Movie Review: Kazaam

Shaquille O'Neal, you guys. He was a Los Angeles Laker. He was 13... maybe 14 feet tall. He ate tacos on TV commercials. Sometimes one of his eyes would just kind of wander off and do its own thing. That's just how he rolls. He's the Shaq attack, baby! He had a video game where he beat up ninjas! He was a thing!

The land of 1996 was a very relaxed kingdom. It was powered by a philosophy of, "There are no dumb questions. Or answers. Nothing is dumb. Every opinion is important and should be acted upon." It was the 'participant' medal of years. So when someone walked into a conference room wearing hammer pants and said, "Let's make a movie where Shaq is a genie", did 1996 say, "You're absolutely fired"? Heck no it didn't! 1996 was all like, "I made a cocaine bet that I could make a movie out of anything anyone suggests, and I'm not losing that bet today."
 

Welcome to "Kazaam"

Francis Capra plays "Max" I mention his name because you need to look him up because he looks really different and you have probably seen him in stuff and not even known it was the same guy. Max is a problem child of the 90's. He skips school. He get's chased by bullies. He idolizes his biological father (who's a criminal), and he's got a whole "You're not my real dad" thing going on with his step-dad that the 90's really relished in. One day he's chased by the aforementioned bullies and finds a boombox with a genie in it named 'Kazaam' (like ya do). This guy only speaks in rhyme, which is not at all annoying, and he's played by world-renowned rapper Shaquille O'Neal. All 19 effin' feet of him.

Kazaam is a pretty crap genie. He initially can't even really use magic because he's been confined for a while and he's rusty. Okay, I'll bite. He eventually uses the power of CGI to make a crappy bike transform magically into a different crappy bike, and then almost obliterates his 'master' with a rain of junk food that is too much for one or a hundred people to consume. The kid eats one candy bar and is pretty much cool after that, leaving thousands of pounds of food to essentially rot in an alley. Where does this food come from? How may starving people could this dirt-child have fed? We'll never know. It's not addressed. World peace isn't even considered as a wish. This kid is just pure gluttony; as long as he has more, he's doing well. Capitalism claims another soul. From there, it's a lot of Shaq pretending he's not 3 stories tall, trying and pull capers, and a super believable story that he's the next big thing in rap music. This is despite the fact that he consistently delivers lines like he has a mouth full of bees. Eventually the bad guy gets control of his genie boombox and tries some stuff that doesn't quite pan out. Eventually, Kazaam transforms him into a basketball and dunks him... No, really.
 

I'm sure that someone was running around 1996 screaming "We have to stop this! WHY ARE WE LIKE THIS!?" But alas, his pleas fell on deaf ears. He no doubt traveled back from the future to prevent a tragic and bloody timeline by stopping production of the movie "Kazaam", but quickly found that we as a people were essentially just in a constant state of waking sleep. Stumbling though our day-to-day lives in a post-Crystal Pepsi world, clad only in neon, going to raves, and enjoying a brief economic up-swing that we will never see again.

He failed in his mission, and presumably died nameless.
 

Now am I saying that 'Kazaam' being filmed by human beings and released for people to watch with their human eyes is directly responsible for the rise of hatred, nationalism, and the overall collapse of our nation? The numbers are still coming in. Nothing can be said for certain. Draw your own conclusions. The evidence is there. Have you even seen Zeitgeist? Open your eyes, sheeple.
Kazaam doesn't get a rating, as it was not a movie. It was an event. A big, flashy, dumb thing that occurred. We flew to close to the sun, and Shaq caught us in his big muscle-y arms. When you fall down a flight of stairs, breaking your arm and biting though your own tongue, typically you don't rate it out of five.

That being said, actually do watch it. Drink and watch it. Gather your loved ones, and order a sixer of Zima from Japan. Shaq gon' make everything okay.

Elysium: My Second Home

Austin is a special city. It's a liberal oasis in a sea of conservative thoughts and ideals that not only welcomes all cultures, but makes an effort to integrate them into the tapestry of the city. Everywhere you turn in Austin, you're going to find a reminder that you're not quite in Texas anymore. I've lived here for seven years, and I still find amazing new things to see and do. Experiences to enrich my soul, music to carry me to other dimensions, and friends that I know will always be with me, no matter where I go from here.

