’t you try to swallow?’ but that thought was followed by, ‘Nah, you can totally save the jolly rancher.’

   Ten seconds into Choke Fest 2011 I realized that when I did die (because I really thought I would) it would be my own fault and when I came before the Lamb’s Book of Life, the angel standing before me would say, “You seriously went down for a jolly rancher? They’re like a dollar a bag.”

   It was at the point where I was seeing spots that I was able to get enough spit around the jolly rancher to force it down my throat and into my stomach. For those of you who felt disgusted by that last description, I’m sorry, but that’s how things went down. Literally. After that I got a sick enjoyment out of imagining the jolly rancher burning to death in my stomach acids.

   Once or twice I may have said, “Die Jolly! Die!”

   And that’s why watermelon jolly ranchers are ruined for me.

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