Candy Sex

Saturday night. It was After Eight. The Air Heads and Nerds were already snooring up a storm but I was ready to Rolo in the sack with a live Kit Kat. So I stopped at the Milky Way Lounge on 5^th Avenue. I was looking to Skor with little miss Cookies & Creme. Four or five Chiclets were hanging at the bar. They watched me come in and tried to hide their Snickers behind their hands when I hawked a couple juicy Goobers in the corner. They probably thought I was a Milk Dud ‘cause I was dressed like a Jolly Rancher. So I put my Charleston Chew in my back pocket, popped a Breath Saver and checked out the delectable Sweetarts that were strolling around. Couple of them was real Smoothies but most were plain old Mary Janes looking for a Big Hunk to make them feel like Cherry Mashes.

I was ready trot out the Charm by coming up with a couple sure fire Icebreakers when this gorgeous Caramello at the end of the bar turned to size me up. She was a Red Hot mama if I ever saw one. And when she stood up and showed me her Big Cup profile I liked her a whole lot better. She was sporting the biggest set of Bazookas you ever saw. She dumped her two Sidekicks like the Runts they were and made a Fast Break for me. I waved her over, feeling like a big-time Sugar Daddy and said, “Hey, Baby Ruth, why don’t we go outside and have a few Chuckles?

We both liked that idea even though up close I could see she was a little Chunky, sporting a Tootsie Roll around her waist. But it was late and my Twizzler wasn’t getting any younger. And anyway, what’s a little Jelly Belly when you’re ready to Crunch and Munch. She ran her hand Twix my legs real friendly-like and, Oh Henry, I knew it was time for a Slo Poke. I returned the favor by stroking her Whoppers and knew she was no Mirage. I was about to ask her if I could hit the Hershey trail but then she turned those Atomic Fire Ball eyes on me and all I could say was, “Babe, I’m Forever Yours.”

Soon as we got outside she grabbed my Whatchamacallit, looked down and complained, “Hey, you Pixy Stix. You been bragging about your 100 Grand Bar and all you’re showing me is a Zero. That miserable thing ain’t even a Bite-Size Butterfinger. It’s a Wonka Runt. And what are these damn things, Raisinettes? You had me expecting a couple hefty Zagnuts.”

Must admit she made me feel bad. So I told her, “Look here, Sugar Baby, I got a reputation as an All Day Sucker, not a lousy Blow Pop. Give me a Bit-O-Honey and let me play with your Almond Joy and then you’ll hit Payday.”

Sure enough, she laid a few heavy Kisses on me and Abba Zabba up popped Jumbo Butterfinger. We got down to making beautiful music. I mean it was a regular Symphony of Smores. When I slipped my hand down her pants and felt her Fuzzy Peach, she laid a lip lock on my Willy Wonka and Oh Henry it felt like I had fallen into a Pot of Gold. But just before Starburst time the Three Musketeers pulled up in a squad car with red lights flashing, looking for Mr. Goodbar. So we had to Take Five and Skittle out of there in a big hurry.

The moral of this story is simple. The next time you’re at the grocery store and your kids say they just want to check out the Good and Plenty at the candy counter, drag their asses into the john and wash their mouths out with soap. Wise up, the little bastards are interested in candy sex, not licorice.