When I first arrived, I had no one. A former small-town barfly, I had searched desperately for somewhere I could hang my hat. Something with a 'Cheers' feel. You know, “where everybody knows your name”. It took me a while to find it. Sometimes I would go somewhere intent on finding my scene, only to arrive at a restaurant with a bar in it! As we all know, that's about as low as you can go when you're searching for a bar to call home. “I'll have the quesadilla, please. Can I get a side of fish as well? Can you make sure it's out of water, and roasted in an over made of pure sadness? Super.”

However, sometimes you just end up in the right place at the right time. On one of these outings, I met a lovely young lady, and we became friends. Suddenly, it was on! We we're going to go to her bar. I had no idea that I would spend the net seven years in that very bar.

On 7^th and Red River, there's a long, gated patio sitting between two big, red doors. There will be someone by the door (usually either a long-haired, friendly fellow, or a severe-looking German) who will welcome you into Austin's premiere Goth bar. Elysium.

Formally known as the Atomic Cafe, Elysium is the darkly clothed den of clove cigarettes and reasonably priced drinks that 17 year old you used to write about when you couldn't think of any awful poetry.

The first thing you'll undoubtedly notice abut Elysium is that it's not your run-of-the-mill nightclub. It is a gathering place for all different kinds of people to come together and be welcome. Every few minutes, someone new will enter that door, and a crowd of people will greet them like a soldier returning from war. It's the happiest goth club you've ever seen, with smile all around, people handing their drinks to their friends so that they can go dance, and an experienced bar staff at the ready to put a drink in your hand.

There are two bar counters in the building; the main bar up top, and the lower, smaller bar that used for nights that would have larger crowds. The bar is well stocked, and while the bar itself may not have a cocktail menu, the bartenders have been at this game for a while, and can almost certainly make whatever you need.

The music scene at Elysium is delightfully varied, ranging from goth and industrial bands, to local rappers. From drag shows, to expert DJs, if there isn't something at Elysium that you want to listen to that night, you can always go and hang out with the regulars on the patio, as there's a decent chance that there will be something for you the next night or the night after.

Much of the time, Elysium offers more than your standard club fare. They have gallery nights where they invite local artists to come and show their work, many of them offering relatively low-cost prints of amazing artwork so that you are able to take the magic and talent home with you, while supporting the local artists that make our city so unique and amazing. There are also monthly nights when the club hosts the Witches Market, where local vendors come out with handmade jewelry, candles, masks, and oils to satisfy your various occult leanings.

And who could forget the vampires? That's right, Elysium is home to he vampire court of Austin, where the sharp-toothed, snappy dressers hold various fundraisers for the community, sell their handcrafted fangs that are built to fit your mouth specifically, and hold a yearly shindig know as the Austin Vampire Ball. Vampires come from all over the country to attend, and rub noses with the local royalty (We have a Vampire King and Queen here in out sunny oasis, and they are delightful, lovely people), which definitely makes it an even that you wouldn't want to miss.

I am proud to call Elysium “my” bar. It's the place that I can go where no matter what's going on in my life, I can always find someone with a smile for me, and a damn good martini waiting. It may not have the space or all the luxuries of other bars in Austin, but you would be remiss to count out this treasure of Red River.

Is it for everyone? Probably not. I can definitely see people walking in there and deciding that they don't want to be a part of anything there, but therein lies the beauty of Elysium: You may not accept Elysium, but it will always accept you.

The End

"You know, everything we did together will be the last time we ever do it."

She was right. The nearly set sun almost seemed to agree with her words as it cascaded through her hair like the purest of rivers. Top of the world. She was beautiful. The last of the beauty. Soon to fall victim to an unfair universe.

"Like the trip to Roswell we took to look for the aliens?"

"And we couldn't find any, so we busted into the local bar with the alien masks on and they looked at us like we were the most unoriginal fucks in the world?"

She laughed. Her laugh was beautiful. I'd heard it a million times, but right now, it seemed more important. How many more laughs would I hear? It was limited. I thought of funny things to say just so I could hear it again. She laughed through her tears. 

"Remember that time when we went to the masquerade ball, and then went to buy cigarettes at the gas station, and they thought we were robbing the place?" She forced the words through anguish. It hurt me to see how afraid she was, but I didn't want to take my eyes off her face. I didn't want to look at the damning horizon until the very end, with her hand in mine. 

"I remember." I whispered, "You kept screaming, 'I can't go back to the big house!' while the cops were just staring at you."

"Well could you blame me? I thought I was going to die in prison!" I laughed, "Now I know exactly where I'm going to die." She started to cry. Her face twisted into the mask of loss and abandon. I didn't want her to cry. There was no reason to be afraid anymore. Not of terrorists, not of tornadoes, not even of death.

