Joan’s been talking to a Slinky. (Actually, this was published a while ago and I just forgot to copy it here.)
Joan: An icon if there ever was one, welcome the official state toy of Pennsylvania… Slinky!
Slinky: Thank you!
Joan: I just couldn’t be more pleased. I’ve been a huge fan for years. And between you and me, you are the real deal. No plastic Slinkies for this journalist!
Slinky: Well, that’s very sweet of you, but I’m really okay with the plastic ones. In my 60 years on the market, I’ve seen a lot come and go, and I’m not worried about plastic. If you want a slinkity sound, though, you have to come to me.
Joan: Sixty years. What do you think makes you so long-lived?
Slinky: I’m pretty sure it has to do with the fact that I’m soothing. I can be very relaxing, don’t you think?
Joan: Well, other than when you get all knotted up…
Slinky: That’s user error! You can’t hold me responsible when people don’t play properly. It’s not my fault if stupid kids throw me around or try to make a necklace out of me.
Joan: Um, well–
Slinky: And then the little animals pull me to see how far I’ll stretch, and get all “boo hoo” when I don’t snap back to my former tight, compact shape. That infuriates me beyond reason. I mean, it’s just like your boobs–
Joan: Excuse me?
Slinky: Your boobs. Look at ’em. You stretch ’em out when you have kids, they aren’t going to snap back. They’re going to hang down around your waistband.
Joan: Are you criticizing my breasts?
Slinky: No, I’m just saying you and I are a lot alike. Stretch and pull me too far and whoomp, I might as well be 50-year-old honkers.
Joan: Hello? I’m not 50!
Slinky: Sure. Anyway, if any of the kids out there want to read more about me, remember to visit the Poof-Slinky, Inc., website.
Slinky: Look, don’t go there. I can’t help that the company that owns me now was named Poof. It has nothing to do with me personally, I can tell you that. I am 100% red-blooded American hetero.
Joan: Red-blooded? You’re made out of steel. And you’re a toy… you don’t have a sexual orientation.
Slinky: Riiiiight. How do you think I know so much about saggy breasts?
Joan: But if anything, “fun for a girl and a boy” sort of implies–
Slinky: Look at the time. It’s been lovely chatting with you. Remember kids, I’m available in pretty much every store on planet Earth! Buy me today!
Okay, we’ve done the Pork Rind experiment. And for the record, Bill, I’m not going to do a comparison between the kind you buy in the grocery store and the kind you buy in a pet store. I’ll leave that in your capable hands.
I guess the two snack foods that come to mind are Funyons, and those little puffy thingies for which Andy Capp is the spokesmodel. Does Andy Capp still exist? Does anyone carry that anymore? For you kids out there, Andy Capp is/was a comic strip. Basically he was always drunk, smoking a butt, and playing snooker. And his wife would threaten to beat him with a rolling pin. Ahhhh, the classic days of comedy. Is there anything funnier than a drunk snooker-playing smoker? I think not.
So anyway, there was or is some snack out there with him on the bag. I believe this is because the shape of the snack food very closely resembles the cigarette always hanging off his lip. That’s the only real connection I can make. Oh here, they are made by ConAgra. And available at fine gas stations everywhere. (Wow, a quick glance through the brands they own shows quite a few that are staples at my house. Gulden’s Spicy Brown Mustard, for example, is the only brand of mustard we buy. Period. Don’t bring your yellow crap into my house, thank you.)
Okay, so any others to add to the list? And this time, I’ll take pictures.
I remember way very long ago (back in April) I brought up the subject of pork rinds. I had never eaten one, which I don’t think is unusual. I’m going to guess if I polled 100 random people, 99 of them would say they’d never had one.
Last Friday I was at the Victory/Hannaford (dammit, it will always be Victory to me) on Lancaster Street, picking up a few things for dinner, and ran into a group of Leominster Firemen who were buying snacks or something. One of them had a bag of pork rinds, which just seemed strange to me, but who am I to question a fireguy?
But that made me think about them again. So last night, my sister was hosting a Party Lites party (really awesome candles – you should buy some) and I was asked to stop and pick up something she’d forgotten, and I made a decision. In an effort to make her look bad, I would sneak a bag of pork rinds and some Yoohoo onto the snack table for all her guests to see.
I had no trouble with the Pork Rinds (which in this case, was called straightforward “Pork Skin” because really, rinds? You aren’t fooling anyone) but I’ll be darned if the hoity toity Donelans in Littleton [waves to Chuck] carries YooHoo. Snobs.
Anyhoo…my sister just rolled her eyes and was refusing to open it, so The Amazing Bob grabbed the bag and ripped it open. Oh. My. God. My sister grabbed her nose and yelled “It smells like fish food” and she was ever so right. Good God, somewhere in the back of my head I was thinking it might smell like bacon. You know, because it’s made of pig. But no, this was one of the most vile smelling things ever. I took a nibble out of one, realized it doesn’t taste like anything at all, and we sealed up the bag and put it in her garage. I’m sure she’s SO happy with me for contaminating her home with those things.
Lord knows why it smells like fish food, but I can’t imagine working in the factory where these things are made. And what’s the deal with the complete lack of any flavor at all? It’s like eating packing peanuts. If I’m going to eat something that unhealthy, it should taste like something, for goodness’ sake!
So there you have it. No more burning urge to ever ever ever try a pork rind again. Ever.