"Bomvaso," produced by the malicious, scheming workers at Lucas, is a three-in-one treat to tantalize all five senses. Or so they would have you believe... in actuality, Bomvaso is a multi-tiered attack on all fronts; a beating so brutal, so thorough in it's assault, that all you will be left with in the end is a loathing for life rooted deep in your soul and a nasty spicy-lemonish taste rooted deep in your teeth. With an agonizingly thick, pasty Tamarind mush and a gumball wedged inside the pulp, all bound together by a "flying" disc "game," this candy could, quite possibly, take out an entire community single-handedly.
Mode One- The "Toy"
In the first of what turns out to be three crimes against humanity, the Bomvaso flying disc-lid / spoon-launcher contraption will weaken your instinctive defence mechanisms with promises of frisbee-like fun. "Toys!" we proclaimed with glee, our rosy cheeks lit up red in flushed anticipation. "We love toys!" Oh how foolish we were. Youthful ignorance. I blame it all on Ben.
We easily detached the spoon-launcher from the lid. Unfortunately, detaching the lid from the goopy Tamarind pulp secured underneath proved to be a much more difficult experience. This pulpy brown tamarind mess had a much higher viscocity than the stand-alone version we reviewed earlier, and clung steadily to the disc-lid upon removal. With the help of some scissors and a fork, the lid was liberated.
Ben readied the camera as I prepared for our maiden launch. I steadied myself, digging my heels into the ground. A silence descended; tension mounted; my friend Jen gaped in quiet anticipation. This was to be our most glorious moment. I inserted the spoon-launcher into the spoon-grippy-notch in the flying disc-lid. I slowly pulled the disc back and...
Lift-off!
The spoon broke, and the disc flopped to the ground five inches from my feet. It was a bitter dissapointment and, as we were soon to realize, a sign of things to come.
Mode Two- The "Pulp"
This was an odd brand of Tamarind pulp. Like the Tamarind packet, it was sweet, in a bitter, spicy kinda way. This time however, it left a strange lemony aftertaste. Not lemony as in Lemonheads, but lemony as in drinking lemon scented Pinesol. Well, lemon or no, this was still crap. It made my jaw seize and my tongue twitch. I salivated profusely as I tried to drool the sticky gunk out of my mouth, but to no avail; apparently, Lucas had taken a tip from Happy Plums, and had engineered the candy to adhere to teeth with the bonding power of cement. All I was able to eject were squirts of some orange pus-like substance that I'm not entirely sure were related to the Tamarind. Eyes ablaze with the ravinous look of a wild breast (whoops, that's a Freudian typo!) beast, I ran the bathroom to brush my teeth. And brush them I did. OH how I brushed them. I brushed them with a passion unheard of in dentistry circles. I brushed them, and then brushed them some more.
We had but one test left to endure.
Mode Three- The "Gumball"
Prying the gumball out of the gunky depth of the Bomvaso container was, like the disc-lid, far from easy. It took two pairs of hands, a fork, and lots of patience. Eventually (but unfortunately) we perservered. We can't really describe what the gumball looks like, since we never managed to scrape all of the Tamarind off. Which brings us to an interesting point: I like guacamole, and I like chocolate, but I would never, ever eat chocolate covered in guacamole. So why, dear god why, do the people at Lucas feel that we would want to chew on a cherry flavored gumball covered in spicy fruit-muck? But for you, dear reader, chew we did. Or, at least I did, since there was only one gumball. Ben's excuse was that he wanted to take the pictures. That bastard.
What can I say? It was a horrible experience. Not because the gumball tasted bad. There was, however, just enough tamarind left on the gumball to send my mouth back into epileptic seizures, and, well, that was it. My constitution could stand no more. Screaming like a lunatic, I lit my head on fire, stripped naked and stuffed myself into the garbage disposal, while Ben stood by helplessly, photographing the whole thing. Actually, I didn't, but wouldn't that be a cool thing to have pictures of?
Conclusion
The deceptive nature of this... unscroupulous treat will... ah... decieve many children by it's... decietful... uh... deception... um, look, my brain hurts and I don't really want to think about this experience ever again. So... Bomvaso is bad.