What they don't realize is that the scary part about dying is that you're alone. No one on Earth was alone anymore. We were all in this together. I told her as such.

"I know. I know that we're all going together. But I didn't see everything. The world has so much. There's so many people I never met."

"There's so many people that have never met you. Poor them."

The laugh came back. Just a few more. She needs to smile more. 

"Yeah!" She exclaimed, "Fuck those fuckers in Japan for not making the effort."

She's so incredible.

The ledge of the building was cold, but it felt warm when she was around. The thread in the seams of our jeans burned into our legs as the cross-breeze embraced us in a cool chill. The second moon approached and illuminated the twilight; disguising it as the noon of a summer day. The heat could be felt. But her breath was cool, as it brushed my face. I could still feel it long after it blended into the sounds of panic below. It wouldn't be long now. I expected more calm. 

"Are you scared?" she asked.

I didn't know how to tell her that I wasn't. The fear in my heart was gone. It had been responsible for pumping my blood until I found her, and now I was at ease. I wasn't going to let everything end without her being by my side. And as we sat on that rooftop, there was nowhere I'd rather be. Apocalypse or not. Here she was.

There was a burst. The atmosphere was catching fire. Before the TV went out, they told us this would happen. The sky was alight with the fire of the end, as the now pink clouds ran away in fear to the other side of the world in a futile attempt to rain again. 

"I can't be scared. I'm going to be strong for you. Right until the end."

The tears fell. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to bring her out of it again. I had reminded her of what was coming. that wasn't my intent. I was never great with words.

"Don't cry, lady. Don't make me have to do a shitty chicken dance until the end of the world." She kept crying, so what choice did I have? I danced. No music. Making a god damned ass of myself. She was worth it. 

"Stop, you idiot!." She uttered through tears, "Stop right fucking now! What the fuck is wrong with you? If's like you don't even care what's going on!"

"You're absolutely fucking right!" I screamed, mid-macarena, "I don't care what's going on. I'll be fucking fucked if I go out sad and regretting my last moments here with you, where I'm happiest most."

She laughed. I had her back. It only needed to last a few more minutes. She stood up on the ledge.

"If I fell, would you run down all the stairs to catch me?"

"I would run to hell to catch you."

She fell forward into my arms, just as the impact resounded. The thing they don't tell you about the death of the earth is how beautiful it is. When the ocean was struck, it created a million rainbows, that all shot forth at once. They want to say goodbye. I held her close. I felt her shaking. I got to gaze into the brown pools of here eyes once more before my vision burned away like a film projector stuck on a single frame. She stopped her shaking.

"It doesn't even hurt. I can't see, but it doesn't even hurt."

"At least you won't have to look at my ugly mug anymore." I replied. I heard her laugh.

"Thank god for that."

I guided my hands around her face. Her fierce brow. Her cornflower hair. Her soft lips curved into the most beautiful smile I've never seen.

"I don't-" The sound was so loud it was silent. I put my finger to her lips, and placed her hand on my chest.

My love... My -

Peanut Butter and Jelly: A Retrospective.

