I mean, how the hell is this even a thing?
“Want the sweetly sickening badness of Marshmallow, but can’t handle the guilt of facing up to exactly how many individual pieces of the stuff you’ve shovelled into your face? Buy a single unit of uber-marshmallow gunk, and create the unconvincing illusion that really you’ve only eaten one!
For maximum satisfaction, spoon straight from the jar while alone in the kitchen, in the early hours of the morning. Concealing your shameful nocturnal snack by standing furtively behind the fridge door and using only its cold, lonely white glow for illumination. Then return to your bed for three hours of accelerated heart-rate and queasy self-hatred.”
“Oh, and don’t worry, folks. That strawberry flavour? Totally artificial. Nothing here will come between you and your slow, lonely quest for self-annihilation.”
We’re doomed, I tells you. Doomed.