Barb returned from another trip to Japan last weekend, and she brought back something wondrous for me:
BlackBlack Chewing Gum.
Now, if you’re like me (and I know I am), you’ll be asking, “What’s so wondrous about BlackBlack Chewing Gum? Does it have a unique, delicious flavor? Does that flavor last a long, long time? Do the packages contain decoder rings that enable one to discover Jessica Alba’s phone number hidden within the text of her Wikipedia entry?”
The answer to all of the above is “No, who needs that stuff? If I want a unique, delicious flavor, I’ll eat a nectarine. [Rory: A nectarine is a kind of fruit.] If I want flavor that lasts a long, long time, I’ll consume a clove of garlic. And if I want Jessica Alba’s phone number, I’ll look for it in my kitchen trash, which is where I threw it after hearing that she’s having a baby with another man.”
“So what’s the attraction?” you’ll ask. “If BlackBlack’s flavor isn’t especially unique, delicious, or long-lasting, and it’s no help in stalking starlets, then why all the BlackBlack love?”
One word, my poor, deprived Brainiacs:
BlackBlack tastes just fine, but I’d chew it even if it tasted like (and were made of) recycled road-grader tires. Because it’s loaded with my favorite legal drug: Sweet Mistress Caffeine.
Ah, legal, schmegal. I might as well come clean. Caffeine isn’t just my favorite legal drug. It’s my favorite drug, period. And if it ever becomes illegal, I’ll be buying small party balloons and/or Trojans by the boxcar so I can launch the largest smuggling operation the world has ever seen.
(And I know for a fact that there’ll be no shortage of mules.)
Yes, I’m a stone junkie, and I know it. But I didn’t used to be like this.
Hand to God, I was virtually caffeine-free until I was in my early thirties. That was when Ben & Jerry introduced their “Coffee Heath Bar Crunch” ice cream flavor.
For me, devouring that first pint was like Navin Johnson hearing his first Mantovani record. “If I like this so much,” I thought, scouring the empty cardboard shell with my tongue while hanging upside-down from a streetlight, “how much more might be out there?”
So it began, and so it progressed: Ben & Jerry. Hot cocoa. Milk chocolate. Dark chocolate. Constant Comment. Red Bull. Ovaltine.
And, especially, always and forever, coffee.
I mean, Sweet Merciful Jesus, if You had really loved Your people, You wouldn’t have turned that water into wine. You’d have turned it into a nice, balanced, medium-roast Kona with a shot of Half & Half.
Sadly, I can’t drink coffee all day long. That first morning pot of black gold gets me up and working . . . but if I kept making more as the day progressed, I’d have to move my office to the little room down the hall. You know, the one with all the porcelain.
Now, though – thanks to my lovely spouse, hereafter known to history as The Enabler – I have BlackBlack. So when the afternoon drowsies hit me, I can hit back.
This is in keeping with BlackBlack’s clearly intended purpose: To help its consumers get more work done. The large box of Chiclet-style BlackBlack even comes with a tiny green Post-It-style notepad in a special slot inside, just in case you have to write a memo while digging for your next hit.
In fact, I’ve already scribbled on the first tiny Post-It from my BlackBlack pad and have stuck it on my computer monitor. That way, I’ll be sure to see it every day between now and next March . . . when Barb and I will both be taking another trip to Japan.
The note says:
BUY MORE BLACKBLACK!
As if a junkie would ever forget.