When creating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the essential first step is to
make sure there is absolutely nothing else to eat in your, or your surrounding
neighbors kitchens. Fine. I guess I'll do this, because long john silvers ain't
open 24/7.
Aquire bread. You will notice the bread is in a bag. This is working as intended.
Take the little plastic tie thingy off, and put it in your mouth to chew on. This
is basic instinct, but some of us have progressed too far from nature. Like birds
that can't migrate. Take the heel of the bread in your hand, and narrow your eyes.
You're proactive. This little jerk shall not infect the bag any longer. Feed it to
cats(quite frankly, a fate too good for it).
Take a normal, god-fearing piece on bread and place it on the counter. Don't wipe
the counter down first. Build those immunities. The second piece shall remain in
limbo for the time being. Open the jelly jar, followed by the peanut jar. Do this
in alphabetical order, because if you don't you'll need to flick the lights 3 times
and wash your hands for an hour.
Take the knife in your hand. DON'T THINK ABOUT YOUR ENEMIES. If you do, you could
stare at that knife for HOURS. Dip it in the Jelly first, because jelly is easier
to wash off. See? Some of this is totally practical. Use a gentle scooping motion
similar to the one you'd use while picking up a kitten so an ample amount of jelly
finds it's way onto the glimmering blade. Place knife jelly side down on the bread
and spread it all around. You, my friend have half a sandwich. There is no turning
back now.
Remove the secondary piece of bread. Were it sentient, it would breath a sigh of
relief, reveling in a future that is no longer uncertain. and place it on the
counter next to the jelly covered piece of bread. Wash your knife. Cross
contamination can lead to future disdain for yourself and your laziness. Plunge
knife into the peanut butter like a disgraced samurai plunging a sword into his own
abdomen, but then scoop like you did before. Kitten style.
Place knife on bread peanut butter side down, and use a circular motion to saturate
bread with peanut butter. Throw knife in sink. Do not wash. You did dishes last
time. It's someone elses problem now.
You now have the yin and yang of a PB&J. One side has jelly on top. One has peanut
butter. One jelly. And oh, what a pair they make. Take the piece of peanut butter
bread in palm of your hands butter side up. You're almost there. You're still not
excited, but you're malnourished, so you're bound to be in an bit of a state as it
is. Take the Jelly bread jelly side up in the palm of your free hand.
Clap.
There are plates available, but why waste the dish? When you really think about it,
a table is a giant plate on 4 legs.
Here's the tricky part: There are several holes in your face that you have to
choose from. One of them is correct, although all are able to perceive the sandwich
to some degree, you must pick the correct one, or these other face holes will no
longer function as intended. It is difficult to restore these to factory settings.
The answer is mouth. The mouth. Around now, you'll notice that the sandwich is
still clapped between your filthy, filthy hands, and one is sticky with jelly.
Flatness is important, though, so if you've made it this far and didn't lose
conciousness, thank your lucky stars for your own aptitude.
Take the sandwhich in one hand. Because your other hand will be raised to the sky,
cursing the god that cursed you with your aversion to grocery shopping, because you
could be feasting on ramen right now. Bite it like you would a roast chicken that
you have allll to yourself. This is called lying to yourself, and it's how human
beings get shit done.
Chew it up. Do this until the sandwich has one bite left.
Whisper, "I'll see you in hell." and cast the final blow. Throw it away. The
sandwich will be sad it didn't live up to it's potential.
Leave all the ingredients on the counter, because that's what your roommates do,
and you're passive aggressive.
Remove your smart phone from your pocket and play, "Don't stop believin'" by
journey, and walk out of your kitchen in pretend slow-motion, and when the chorus
kicks in, raise your fist up above your head and freeze in place like the end of
"the breakfast club".

When Clara went to sleep that night

She saw it. No one had seen it before, but she did.

What made Clara special? Why did she remember, while the rest of us forget? Why? Perhaps we'll never know. Maybe it's not for us to know... All we do know is what it looks like.

It was the time right before you fall asleep. You know the time I mean. Where you've only just presented your head to your pillow after setting the next days alarm. Those precious moments where all the little things you worry about become ill defined and float away like the smoke from the end of a cigarette. When the white noise becomes deafeningly soothing, and your memories of the day become rewritten into dreams. Sometimes for an instant, you think you're going to fall for no reason and are jolted awake. That was the time, and Clara thought she was going to fall.

That's when she saw it. Next to her newly opened bedroom door.

She said at first, it looked like a dog. A little, skinny dog walking on its hind legs, as if it were begging for a treat. It was different though... not quite a dog. It did not sway. Did not struggle for balance. No tail. It's arms hung down straight.

Clara closed her eyes tight, hoping to cull the waking dream and re-emerge with the dog gone. She couldn't hear any steps. After all, dogs have nails that 'clack' on hardwood. She waited. It had looked so damn real. Just standing there. Motionless but for it' s shallow breaths. Seconds were like deep red scratches screaming down her back lasting hour after awful hour. Colors swirled in her vision and her cheek muscles cramped, but her eyes could not be tight enough.

Maintaining her self-inflicted blindness, Clara wrapped her fingers tightly around the top edge of her comforter, and began to drag it upwards towards her neck. All she needed was the safe force field of the blanket, and she'd be right as rain, and able to ride out the night. The sound of the blanket rubbing against her mattress and pajamas may as well have been a car alarm. She froze. It must have heard that.

If it was real...

Was she just being ridiculous? It was obviously a dream, right? A little dog standing in her room? Of course it was a dream! What a question! Her eyes relaxed, and her grip on the covers became far less dire. We've all been tired and seen things, right? She'd had cajun for dinner. Spicy food... It was definitely in her head.

She opened her tired eyes. It would be some time before they closed again.

It sat there on her footboard, it's back straight, it's legs bent at 90 degrees, and it's fingers intertwined in it's lap.

