So when the rest of the Flixist staff (in a drunken stupor, mind you) originally proposed the idea of expanding our little film site to a multi-billion dollar convenience store chain last night, I was startled. How were we going to even start something like that? And you know what Matt told me with his eyes slightly glazed over? He said, “Stop asking questions and just eat this damn hot dog!”
After Matt and I stopped speaking for awhile because I thought he was acting inappropriately (and I quit shortly thereafter), he extended an offer to me today. Matt proposed that I should come back and write an article about the unique snacks the Flixist store chain carries at their rapidly evolving locations. And if I liked them, he would hire me back on as a custodian. Read on to see what I thought about these…um…”snacks.”
As a tribute to one of their special advisor’s, Jeff Goldblum (who bought Flixist for a day last year), most famous roles (Seth Brundle from The Fly, apparently), the chain decided to package little burgers under a heat lamp and call them “Jeff Goldblurgers.” I was little afraid when I bought one because when I asked Geofferson Henao, the gentleman running the store, how long they were under that lamp, he responded with a resounding “A week, whatever.” That heat lamp must have done something to them. They were beginning to change into odd creatures. Biting into one was a certainly odd experience. Its taste could only be described as, well Goldblum-y. Some bites were fascinating, involving, and peculiar but most made me wished I was eating something else. This certainly wasn’t a great introduction to Flixist Foods (a subsidary of Flixist Convenience)
I definitely needed something to wash the awkwardness out of my mouth. I was going to buy some sort of conventional beverage until I received a call from Hubert, who is a Conduct Consultant now. He said, “You’ll love one of our Flushies as much as I love wearing hats, documentaries, and that one song from an indiscriminate time period!”
With a vague, fake sounding testomonial like that, how could I not try one? I walked up to the Flushie machine (what an unfortunate moniker) and looked at the marvelous “flavor options” Flixist Foods offers: Soylent Diet (which Geofferson argued wasn’t people), Soylent Classic, Walshington Apple, A Clockwork Orange Julius (Flixist Convenience bought out Orange Julius just for the name), Cherry As Hell, and something only referred to as “The Jenika.” I wanted to find out what Cherry As Hell tasted like, but the store was unfortunately out of cups.
Distraught because the Goldblurger was churning my stomach and I had no Flushie to calm it down, I turned to sweets. Thankfully, these were the best looking things in the store. There were certainly plenty of options ranging from Nathansies Baconsies (a bacon flavored toffee), Sunny Odins (little hammer shaped gummies), and Meyer Bars (protein-potassium fitness bars). I had no idea what to choose until I received a call from Liz Rugg, who told me she was Flixist Foods’ entire R&D department (as it seemed fit for her Customer Relations department to absorb R&D into one super HRRD, because giggles). She said, “Eat the Cinnadactyls already. My cat loves them!”
If Hobbes loved the Cinnadactyls, then so would I right? Well, not really. They’re sold in a bag of five and are tiny pterodactyl shaped cookies (think Teddy Grahams). They would be fine on their own if someone wouldn’t have glued googly eyes to each cookie. First I had to deal with the arduous task of peeling off the googly eyes, and then I suddenly discovered the entire cookie was glue residue. Although…the cinnamon aftertaste was quite wonderful.
As the case with all convenience store food, I got hungry again. I figured it was time to see what other “Food Foods” (the official moniker for the “dinner selection” of Flixist Foods) were available. There were Nierittos (mini burritos with meat of indiscriminate origin), Otrembles (meat sandwiches of indiscriminate origin), and I was perplexed until I stumbled onto the Taranquitos. They’re chicken taquitos molded to look like Quentin Tarantino. The taste? Well…borderline insane, politically incorrect, specially crafted with a hint of feet. You get a complimentary high heeled shoe if you buy a dozen.
Hot Dog Goslings
I was headed out the door until I received one last phone call from Andres Bolivar, who runs a location upstate, “Yo, you need to get one of those Hot Dog Goslings, yo.” What? I wasn’t able to translate the jargon, but I did realize what he was talking about. Out of the corner of my eye was a little golden grill tucked away in a secret area of the store. At first I thought they were slowly rotating hot dogs, until one rolled over and revealed Driver’s scorpion jacket. These were the fabled Hot Dog Goslings. Flixist’s numero uno delicacy and pride of the chain. And they looked as good as I’d hoped. They were almost to dreamy to eat.
But I still managed to. It was so good I cried while writing about it in my notebook.
So what did I think after eating all of this “food”? Did I like it enough to join the rest of the staff and work for the multi-trillion dollar franchise? I loved Flixist Foods, but slowly realized that love was to a debilitating degree. I can’t seem to function without Hot Dog Goslings. I’m even eating one right now! What’s wrong with me? Until I get this sickness in check, I can’t in good conscience rejoin Flixist. At least I’ll have the snacks to keep me company.