Pixy Stix: AKA “My First Cocaine Kit”

So this morning I was pleasantly surprised with the late Valentine below.


My boyfriend and I have this thing where we tend to “brag” about the free things we get.  We both tend to get free meals from our job on occasion so we are constantly trying to show the other one up.  I have to admit, his meals usually LOOK better just because they come from fine dining establishments, but mine is usually the stuff that people actually want to eat, not look at.  Because of this habit, when this little beauty came across my desk this morning, I felt compelled to snap a picture and text it to him.  I told him that it would help me stay awake today since I had such a long, rough night last night.  (Which isn’t a lie, if you’ve never stood knee deep in a pasture of mud watching 3 colicking horses to make sure they don’t roll, you have no idea how quick 5am came today and how exhausted it found me.)


His response shocked me.  I will save you the entire conversation but it turns out that the boy has NEVER heard of fun dip.


Seriously?  Who has never heard of Fun Dip?  Please tell me that I’m not losing my mind!  Surely we all remember at least one time in our lives when we found ourselves trying as hard as possible to not eat the stick before finishing all of the powder.  I had very little self control when I was younger and usually ended up just skipping the powder completely and eating the stick by itself.


Anyways, as I was trying to describe to him exactly what he missed out on, (which is really not much because I honestly don’t think it’s the best tasting candy in the world) I couldn’t help but think that my description sounded more like a “DIY homemade cocaine kit”.  In fact, the original title of this post was “Fun Dip: How My Cocaine Addiction Started” but then I thought that might lead people to believe that I really was on crack (which I’m not! Just to make that clear, I know it seems like it sometimes but…) and I also remembered the greatness that are known as Pixy Stix. .

A little history about Pixy Stix:


  • They were created in 1952 by the Sunline Company and were originally meant to be a drink mix.
  • The original product was called Fruzola and came with a spoon (Equally as disturbing as the straw!)
  • Fruzola was later repackaged to have a dipping stick and the name changed to Lik-M-Aid (Later changed to Fun Dip)
  • Eventually after changing hands a few times, Nestle bought Lik-M-Aid and began packaging Fun Dip and Pixy Stix under the Wonka brand
  • Pixy Stix come in 6 flavors: Grape, Orange, Cherry, Blueberry, Strawberry, and Maui Punch


Okay, so, my knowledge of cocaine is a little fuzzy but I do know that people snort the stuff using straws. Cocaine comes in powder form, the stuff inside Pixy Stix is powder, and it comes in the form of a what?  Oh that’s right….a straw!


Now, I will never claim that I was very smart as a child, and I remember I used to dump all of the powder out the Pixy Straw and attempt to inhale it as quickly as possible.  Pretty sure I still have some sugary goop lodge in my lungs till this day.


My point is; did anyone ever stop to think that maybe there was a design flaw to certain candies of our childhood?


What about Big League Chew?  Remember that stuff?  It was a pouch of shredded bubble gum that resembled smokeless tobacco and came with a picture of a cool baseball player on the front.  Who wouldn’t want to look like their favorite athlete while chewing that stuff? 















And let’s not forget candy cigarettes and bubble gum cigars!

Of course I’m not going down the road of those that complain about everything and think that every little detail about something is ruining the future.  I promise that there are far worse things now-a-days that children are subjected to.  I can’t stand the people that try to claim children have learned to hate and harm each other through the assistance of radio and TV.  I never understood why it was so hard to simply remove those things from a child’s life if the parents thought it was damaging their psyche. Rather than sit around complaining about things like violence in cartoons, why not make the kids get out and ride their bikes?  I was an only child and on top of that the only child in my neighborhood.  I remember my mom would FORCE me to come in every night because it was too dark for me to be in the back yard and when it was raining outside, TV just wasn’t entertaining enough.  I didn’t need a whole neighborhood full of kids, I had an imagination and I’m thankful for that creative spirit that my mom made me obtain.  I think I turned out relatively good…and I grew up on Pixy Stix, Pop Rocks, Fun Dip, and Smarties!

Are these what taught us that it's OKAY to pop pills?

An Unorthodox Love Story

Writers block will NOT leave me alone this week.  I have not been able to come up with anything worth writing so I had to resort to previous articles.

