Here’s the thing about puking up candy: It’s not as delicious coming back up as it is going down. Your parents probably knew that. That’s why they took away all your loot when you came home from trick-or-treating and only allowed you a rationed amount each night. There’s an order to these things, and while you were probably angry that your mom and dad ripped the chocolate from your grubby, sugar-dripping fingers, they really did it for your own good.
No one person is supposed to have that much sugar in their system at one time.
You knew this, deep down, so you never made good on your threat to eat only chocolate cake and Cinnamon Toast Crunch when you became an adult. It’s just unnatural. No, to call it unnatural is an understatement. Eating an entire bag of candy is an affront to nature—an abomination. I should know, because I ate two entire bags of candy in a single day. And then I ate another bag of candy on top of it. Not for science. Just to see if I could. Which is how I ended up on the floor in my bathroom, crying while half-digested skittles poured out of my gaping maw in a grotesque rainbow of fiery reds and dull browns.
The idea to eat 10 pounds of candy came to me several weeks ago. Too old for trick-or-treating and just having embarked on a whirlwind love affair with marijuana (for medicinal purposes, of course), I was thinking of something fun to do for Halloween when an ad for Snickers (maybe Crunch? It’s all a blur now) came on the TV.
“Man,” I thought, ”I would love to eat a whole bag of candy. Just pound the entire thing down my gullet.”
Then, rather than thinking rationally about the matter, I made the foolish decision to do it.
“I’m an adult,” I said to myself. “I can buy my own candy. And no one can tell me not to eat too much because I have rights.”