The following is a Neatorama Shop Story, a narrative starring the products carried in this blog’s very own online store.
I Once Had a Chum from Nantucket
Summer, 1975. Quint, Dreyfuss and I had just boarded the Queequeg, a bigger boat sailing out of Nantucket. As the lithe, long torsoed teen temptresses and the shoreline that was their spawning ground grew smaller, the salty sea spread herself avast before us, forcing us to feel the magnitude of our own smallness whilst we succumbed to her every swell. Three sailors bobbing alone at sea, chummy in demeanor and aroma, comparing conquests, cutoffs and scars.
As per our manly agreement, we each brought one piece of personal swag. Ever the practical one, I had stowed the largest and most atmospheric jug of rum my summer sundries stipend could secure. Quint’s contribution was a family-sized stick of Old Spice for our mutual use upon disembarkation. As the sun set on the darkened sea, Dreyfuss, whose method, it is widely known today, requires that he never break character from “creepy annoying guy who smells even worse than you’d think,” finally revealed his trade secret, a strict diet of Chum Bucket: green candies, the color of sea sickness itself. Wafting up from the hinged tin came a bouquet of the gutted remains of the day’s catch sloshed overboard and washed ashore, decaying in tide pools for a fortnight until the slurry has congealed into a concentrated algae-crusted outcropping that just might make you sick if you lick it, captured in an after-dinner mint. If you have ever wondered what a gentleman from Nantucket tastes like, but due to geographic limitations have been unable to sample one, now is your chance. (Disclaimer: unlike in an actual close encounter with Dreyfuss or Quint, crabs are not included).
Chum Bucket is canned with artificial seafood flavor, so it just might be safe for vegans. Probably better not to take the risk, since the charming graphics on the tin imply that pureed pirate may be the actual source of the synthesized swill seasoning and octopussy scent. These candies cast the distinct smell and aftertaste of canine glucosamine supplements (waste not, want not), so if you savor the aroma of seaspray-dampened elderly arthritic Portuguese Water Dog, then this is the perfect people treat for you. It is an appropriate gift for fishermen, briny sea hags, and anyone who has ever wished for a candy that looks, smells and tastes like sweetened sea scum. It is the must-have goodie bag item for your next pirate party.
The story above is written by the dynamic duo Drs. Ernest and Convalescence Bidet-Wellville (hey, I didn’t name ‘em) of the University of Self-Conscious Consumerism in Olde Busytowne, Connecticut. I suspect they write cover stories for the CIA, so if I’m inexplicably missing the next few days, you know what happened.