I have a sore throat. For this malady, I requested popsicles, preferably anything resembling Jell-O Pudding Pops (click the link, seriously. It’s more than you bargained for). My Australian husband, who has never known the joy of pudding pops or Bill Cosby expounding their benefits (J-E-L-L-O!), got me these:
Let’s ignore for a moment how creepy I find the whole Jelly Babies phenomenon. I mean, you’re eating babies, for chrissake. Stalin didn’t even eat babies (AFAIK). Of course, the concept is babies; the reality is they’re about the size and shape of a 9-week-old fetus. Even if you aborted a fetus that size, you wouldn’t eat it. I hope.
But Wobbly Lollies aren’t baby/fetus shaped. Rather, they’ve flown backward in the reproductive process, back through growth phases and cell differentiation. Back through mitosis, through fertilization. Swimming backward through the jelly-lined uterus through the cervix, out the vagina, right back up the origin tube. Straight to the peen.
Oh, I know. All popsicles are phallic, especially once we begin to suck. The folks over at the “Let’s be cannibals – but in a fun way!” headquarters took it one step further: the wobble.
Somewhere between the slimy, floppy joy of gummy worms and the disturbing hard fleshiness of Jelly Fetuses lie the Wobbly Lollies. Impaled on a stick, they flop off the end of it, like a guy who just saw his buddy’s naked butt in the locker room and is fighting off his (un?)natural reaction. Take a lick, it flops the other way, fleshy and half-engorged. Slide it in your mouth, and its gooey coolness conforms to the soft palates. The only thing missing is the hand on the back of your head, and the surprise filling (you’ve got to get orange Dreamsicles for that).
They come it 4 fun flavors: green, orange, red, and purplish! Buy some for your kids today!