The tiny grey fingers were the first thing that Clara saw. Her teeth clenched hard enough to make her ears ring as she watched the tiny digits unfurl slowly, while it's tiny, human-like foot tapped in time on the mattress. Her clenched fists were sticky with blood where her nails had broken the skin of her palms. Nails driven deeper and deeper each time the little grey foot came down.

It's left hand began to rise, and her eyes followed. Past it's concave stomach, and the chest with the jutting ribs. So pronounced. It really did look like a dog... Until it's hand reached it's face.

Nothing. Eyes? Nose? Ears? All were absent from it's grey, hairless skull. Just a mouth. A sliver of a mouth with one tiny finger to it.

"Shhhhhhh........"

Clara stared at it, horrified, as it placed it's hand back into it's lap. It faced her, staring with an eyeless face. Utterly motionless. She could make it. Throw the blanket over that 'thing', trap it, and make it to the door! This could work! She braced herself... It's head cocked to the side. Did it know?

Now or never.

She didn't even see it move. Her eyes that had been open and unblinking the entire time the beast had been here, and she missed it. She felt it first. Felt it's little cold hand placed on her mouth. She was frozen. A metallic taste filled her mouth, as her clenched teeth and gums began to give way to the awesome strain.

It smelled like an old library.

The other hand was on her lips now as well, slowly peeling them back to reveal her freshly brushed pearly whites. It used it's grey fingers to pry her teeth apart, and although she tried to force them closed, the hinges were oiled by the creatures will.

It paused, it's head sideways again. Clara's eyes darted around the room frantically as she felt it's tiny fingers touch each tooth one by one; and saw the creature glance over to her nightstand. Her charging phone, a picture of her late mother, and the clock radio... which began to play music. She recognized it as a song she'd heard a thousand times. One of those radio hits that the stations play to death... But it was wrong. Slow. Slower than any song should be.

If you almost stop a record, the songs all sound like growling. Why was it doing this to her?

"Because these teeth don't fit."

It sounded like the creak of a very old door. Clara screamed out, and the radio got louder to match her. This couldn't be happening. Someone needed to give her a pinch and free her from this nightmare!

She never got her pinch. She got a yank. A molar at first, and then 4 more followed. A canine, 2 wisdom, and the bottom front one on the left. All plucked from her mouth, while the radio drowned her wailing in a low-tempo. It placed the teeth in a straight, organized line next to her head, while bobbing to a slowed beat.

Once it finished the arrangement, it stood on Clara's chest and faced her with it's mouth slit leading the absence of a face. The music stopped, and the creature turned and walked the length of her body with a slow, almost professional stride. The grace of a ballerina.

Once back at the foot board, it reached down to pick up a tiny bag that Clara had failed to notice before. Dark brown leather with a face painted on the side in white, the creature reached it's little hand inside and began to liberate the little white objects inside.

"Now these..." It creaked as it held one up, as if to examine it, "Should feel much better."

One by one, it placed the new and foreign teeth into the vacant slots in Clara's gums; taking the time to wiggle each one individually until it was finally secured in place. Finally, it sat back onto her upper chest. Posture completely perfect, legs crossed, and it's face mere centimeters from her own.

"Would you like to sing a song with me?" it cooed. Clara closed her mouth ans vigorously shook her head.

It slouched, "They never want to sing with me."

It leaned forward and placed it's little hands over her eyes. A scream began to escape her throat, but before it could penetrate the open air, Clara found herself exhausted... struggling to stay awake... Had she set her alarm for morning? So frightened before, and now... didn't seem to matter.

She heard it pick up the teeth one by one from their neat little row, and heard them clack together upon entering their new leather home. The tiny, nearly human feet depressed the covers around her as it casually made it's way off of her bed and to the door of her bedroom. The various sounds it was making sounded like movements in another apartment... so far away from Clara. Sleep was taking her away. It felt good. Like she hadn't slept in days. In the final moment before she slipped away, she heard the creature's voice once final time,

"Those should fit better." It took several tiny, grey steps into the hall, "Your Mother would want you to have them. She didn't sing either."

GOD HATH FORSAKEN US VIA FACEBOOK (like)

The Titanic…

The Hindenburg…

World War 1…

World War 2: The Reckoning…

Starvation…

Disease…

Genocide…

And finally… Facebook changed their news feed.

This morning, I got up, and there was only a little bit of milk for my coffee, they had changed the packaging on Cocoa Pebbles, one of my shoes was tied before I put it on, so I had to untie it and re-tie it all over again, and my lucky underwear was in the wash.

