"Enrique," for what it's worth, seemed extremely excited to be a part of the review process, especially for the photograph portion. He kept posing for picture after picture, saying things like "Hay, let's poot dees Mah Love en mah pocket, okay?" "Hay, let me stan' here wit des Mah Love, okay?" "Does dees Mah Love look good wit mah medallion, eh?" and "Hay, dees peecture is for da lusty ladies! Okay!"

This unending barrage of silliness was only quelled when we put away the camera and started examining the My Love packaging itself. Obviously bored with the collection of any empirical evidence, "Enrique" decided to use this part of the review process to "hit dee john." He probably just had to adjust his fake mustache, which had begun to peel off, despite his application of copious amounts of snot-looking spirit gum. While "Enrique" was occupied elsewhere, we utilized this temporary blessing of silence to make a few important observations.

My Love is technically more of a fruit snack than a candy. The fruit is shaved into thin, green, mucous-covered strips, which we believe were, at one point, identifiable as papayas. Not that the candy tasted anything like papayas. We're just guessing, really. The My Love bag wasn't very helpful in identifying the fruit source either, as it only lists the following ingredients: "fresh fruit, granulated sugar, [and] edible seasoning." To us, My Love tasted more like carrots marinated in vinegar that had been strained through a dirty jockstrap, but since neither 'BVDs' or 'Fruit of the Looms' were listed in the ingredients table, we can't be verify this. The slimy coating of My Love was slightly adhesive, and permeated the entire bag. The strips themselves were crunchy, yet flexible, and smelled and tasted vaguely like salt. Fortunately, My Love wasn't manufactured by Mexicans or the Dutch, so we figured we'd probably be okay sodium-wise. What really had us concerned though was the "expiry date," which was labeled as "360 days". "360 days from when?" I hear you asking? Good question. Try as we might, we found nary a date on the entire package.

None of this prepared us for the taste, of course. My Love is a time-release candy; it doesn't taste unbearable until it has firmly entrenched itself in your mouth. Then, all at once, My Love issues forth its vinegary bitterness, wilting tongue and lips alike with its thick, saucy, Drano-like quality. Next time the bathroom sink gets clogged with cat hair (don't ask), I'll be sure to strain some My Love juice down the drain (why did that entire sentence sound so dirty?). I think you'd get high if you huffed the My Love vapors, too, but we were too scared to try. Besides, drugs are wrong! Think of the children!

Ben and I were too busy choking and flailing over our new-found atrocity to notice "Enrique" quietly returning from the bathroom. While Ben and I were heaving mucous-vomit into the sink, "Enrique" somehow managed to work his way past us, into the kitchen, and to the candy itself.

"Hay mahn, let me try one of dees tinks!" exclaimed "Enrique" as he grabbed a green sliver of death.

"No! Don't! Quick, Mark, stop him!" gasped Ben, but, alas, it was too late. Ben and I were powerless to fight the evils of My Love, and "Enrique" had already popped a sliver into his mouth.

"Dees ain't so bad!" "Enrique" mumbled thoughtfully as he crunched down on the offensive treat. "Dey taste kinna slimy, kinna crunchy. Kinna salty, cho know? Actually, wait...

"Oh mah god..."

"Enrique" froze as the full force of My Love washed over him. His mouth hung slightly open, framed by his cheesy moustache. His brow furrowed and his eyes opened wide, his pupils dilating wildly. I could see the look of anxiety wash over him as the blood drained from his fear-creased face, and I knew it was only a matter of seconds before "Enrique" went completely insane.

For a moment, silence hung over us. Nobody moved.

Suddenly, without warning, "Enrique" tossed back his head and let out a whooping holler: "AIYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAAAA!!!" Ripping his shirt off and exposing his hairy man-chest, Jeff revealed that he was no longer just "Enrique"! The salty crotch mucous of My Love had transformed him into ENRIQUE, SAVAGE HISPANIC WARRIOR! In a whirlwind of fists, teeth, and brutal insanity, ENRIQUE, SAVAGE HISPANIC WARRIOR was upon us, biting, flailing, and scratching, his ancestral warrior cry echoing off the walls, surrounding us with it's unadulterated fury!

"AIYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAAAA!!!"

Ben screamed like a little girl and immediately passed out. I managed to snap a few photographs of the ensuing carnage, but the pictures were unfortunately destroyed during ENRIQUE, SAVAGE HISPANIC WARRIOR's rampage. This is the last photograph I managed to salvage from the roll. This was taken seconds before I blacked out. When I came to, I found myself completely undressed, lying nude in a dark, stinky, narrow alley somewhere in East LA. I was covered in trash and a slimy mucous substance that I still can't identify. My skin bore several lacerations, but I appeared to be okay. I really don't want to know how I got there. Ben, on the other hand, apparently awoke days later in a closet in Jeff's apartment. He says that he too is happy to live his life in ignorance of the events which transpired during his unconsciousness.

Jeff, by the way, is getting better. Once the SWAT team managed to pin him down and subdue him (which took no less than a full battalion of the National Guard armed with tear gas, fire hoses, and full riot gear), a team of specialists used primitive electric shock treatment and the administration of numerous chemical depressants to convince Jeff that he was not really a SAVAGE HISPANIC WARRIOR. Jeff's attorney pleaded temporary insanity, so the Supreme Court dropped its Death Penalty ruling. Ben and I personally hold no animosity towards Jeff, and as soon as they remove his straitjacket and muzzle, we'll be the first people to give him a big, friendly hug. Provided the warden assures us that he's stopped biting people's ears off.

So in the end, what is the lesson to be learned from this long-winded story of excitement, betrayal, and intrigue? Only this: never impersonate a Cuban, unless you really are one. And never, ever eat My Love.

<< Back to Part 1 of the My Love saga...