I don’t know how your day’s going, but, during my flight to the sunny city of Miami, I got quite the scare.
No, I wasn’t sitting next to some crazy-ass person who threatened me, nor did the plane do something crazy that causes my heart to stop, but there was something that I was told by a fellow passenger that made me freak the fuck out.
As I’m talking to this nice lady from South Beach on the flight, she looks at me weird as I pull out a bag of my favorite fat kid candy, Sour Patch Kids, acting as if I just pulled out a Playboy and went to town on the pictures.
For any of you who eat these things on the reg, you know that an entire package can be devoured in about 20 minutes, giving you a fucking sugar rush that feels like the biggest bump of another substance people might use in Miami.
Anyway, as I pop the sweet and sour candy into my mouth like popcorn, she tells me about how, in parts of Florida, cops have been cracking down on drug dealers for lacing this very candy with some drug called Flakka, which causes people to do some weird shit, man.
Now, I don’t know what the fuck this shit is, but, apparently, the effects are similar to bath salts—which made a dude eat another guy’s face in Miami a couple years back—meaning that, in the very city I’m about to land in, I will not be buying any Sour Patch Kids.
Needless to say, this Flakka shit is threatening kids in the state and making people do crazy shit like run around naked, try to, single-handedly, take down a police force and, even fucking crazier, make people think they are the Incredible Hulk and can rip people’s arms off.
Thanks a lot, Florida, you’ve got to prove, once again, that you are the most fucked up state in the entire country—and have ruined Sour Patch Kids for me this entire trip.