This post is a long time coming. I’ve held my tongue for as long as I could. With this blog entry I renounce my title and those who strive to define me. Yes, I won a worldwide contest hosted by the Hershey corporation to see who could eat the most Twizzlers Pull ’n Peel in 10 minutes. Yes, I ate 90 lbs more than any other participant. Yes, a Harvard trained medical doctor on site stated that that amount of sugar should have killed me. But I am also a man.
Sure, it’s impressive that I was able to slurp those sinewy sugar confections into my stomach without chewing. Yes, I understand that my feat inspired hundreds of children to leave school and join the world of professional candy consumption, and of course, that fills me with joy. But I do have other interests. I like to knit. I just managed my first cable knit sweater. Cast off by myself and everything. But does anyone want to talk about that? No. It’s all, “Jeffrey, tell us again how you managed to snort the Pull ’n Peels while shoving them down your gullet simultaneously.”
I am not a God. I know of the small organized groups that are painting me as a savior. But I am just a man. I enjoy Big Macs, March Madness, and intramural kickball. If I had known that the length of Twizzlers Pull ’n Peel that I was going to eat would equal the exact distance between the Earth and the Moon and that that fact would inspire hundreds of cults in my name, I wouldn’t have done it.
I long for the days when I could leave my house without hearing my name chanted by the mob of fans stationed in my driveway. I would love to perform the simple act of walking to a coffee shop without a woman handing me her baby to raise. What ecstasy it would be to hold a conversation with another person without them thrusting a handful of those distasteful candy ropes in my hands and screaming, “Eat it candy boy!”
I am not a candy boy. I am not a product for you to buy. Yes, my skin may be red now from the food dye, and sure, the glossy finish has made me water impermeable, but I am still a man.