Swedish Fish
Review By: Gringo

Ever fallen in love? In love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with?

Yes, you buzzing cock, yes I have! But although I know my latest love is wrong, I embrace it. I declare it. I say it loud and proud on a love-struck fluffy cloud! Move over Irish Spring, Gringo has a new lover. That lover is Swedish Fish!

Previously on Listen To Me, I revealed my deep, sexy love for a bar of Irish Spring soap. However! A new day brings a new dilemma, and I'm ditching that soap faster than a 50-something in a midlife crisis jacks in his overweight balloon of a wife and their three kids -- even little Timmy, whose brain doesn't work so well, bless his little heart -- and moves in with Mya, a nasty slut of a 21-year-old whose claim to fame is being able to tongue her ear-hole.

Rip up the Valentine Day cards from me to the soap and...no, wait, just scribble out the "To Irish Spring" part and write in "To Swedish Fish". That'll be cheaper than buying new cards. What I'm trying to say is that I now know my love for Irish Spring wasn't real love. It was immature. It was infatuation. I was new to this crazy roller coaster world called love, and I wanted to go at full throttle, damned be the consequences! I was young, I was crazy, I wanted love, but looking back, I wasn't being honest to myself or the soap.

Sure, we had good times. I'll never forget the tantalizing lines in my soap that my fingernails left after scraping out the pubic hairs that were stuck to the bar after a particularly heavy lathering. And I'll keep using the soap for that grandfather-fresh smell, but it won't be the same.

It's over between Irish Spring and me. It took a fish, a sweet, erotic fish, to open my eyes and unlock the, well, lock on my heart to the dank, lonely chamber marked "True Love", but I'm glad that magical little fish did it. I love you, Swedish Fish, more than I can possibly say. But seeing that I have time to kill, I'll try and say it anyway.

I first saw Swedish Fish sitting on a shelf in some city center Rite-Aid. I didn't think much at first, but then I guess love at first sight only happens in the dream books. There you were, sitting in your little yellow bag, your red, fish-shaped contents peeking out from the strategically placed hole that revealed your contents to the world. I didn't know it at the time, but it was brave to bare your soul like that, Swedish Fish, so brave.

Weeks passed, and nothing much happened. When I was with Irish Spring, I'd occasionally think of other soaps I might like to try, but I never acted on it. I mean, there was that one time on vacation when I used a hotel soap, but I was drunk and it was all about the animal lust. There was no love. It wasn't cheating on Irish Spring. The only person I was cheating was the hotel soap by making it think it had a new love. Hotel soap, I'm sorry.

Then, one day...one sunny, revealing day, I saw you again, Swedish Fish. This time, I was in a CVS. As I tried to avert my gaze from the crazy bag lady arguing with the newspapers, I saw you again. The last one of your kind sitting on a shelf. I didn't know what to think at first. Hell, if I'm honest, I couldn't even think straight. I managed to pull myself together, and that's when the questions started firing off: what would you taste like? Would you be hard or chewy? Would I hate you on first bite? What would the other candies think? What world of sexy trauma and hunky love might I be getting into? And that's when you told me: there's no "LOVE" in "THINKING ABOUT BUYING A PACK OF SWEDISH FISH". As I've since discovered is often the case, you were right. I'm so glad I bit the proverbial pillow and plucked you off the shelf.

Racing home like Charlie with the golden ticket to Willy Wonka's factory, I couldn't think of anything but ripping you open and guzzling you down like there was no tomorrow. Okay, that was a slight fib, I was also thinking about how I was possibly going to meet my recurring picture frame fetish website subscription with a negative bank balance, but you were thought number two in my mind at that time, I swear!

Safely in the confines of my bedroom, I ripped you open, pouring your lovely little contents out on my bed. There you were: little, chewy, squishy lumps of red candy goo, moulded to look like fish. I thought you might taste like aniseed. How wrong I was! How naive! Biting into you, I was biting into a world of something that wasn't quite strawberry. The texture was like chewing paste and gum at once! You know how long I've been looking for that? All my life.

It was obvious this wasn't going to be a one-time hookup like with Hershey's Smores or the banana flavor Moon Pie. Oh no, this was something special. And over the days, weeks and months since, you've proved my thoughts 100 percent beautiful. I'm so grateful we met, and I'm sorry it didn't happen sooner. On the darkest days, one bite of you brings me more joy than a sneaky masturbation session in a public swimming pool could bring me in a lifetime. On the brightest days, eating you is equal to living life to the fullest.

I knew I had to break up with Irish Spring. In a perfect world, I could have had you both.

But we all know that can never be. So now I'm with you, Swedish Fish. This isn't like it was with Irish Spring. This is serious. I've never fallen so hard for anything in my life so fast, unless you count that time I fell in a gutter outside the student nightclub in London, and spent the whole evening with slop on my face because my so-called "friends" thought it was hilarious to let me wander round the club drunk, dazed, bleeding and covered in muck. Funny, yeah? Well, who's the one saddled with a wife he doesn't love, a baby he doesn't want, a job he can't do, a house he can't afford and a homosexual tendency that comes out after one Cointreau? It's either you or me, and I don't see anything like that happening in my life right now. But what's that? We're both in our twenties? And you're already stuck with all that baggage? Sorry? What did you say? I should feel...sorry for you? Like you felt sorry for me when I had muck on face on one drunken night out? Take THAT, Mr. Jokerman! LIFE GOT YOU GOOD!

What I meant by that, Swedish Fish, is that I love you. Don't ever change.

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