Let me guess, you’re one of those Halloween snobs that thinks candy corn tastes bad. Well, guess who’s got two Frankenstein bolts for thumbs and the unrefined palette of a raccoon? While you’re busy turning your nose up at the bargain bin champion of Halloween, I’m up on the scarecrow-lined hilltops screaming for all the world to hear “I fuckin’ love candy corn.” Those disgusting little triangles defy all standards of decency and I just can’t get enough. Every reason why you hate candy corn is why I love it.

“It’s too sugary” you whine. Too sugary? You mean the main ingredient in candy? You’re probably the kind of person who says it’s possible to have too much of a good thing. Well, joke’s on you, cause candy corn is a bad thing, and I’ve been a naughty boy. A handful of those tri-colored diabetic nightmares leave me physically ill with my head pulsing in pain. And guess what? I’m into it. Punish me with tummy aches you wicked little vampire teeth. That’s right! Candy corn isn’t even shaped like a kernel. That’d make too much sense, and as we’ve established candy corn loves to absolutely cuck all conventional logic.

The chosen shape of our patron saint of trash is that of a fang. And its color, oh, its color! You’d expect it to simply be yellow like corn, but once again the ol’ “double c” shamelessly throws the middle finger to society. Instead, it is a goddamn tri-force of Fall aesthetic. Hell, I’ll even duct tape a handful of the fuckers to the wall for reference when I’m decorating.

For those who don’t know, here’s how the candy corn colors go: Yellow at the bottom (to remind you from whence it came), Orange in the middle (cause it’s Halloween, bitch), and White at the top (to remind you of the spooky skeleton inside us all). When was the last time a piece of candy made you reckon with your own mortality? I highly doubt a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup has the balls. I know for a fact Nestle Crunch doesn’t. As someone trying to become a ghost as soon as possible, candy corn is an express train to my early grave.

“But it doesn’t taste like corn” the aristocrat moaned. No duh. That would suck, big time. While you’re at it, why don’t you put the Circus Peanut or Watermelon Jolly Rancher on blast? Think this through: Would you want a Watermelon Jolly Rancher that tastes like actual watermelon? Ew, what the fuck? No! The wrongness of the flavor is exactly what it gets so right. Scientists spent minutes upon minutes dialing in that flavor, missed the target by a mile, and in the process found a brand new bullseye. Strike me down with your chemically affordable flavor you beautiful monstrosity.

You know what? Screw it, I’ll just come out and say it. I want my candy corn eating experience to border on inedible. Give me the aroma of stale air from a factory long-closed, the flavor of expired Betty Crocker frosting, and the texture of one of those candles you hold while singing “Silent Night” at Christmas Mass. Every mouthful should be more apocalyptic than the last. This is the delicious nightmare I and other fellow candy corn lovers crave.

However, for those who say “I like candy corn but, the big pumpkin-shaped ones are too much.” Grow the fuck up. The pumpkins are the straight-up king of the candy corn universe, a veritable embarrassment of Halloween riches. Those plump psychos deliver a nuclear payload of sugar, packing triple the punch and triple the sickness. Honestly, it’s ok if you’re not strong enough to withstand the way those fat-ass cherubs manhandle your digestive system. You just need to accept that those who can are better, stronger, and happier than you.

Which is why tonight, fair children at my door, I will be filling your bags with handfuls of loose candy corn. All manners of protest and cries for alternative treats will fall on deaf ears. Because on this very eve, you knocked on my door and demanded treats of me, so you will receive what I see fit to give. Those are the Halloween rules. I did not make them, but God as my witness I will abide by them.

So take my rotten bounty and be on your merry way, cursing my name and indulging in other treats first. But eventually, you will reach the bottom of your sack and be left with only what I have given you. A scattered assortment of wickedly sweet goblin teeth calling on you to consume their flesh. And in that moment of weakness, desperate for one final treat, you will taste the most perfectly vile candy in the world.

Understood? Good.

Now get the fuck off my porch.