{Valentine Sweethearts:} An Ode to the Worst Candy of All Time

Candy is pretty dope. I like it a lot. It’s the only genre of food that has warranted an aisle in every single gas station across the world. Hell, it’s the foundation of the entire month of October: a time when kids everywhere forget the whole “stranger-danger” thing for a night, and scourge their neighborhoods like a bunch of sugar addicts with a jonesing.

What I find most impressive about candy is the wide assortment of choices that you, the consumer, have. There’s chocolate candy. There’s gummy candy. There’s candy on sticks. There’s Pixy Stix – which had to have been invented by some guy at a drinking straw factory who said: “you know what? Fuck the straws. Let’s just fill these wrappers with powdered sugar.”

Don’t try to snort this stuff.

Yes, candy is a highly competitive industry where only the strong survive. It’s the perfect representation of capitalism done right. Think about all of the candies that were advertised on Nickelodeon when you were a kid that aren’t in stores anymore. Remember Wonder Balls?

I choked every single time I ate one.

And unlike most industries, YOU decide what candies make the cut, not the illuminati! Which begs the question: how on earth are Sweethearts still around?

Just chew on a bunch of Flintstones vitamins while you’re at it.

At first glance, these little organ-shaped “treats” appear to simply be sugar cubes with cute inscriptions of love carved into them. Exciting? No. Tasty? Probably. But then… you actually eat one…

The instant you pop one of these flavorless bits of soda ash into your mouth, you realize that everything you’ve ever thought to be true in this world is in fact a lie: Santa isn’t real, cotton candy isn’t actually made from cotton, and the dog you had as a kid doesn’t live on a farm. You continue to chew this glorified piece of billiards chalk, and every single embarrassing memory and regret that you pushed deep below your subconscious long ago, hurdles back into mind. Life is meaningless, and your mouth is dry.

Sweethearts taste like some sort of ration they would give out to Confederate soldiers during the winter to keep them from eating blades of grass. If they were a time period, they’d be the Great Depression. And yet, every year we buy them, give them to our loved ones, and eat them. Why? Because tradition.

Valentine’s Day is a sacred holiday at the very heart of Black History Month. If you’re single, it is the day to drink a fifth of whiskey and see how many times you can swipe right on Tinder. If you’re in a relationship, it is the day to show your partner just how much they mean to you. And the best way to do that is by giving them flowers and candy.

As I mentioned earlier, the choices are endless when it comes to candy. This is why I get so pissed off by the mere existence of Sweethearts. If you don’t love your girlfriend/boyfriend enough to buy them a box of chocolates, get em some Fun Dip! At least then they won’t think you’re secretly trying to poison them.

You can eat the stick when you’re done!

Why do you think stores don’t sell them 11 months out of the year? Because they suck, that’s why.

The only reason we still eat Sweethearts is because it’s a Valentine’s Day tradition. But that’s a terrible reason. We always rode horses until ol’ Henry Ford decided to put an engine on a pushcart, and now we have NASCAR.

Don’t get me wrong, I love tradition. Every Tuesday night I re-watch The Expendables 2. It’s arguably Sylvester Stallone’s best work, and it’s a great tradition. But some traditions need to die, and Sweethearts should be the first to go.

So, America, this is my plea to you: a call to arms, if you will. Forget all the political drama for a second, and focus your energy on one thing—NOT BUYING SWEETHEARTS. It’s an easy task. You can #notbuysweethearts while you’re at home. You can #notbuysweethearts at school. Hell, you can #notbuysweethearts while you’re walking your dog. It’s not that hard. But don’t do it for me, or for yourself. Do it for your future kids, and their kids, and their kid’s kids. Let them grow up in the apocalyptic wasteland that will inevitably come from ignoring climate change, but don’t let them grow up in a world with Sweethearts.