<sigh>
It’s a men’s hairdressing cream?
Long a staple of the pre-1970’s southern, fast-car-driving good-ol’-boy.
I was probably ten years old and was spending the night at my sister’s house (she’s much older than me!). Seems that Brylcreem (at the time) came in a handy dispensing tube. Much like a toothpaste tube. And her husband conveniently leaves said tube on the backsplash of the sink 'cuz he uses it daily. Much like you’d leave the toothpaste there 'cuz you use it daily, too.
You can see where this is going.
I jamed my toothbrush, loaded with a big dollop of what I certainly thought was Colgate, into my mouth and began to brush.
Oh yeah, didn’t take me long to realize my mistake.
Spat it out. Rinsed my mouth dozens of times and washed off my toothbrush with the REAL toothpaste and HOT water. And then brushed my teeth twice with REAL toothpaste because the Brylcreem tasted so horrible.
You know, I still tasted that nasty Brylcreem in my mouth the next day.
<bleah>
My husband is the king of this, whatever it might be called.
One time we were at a friend’s house and he was eating some Cheetos. When he was finished, he had a cigarette, and set the ash tray on his chest (he was leaning back on the couch). When he set the ash tray back down, he felt something on his chest. Thinking it was a Cheeto, he popped it in his mouth. It was a cigarette butt.
Another time, I had defrosted some chicken in the microwave, and not noticed that a little of the “juice” had spilled on the bottom. He opened the microwave to put something else in, and saw something white on the bottom (it had kind of dried by that time). He thought it was frosting, and dipped his finger in it and licked it. Then I hear, “What are you trying to do, kill me?” I responded that yes, I expected him to lick the bottom of the microwave, so I disguised chicken juice as frosting in the hopes of killing him with salmonella poisoning.
Funny you should ask this question.
You know the goo the collects on the sliders and rollers or your mouse (I call it mouse jam). Well, I just finished scraping the jam off my office mouse and I accidentally put a piece in my mouth. It had an intense salty\earthy flavour and the texture was pasty. Definitely an acquired taste…yuk!
One time when I was young, my mom had a muffin pan out. I asked if I could have one. She got a funny expression on her face and told me to go for it. I bit into one. Soap. Of course then everyone starts laughing.
It was an experiment in consolidating left-over soap-ends into new bars (unsuccessful, I might add).
This was my daughter’s favorite thing to do when she was about 11 months old. Playing with a toy in one hand, eating a cookie with the other, and she’d invariably switch the two and chomp down on Elmo, or whatever. And I would invariably laugh. And she would invariably give me a dirty look. It was great (invariably!)
I was over at a friend’s house a few weeks after Halloween. I was early and drinking beer watching something on the TV. They told me to help myself to the pile of candy on the counter, which I did. I was picking away at the pile absently, trying this and checking out those, watching tv the whole time. At one point I grabbed a little black box with some gold-colored script and read the side, which said “Dipped in Conjac”. I thought, That sounds good and opened the little box. Inside there were two brown sticks, about the size of a chocolate-covered pretzel stick. I vaguely remember something somewhat like these from my childhood, when I stole cookies and candy from on top of my neighbor’s fridge. So I took a stick out of the box, watching tv, and bit about half of it off. I knew right away something wasn’t right. But I figured maybe there was a lot of conjac on these and I’d taste the chocolate in a second. I was in the swallowing process before something clicked and I registered what the taste was:tobacco and nastiness. Thinking about it makes me gag. :smack:
I’m a subscriber to FOUND magazine (people can submit anything they find anywhere and the mag will publish it; notes, photos, etc - you get the idea). Anywho, there was a lady who submitted a little post-it note along with the story behind it. At the company where she worked, it seems some vendor/supplier had dropped off small, round concrete samples. She had found the post-it lying among the samples - its writer and recipient unknown to her. It read:
When I was a kid still living at home, I was lying on the couch, watching TV and eating potato chips off my chest. My older brother walked by and flipped his hand in my face, which was a typical move of his (he was into constant teasing). I ignored him and picked up another chip and bit into it. Something about it wasn’t right - it was filmy and spikey. It was a dead, dried, crisp dragonfly! He had found it in the backyard and was trying to gross me out by throwing it on me. The fact that I hadn’t noticed and put it in my mouth makes him laugh to this day.
"Yep, it’s fat! I drank fat!
By the way, levdrakon, what I’d like to know is how old a Cheeto has to be before it starts resembling a peanut in any way.
One time I went to my grandma’s house to visit. As we sat there talking, I noticed there was a bowl of peanuts on the coffee table. I ended up eating them all.
As I left, I thanked my grandma for the peanuts. She said, “Yeah, ever since I got these dentures I can only suck the chocolate off of 'em.”
Similar to the Brylcreem incident—my dad used shaving cream (Palmolive, I think) that came in a tube and I mistook it for toothpaste once.
When I was a teenager, I kept my room in a less-than-tidy condition and had soda cans everywhere, not all of them empty. I picked up what I thought was the can I had just opened, took a swig, and got a nasty mouthful of black fuzz. Blech.
Tale the first: I had just gotten my glasses at the tender age of eight, and was not yet used to putting them on first thing in the morning. One bleary Sunday I was up far too early, and I became hungry. I rooted through the refrigerator, found a nice, firm red apple, and bit into it with my accustomed vigor. It did not crunch. It went “squidge.” The sweet juice ran down my chin, and it was so amazingly disorienting that it took me three or four seconds to realize that it was a tomato.
Tale the second: for Christmas, when I was about seven, I received a bar of soap shaped like a Twinkie, that came in its own cellophane wrapper remarkably similar to the wrapper a real Twinkie came in. Having never actually eaten a Twinkie, and being blissfully ignorant about what they tasted like, how much they weighed, and so forth, I assumed that I had simply been in the dark about the fact that Twinkies could also be used as bath soap. I was not entirely sure about the conclusion I’d reached, but I couldn’t articulate my puzzlement to my parents… it was so much easier to sneak into the bathroom, take the wrapper off of it, sniff a few times, and then chomp down. I spit it into the toilet, and in disgust, threw the rest of the “Twinkie” in there. I didn’t care how good of a soap it was – to masquerade as food was simply unforgiveable! I got in trouble later for flushing my Christmas present down the toilet before I’d even written a thank you note for it.
I was breezing along in a grocery store, and see a free-sample display of chocolate chip cookies (there was no one standing there distributing, they were just out, with a little sign and display with the product package). Not wanting to slow down I grabbed one off the plate and took a huge bite, not even breaking stride.
I stopped mid-chew. They were chocolate chip cookies alright, unfortunately they were a NEW kind for sale in the health food section, flavored with… ORANGE. FUCKING ORANGE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES! What kind of a sick fuck would come up with such a product? Orange+chocolate=abomination before God. I walked around for several minutes with my spit-out cookie in my hand until I could find a trash can.
