I nervously stand in line with my 3 yr. old daughter at the school festival. She, eager to feast upon the coming sugary concoction. Me, nearly terrified by the fuckin’ witchcraft voodoo I am about to see. The line moves and we come to the front. I hand the man $3 from my sweaty palm. My stomach churns. I shift from foot to foot. My daughter pulls on my hand and squeals in anticipation. The man behind the counter stands in front of a large, circular dome made of clear plastic and a metal cylinder beneath it. He takes my money with a grunt and begins his age-old dark art. He opens a carton of what appears to be colored sugar crystals and pours it through the center of the dome, into a hole in the metal cylinder. He quickly closes it up and turns the infernal device back on. The sound of a small motor whirring beneath, but no other mechanics or tubes or liquids or devices of ANY kind can be seen attached to this tool of the devil. And yet, within seconds…colored wispy strands of fabric start to shoot from the tiny holes on the inner side of the metal cylinder. The strands quickly meet together in the center of the cylinder and begin to clump together in the familiar cotton-like shape. With a quick twist of his hand, the man waves a cardboard cone around the inner cylinder and the colored strands of sugar fabric wrap around it like insects at the speed of light. And he pulls it out, now crowned with the colorful mass of cursed sugar, deformed by dark forces known only the blackest of hearts.
No, I do not trust nor understand cotton candy. The process that creates it does not seem possible. The near total lack of any even slightly sophisticated mechanical equipment any rational mind would assume it would require to turn fine, powdered sugar into goddamn fabric is NOWHERE TO BE SEEN! It’s a fucking metal cylinder with some holes in the side…and you pour colored sugar in the middle. Suddenly, it’s fucking strands of cotton candy flying around in a bowl. Nothing happened. It’s just there. That cotton candy machine has like three parts: a bowl, a cylinder with holes in it, and some little fan motor underneath. Yes, I’ve read about cotton candy and the machines and how it works….BULLSHIT. Really look at those things, you idiots! We are through the Looking Glass here! It looks like something my daughter just stacked together while going through my wife’s Tupperware drawer, something she just put together and pretends that it makes cotton candy. Only this contraption actually works. It’s like cartoon logic. But it works. But not through science. No. No, my ignorant friends…
I’m not one known to be religious or superstitious. The supernatural is just a bunch of horse shit for the weak-minded. But this…this machine and the impossible that it achieves without the slightest struggle…the cotton candy “machine” is the chink in my armor. That’s the one thing I just don’t get…the place where science seems to fail us all. It’s like stacking a bunch of couch cushions together to make my daughter a fort…and when we go inside, it’s a spacious, 4,500 sq ft complex with fine decor and a butler waiting to take our coats.
The man hands the stick to my ignorant child who hungrily snaps it up and begins ingesting the physical manifestation of evil. I am helpless. I’m sure many who read this blog are wondering why I didn’t slap that blob of evil from his hands and put his head through a wall. People, I know when I’m beat. If he can manifest simply, sugary treats from nothing…imagine what this guy can do if he really gets pissed. His car probably runs on nightmares. I bet he grew his children in Mason jars.
Plus, my daughter is 3. She’s old enough to make her own decisions on the consumption of the black arts and its consequences. That’s on her.
Just a warning, dear ignorant readers. Cotton candy is the work of demonic magic. Imagination made real by something few understand. It may taste sweet and look adorable…but it does not come from this world. Consider the source of that glob of sugar you hold on a stick before you.
And keep it the fuck away from me.