As the parent of three trick-or-treating children, my household accumulates a banquet of candy on All Hallows’ Eve. We dump the bags of candied loot onto the living room floor and, for 10 minutes, binge on sweets until we are sugar-saturated land whales. After the pixie stik dust settles, I bag the candy and we nosh on what’s left for weeks, like brainless zombies foraging for intestines. I’ve categorized the looted sugar into categories I call:
A. The candy I eat first falls into the Rick/Daryl category. To wit: 100 Grand bars, heath bars, krackle bars, mounds, and twizzlers. These are the treats I would stuff in my backpack on the dawn of the zombie apocalypse and not share with any survivors. These treats are always dependable. Always get the job done. My survivalist delicacies.
B. Once I’ve exhausted my Class “A” stash, I aim to eat all the Glenn/Megan stuff in the bag. My “go-to-town” delights are composed of almond Joys, snickers, Nestle’s crunch, M&M’s, Hershey’s kisses, dove bars, and rolos. I’m not going to surrender these goodies easily, but I’m not going to fend off a zombie to keep them either.
C. The third class of candy a/k/a the Michonne/Andrea/Shane mix is comprised of starburst, gummies, kit kat bars, Hershey’s and Nestle chocolate and milky way. These candies have their flaws, but there is still something compelling about them, like whacking off Zombie heads with one swing of a katana blade. I like this category of candy, but I’ll share them any day of the week too.
D. I’m not sure what the actual point of the Carol/T-Dog/Dale candy category is but this class consists of skittles, life savers, baby ruths, Mr. Goodbar, twix, 3 musketeers and off-flavors of Hershey’s kisses that shouldn’t have been invented. It’s like they are trying to be something they aren’t, but just end up being annoying, weak, or out-of-touch and nearing the last to be picked for dodge ball. I might eat a few, but then I’d throw them at Walkers to amuse myself.
E. I put butterfingers, peanut butter cups, and any other peanut butter-themed candy into the Hershel/Beth category. I don’t know much about these candies, but I just avoid eating them. There is nothing inherently objectionable about peanut butter flavored tidbits, but I can’t see them warding off zombies either. These treats I can actually keep around my house because they are benign and I’m not going to feast on them.
F. When I’ve exhausted all the chocolate, the twizzlers are stale, and I haven’t seen even a flavorless 3 musketeers in weeks, I will begrudgingly start eating the Carl candy. I feel a little dirty about myself because I know it barely registers as a confection. The generic grocery store labeled shit that includes tootsie rolls, hard candy, sixlets, sweet tarts, suckers, nerds. I just want something sweet and I still have enough pride not to suck down a sugar packet to satisfy my cravings.
G. I have finally reached the dregs of the candy bag. There is truly nothing left but The Governor/Merle candy duo: pretzels, smarties, pixie stix, laffy taffy, whoppers, and fruit snaks. This stuff is simply evil, and not in a good way. No redeeming qualities whatsoever. Handcuff this shit to a pipe at the top of a building and let the Biters have their way with them. Or gouge out an eye with glass shards. Yuck.
H. The absolute worst candy in the bag that can’t hold its own in any circle, is just whiny and negative about everything, overacts and thinks flashing wild, crazy eyes to emote fear is acting is the Lori candy. How could this candy be the most to get laid? You know what I’m talking about: candy corn. Also, toothbrushes, coupons, and business cards.