This is actually the first short story I ever wrote, which was in Jr. High, 8th grade I believe.  That being said, I decided not to edit it any, just leave it as is so keep in mind that this was written by a 12-13 year old version of me.  I obviously had a lot of growing to do but this is where I really got my start in writing, short stories and poetry. I also had not developed my sarcastic, snarky, sense of humor so most of the stuff I wrote was a little more….depressing.  I promise I wasn’t suicidal or anything, this was just the easiest stuff at the time to write!

I’m telling you this because I’m not looking for critique or praise in this submission, just thought it would be something fun to share!  so ENJOY!!!


I remember lights.  I remember sirens.  I remember blackness and then, silence.




I’ll never forget the day that I met Kara. I knew from the first moment that I saw her that she and I were meant to be together.  I instantly noticed her as she walked around the parking lot that day, her emerald green eyes, the way her hair bounced when she walked –  I saw her and immediately fell in love with her.


I remember sitting there quietly; ridiculously still, watching, waiting, praying that she would choose me.  Had I known how this story would end, I honestly believe that I would not change a thing about that day; I loved her and desperately wanted to be in her life.


I remember her smell as she walked by me the first time.  I caught her stare briefly before her father shuffled her forward to look elsewhere.  I remember the way her eyes lit up when she saw me, the way she turned around and eyed me as her father encouraged her onward.  It was then that I realized Kara was the type of girl that could get anything she wanted.


It may sound like I was obsessed, you can call it that if you so choose but I, I know differently, I know that it was fate that brought us together that day, and fate that has brought me here to my resting place.


You see, I have nothing else to do in this place but think about old memories.  Remember the happy times that Kara and I spent together.  This cramped, smelly, dirty, place – that I now call my home – holds me a prisoner until someone else decides my fate, and until then, I will reminisce.


Kara may have been young but she was wise beyond her years.  I remember thinking to myself how lucky I was to have been chosen by such a mature, loving, young woman.  I used to love waking up early every morning, even though my old parts creaked and moaned in the cold winter mornings and Kara was always in a hurry and drove far too fast.  Our daily trips to and from school helped us bond that much more.


I’ll never forget Kara’s first wreck.  I remember hearing her cry and not being able to see her, to comfort her, to tell her it would be ok.  Granted, it wasn’t a bad wreck, it was still terrifying.  You never forget your first accident.  I still think about mine.  It happened long before Kara came around.  I remember after her accident, when we got home, Kara came to me with tears in her eyes; she kissed me, and told me she loved me and that she was sorry.  I forgave her.


I remember the first time Kara rebelled against her parents.  They were going out of town for a business trip and had decided that Kara was mature enough to leave at home alone, she was 16 after all, they had to let her branch out and become independent.  Kara and I drove her parents to the airport and dropped them off.  As soon as they were out of sight she turned the radio up and started singing to herself, she didn’t care who heard her or what they thought about it.  That was the first time I ever saw her act like a teenager.  To this day I think about how immature and innocent she was in that moment.  Kara was a level headed girl that had her whole life ahead of her and for the most part, she was a very responsible young lady.  This was the first time I had seen her act like a child and I hated it.


That night, several of Kara’s friends came over to her house.  I was a little jealous of some of her friends, especially Evan. Regardless, I behaved myself and sat quietly outside while the kids enjoyed themselves.  I remember watching as the kids came in carrying cases of beer and lighting up cigarettes as they passed by me.  They didn’t even seem to notice me sitting there in fact, later in the night a girl stumbled out the front door and tripped, crashing head first into me.  She never had the decency to apologize or even acknowledge me.


The night grew late and eventually the kids made their way out of the house.  I sat, cold and tired, in the driveway and watched as Kara and Evan emerged from the front door, arm in arm, as Evan turned and embraced Kara and pressed his lips to hers.  It pained me to watch but I remained quiet.


Kara stayed in the house most of that day, I’m sure she slept most of it and worked diligently to clean up that night before her grandmother stopped by to check on her and make sure that she was doing okay.  I sat outside all day, lonely.


Kara’s parents never did find out about that night.  I was the only one sober enough there to know but I would have never told on her.  As much as it pained me, I had to remember that she was a teenager and she had to make her own mistakes.  I loved her too much to see her get in trouble for trying to “find herself”.


