So here’s the thing.
I decided to try something new here. Something bold… something relevant… something insightful…
Something that completely rips off brilliant ideas previously executed with more chutzpah than I could ever muster on blogs that continually remind me that I’m a hopeless hack who really needs to stick with his day job.
See, I really wanted to hijack Clinton’s It Came From Chinatown series, setup my blog to block connections from his IP address so he couldn’t call shenanigans on my tomfoolery, then ride that high-brow concept to the millions I so richly deserve (and that I’d use to finally buy that Badonkadonk Tank I dream of owning).
Besides, Clinton put ICFC on hiatus after tasting a mouthful of Jackie Chan’s balls. Someone needs to keep the dream alive.
Like most of my hair-brained schemes, though, this one was doomed to fail from the beginning.
I really, really planned on heading over to pick something up for your culinary amusement. I did. Had it in my calendar and everything. Because I’m totally prepared and plan my day with different ways to make yours better.
But for fuck’s sake, people! Do you really expect me to drive all the way to Chinatown?! I mean, look how far away it is:
A mile?! I mean, that’s 6 minutes away. By car! Who ever heard of a legit journalist going that far out of his way just for a God damn story?
But just because God or Darwin or whoever decided Chinatown would evolve so far away from my office doesn’t mean you get left out in the cold, gentle readers. No, I’m a man of the people, and as a man of the people I’m obliged to satisfy your urges to see some dork eat something! And so I bring you…
The Clark Bar!
I know what you’re thinking. How could Justin possibly stomach that just for our amusement? Simple. I do it for the children. And if I don’t enjoy that chocolatey coated peanut butter crunch, I let the terrorists win.
Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything foolish like walk to the store to pick up this little treat. No, sir. Thankfully, the Gods maintain a fully-stocked candy dish on the receptionist’s desk here in the office. I did have to walk a few feet out of my way to get to the goods as I walked in this morning, though, but I’m totally willing to make the sacrifice for the sake of my craft.
Am I the only person who didn’t realize they still made these things? I thought they went off the market about the same time they stopped putting strychnine in Cracker Jacks.
I also thought that, if I ever had one, I wouldn’t just find it in the candy dish. I always imagined the discovery would go something like this:
Stranger: Say, Timmy! Would you like a Clark Bar?
Me: Gee, thanks, mister! That’d be swell!
Stranger: Well, all right! There’s a whole box of them right here in the back of my nondescript white van with the curtained windows. Why don’t you go ahead and climb on in there…
Holy fuck, I think I just had a breakthrough…