I was already having a worse day than everyone else on the entire planet, when I went to Facebook, just to try and gather up what was left of my existence… Then my world came a-tumblin’ down like when someone’s footsteps are too heavy and they knock over a game of Jenga (In progress, no less)!

I spent 4 days in the fetal position when they changed how the chat worked, and now I was trying to blink my way through the torrents of tears that were falling on my ‘dry-clean only’ shirt to see the horrors they had unleashed this time, but it was just too awful. How could they? HOW COULD THEY?!

My day couldn’t possibly be more ruined! I tried to call in sick to work, but it looked like most of my coworkers had beaten me to it, so I had to go in anyway.

On the way there I stopped for a breakfast sandwich, and it looked nothing like the picture on the menu. Then I was stuck in traffic for 20 MINUTES! Can you even freaking imagine?! Then the satellite radio went out. It’s like I’m living in SUDAN.

When I got to work, I checked Facebook again, praying to the best of the Gods that they had realized their error and corrected it. Alas, it remained the way it was this morning… Poisoning my day… Like the barista adding whole milk to my coffee instead of 2%.

I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the rest of my day. Even when I can’t see it, it eats at me.

Better bitch about it on Facebook.

(I just pray I don't accidentally click on the Adobe Reader icon and have to wait for it to fully load before I can close it. I live in HELL)

I am the Pop Quiz Secret Keeper!

Do you see the above video? Is the collaboration of thousands of colored pixels making it's way safely to your eyeholes, and onward into your brain?

This is called 'Pop Quiz'. It is popcorn. But is it just popcorn? Dammit, it's so much more than just popcorn.

Pop Quiz played on our 1990's American love of things that were colorful. The 1980's love of the rainbow and bright colors drifted blissfully into the 1990's where we came up with even more things to put colors on (as human beings are want to do). One of these things that was randomly hit by the "If it's colorful, you can sell it" fad happened to be popcorn.

Pop Quiz came in a box like all other popcorn, it popped in the special microwave bag like all the popcorn, and in the end, it was buttery and delicious. Hooray for Pop Quiz! 

When my parents made my brother and I Pop Quiz for the first time, I was just excited to be eating popcorn. Popcorn was salty and disolvey, and the yellow pieces got stuck in your teeth (and removing them was an adventure for your tongue to go on), and your hands got all shiny. I loved popcorn, and was honored to be part of the popping corn experience.

This time when my parents gave me popcorn, however, everything changed. Life would never be the same again.

The popcorn was red. Highly unusual for popcorn to be red isn't it? But there it was. Sitting in the big bowl in front of the TV, a playful red color. I approached my father to find out just what the devil was going on here, and he informed me, "Son (he didn't say that), this before you is Pop Quiz (He doesn't talk this way). When you pop a bag of Pop Quiz, it comes out a color. You never know what color it will be!"

It was at this exact moment that my brain completely shut down and accepted the colorful popcorn as my new GOD. Every time you popped it, you didn't know what was going to happen! It could be BLUE! It could turn out GREEN! And it could be yellow too… Yellow, because sometimes I need a break from my popcorn being exciting colors (Yellow was fucking dumb, and I hope all the other popcorn bags treated the yellow ones like SHIT).

I always made another bag if I got yellow.

Suspense is the best popcorn seasoning. That and rainbow colors. That is why popcorn will never ever be good enough for me again. Because you can't recreate the flavor of not knowing where on the color wheel your popcorn will land when it's done in 3 minutes time. I believe this popcorn made me the man I am today…

So why does no one seem to remember it!? I have asked nearly everyone I've come in contact with lately, and they all look at me as if to say, "There goes dear Andrew (they don't talk like this), touched in the head as a lad, he was. Poor dear talks about when popcorn was colors." and I don't get it! How can I be the only one? 

I cannot be the only young man who had the pleasure on enjoying randomly colored popcorn as a lad.  That's not a world I want to be a part of. You people are ruining my life.

How can you live with yourselves knowing that there's a green popcorn out there that your planet Earth has completely DENIED you?! Your own species, mankind, left you to rot in a cultural WASTELAND where blue popping corn is a thing to be feared and shunned! Your GOD deemed you unworthy to behold his greatest creation. Your god hath forsaken you.

Everyone needs to look back and think hard, and I'm sure you'll remember. You may have blacked out from how amazing the experience was, but I believe in you, and I believe you can find those memories, like remembering the lyrics to a song you loved a decade prior. I need to know if there are others. 

I can't be alone.

Don't leave me alone in this darkness.