Things were pretty calm for the next few months aside from the fact that visits from Evan were becoming more and more frequent.  They would go out at least three or four nights a week together and I never got to go along.  It even got to the point where Evan would pick her up in the mornings and bring her to school, we never spent anytime together.  It was hard for me to watch them morning after morning, laughing and carrying on as she hopped up in his truck and sat next to him.


One night Kara came home with Evan and two other kids, a boy and girl.  I cringed as I watched them walk towards me, the girl, Emily, cradled a case of beer in her arms and the boy, Trevor, held a long neck between his fingers.  I could smell them as they got closer, even my precious Kara was quite obviously drunk.  She patted me as she walked by and then Evan jumped in the driver seat as the others filed in.


The cool autumn air was crisp and almost felt as though it was biting at me as we drove down winding roads with the top down. I was thankful that the streets were empty as we paraded and swerved around the bends.  I could hear laughter over the rushing air that enveloped me and felt the gravel fly as Evan pressed the accelerator as far down as it would go.


Just a bunch of kids out having fun, enjoying themselves, not a care in the world…


We continued to fly through the night, digging deeper and deeper into a wooded area.  The whooshing sound of the trees was almost overwhelming as they passed out of sight in a cluttered blur.  I found myself drifting out, day dreaming, ignoring the smell of the beer that was now being spilled about carelessly. If I could have just closed my eyes and went to sleep, I would have.


The screeching of tires and the honking of a horn shook me from my trance.  I looked up in time to see a pair of lights headed directly towards me.


I remember every single detail of the actions that took place next.  I remember hearing the crunch, the sound of metal on metal was so piercing, it was almost more painful that the collision itself.  It was a sickening sound.  It happened so quickly yet seemed to last forever.


We had veered onto the other side of the road and crossed paths with an oncoming 18 wheeler.  As we collided, the truck sent us flying through the air, spiraling like a football.  I remember my vision rotating from ground to sky over and over again. On one of the ground views I looked up just in time to see Kara fly through the air, watched her body flop and struggle like a fish flailing around out of water.  I saw the fear in her eyes, heard the screams of the others in the car, watched as her body finally flopped to the ground in a mangled mess, skidding across the pavement as she hit.  This was the last thing I remember seeing before I, myself, came into direct contact with a telephone pole.


I remember lights.  I remember sirens.  I remember blackness and then, silence.


When I finally came to my senses I remember everything being blurry.  I could see figures swirling around me in a panic.  My side was fiercely painful and it was now that I realized I was impaled on the telephone pole, my entire body literally tangled around the pole.  I could barely see the semi truck in front of me where it had come to lay on its side, its driver sitting on the pavement, his body bathed in blue and red lights.  I could make out four lifeless lumps of plastic.  I knew what was under the plastic but pretended they didn’t exist.


“There was nothing I could do, they came out of nowhere!”  The driver of the semi was wailing to an officer that had walked over to speak with him.  The driver cupped his head in his hands and sobbed.


The whole scene was unbearable.  I watched helpless as the paramedics tromped past me carrying a bloodied body bag.  As they passed in front of me, one of them tripped and the paramedic and the lifeless body fell to the ground, an arm flung out from beneath the plastic revealing a silver bracelet.  The bracelet Kara’s mom had given her for her birthday, the one that she never took off.  The sight was almost too much to bear.  If I could have moved on my own free will, I would have run to her lifeless body and embraced her.




It’s been almost a year and I’ve been sitting here in this place, no one has made any attempt to help me.  The tow truck came later than night and pried my body away from the telephone pole.  They hoisted me up by my rear end and drug me backwards all the way, allowing me to see the panoramic view of the horrific scene.  It was a short ride but seemed like it lasted forever.


Kara’s parents came by a week later to pick up her belongings.  Her mother took one look at me and sobbed and refused to get out of the car despite coaxing from her husband.  Kara’s father walked up to me, somber faced.  He patted my roof and stood next to my door, motionless, for several seconds.  I could hear his stifled breathing as he tried to fight back tears.  Then, in one movement, he wiped his nose, opened the door, popped the trunk and retrieved all of the articles from the back.  He carried the small load towards the car, turning once to cock his head and smile gently.  He stepped towards me again, bent down in front of my grill; half smiled at me and choked “I never wanted her to get this car in the first place.”


That was the last I saw of Kara’s parents.  That was the last interaction I had with humans.  They left me here…to rot….and mourn the loss of my love…alone.