Description. It is our belief at the B.A.R.F. that pudding should not: 1) come from Hunt’s, a company best known for condiments; 2) contain the kind of “real milk” that remains shelf stable well into the following calendar year; or 3) have the sort of blue-greige hue customarily associated with bread mold. Hunt’s Snack Pack Blueberry Muffin pudding is and does all of these things, and adds to those insults the injury of a gloppy, gritty, bad-papier-mâché consistency.
Description. A comparatively faithful rendition of Sanrio’s most ubiquitous character, the Hello Kitty Marshmallow Pop does hit a couple of uncanny-valley snags. Its in-packaging presentation implies that it is composed entirely of Christmas-cookie sprinkles, but this isn’t the cause of the unsettlement; rather, it’s the rodent-y placement of Kitty’s button nose, which never quite succeeds in three dimensions — and the nipple-y placement of Kitty’s shirt buttons.
Speaking of buttons, their texture may startle some consumers; they, and Kitty’s other “features” (her bow, whiskers, et al.), resemble button candy in both diamond hardness and dearth of flavor. Setting them aside for future messages to be written on glass is advised.
Description. Once upon a time, in a suburb not far from the Foundation’s HQ, a pregnant lady visited the suburb’s Baskin Robbins each and every day and always ordered the same thing: black raspberry ice cream. She began the practice shortly after receiving her happy news, and continued it throughout gestation, although she did not expect the baby until March. Shivering in a parka, fighting the mitten lint that crept into the scoop — the lady persevered.
That lady is our founder’s mother, and to this day Dr. Bunting is attracted to all manner of black-raspberry-flavored sweets and sundries, regardless of how nauseating civilians may consider them. Ice cream, Slurpees, vodka, fruit leather — Dr. Bunting has sampled the black-raz iterations of them all, and although Haribo is responsible for many of the more terrifying candies she has encountered, she felt no apprehension in testing Haribo’s version.
As a subject for classification, the circus peanut presents a formidable challenge, not least because of Foundation associate Dr. S.V.W. Lucianovic's assertion that the circus peanut is usually shaped like a circus penis. But a peanut by any other name or shape would smell as weird, alas; its customary flavor is impossible to classify, its neither-fish-nor-fowl texture an off-putting artifact of the space age.
The particular product that arrived at our labs, the Spangler Colored Circus Peanut assortment sold by SweetGourmet.com, did not aid us in our quest for understanding; the bag sported a sticker for the website, but no nutritional information. Nor could we imagine what marketing dolt let the word “colored” past without a “multi-” prefix or a last-minute edit to “confetti.” The product page did enlighten us somewhat, however; the ingredients list is short and relatively straightforward (i.e. consists mostly of sugar and gelatin, versus the shuttle-program polymers we often discover in novelty foods), although the proportion of serving size (42g) to sugar (39g) is alarming. Although not terribly surprising.
"Sour liquid candy lemonade flavor." The Foundation’s research team asserts that such a product is not appealing in any format — that it is in fact nauseating. The scent is direct from the aftermath of Jell-O Shot Night at Stringfellows; the taste is Sour Patch Triaminic; it contains nothing but corn syrup and dye. It has no purpose and no charm.
Except…as a facsimile of urine.