When I was a kid in England we had these. To have a Push Pop was a total status symbol.
Adults may have walked around with ivory gilt gold-headed canes and peacock feathers in their caps, but for kids the only thing that mattered was the Push Pop.
(Also valued were Fanta yo-yo’s when Coke was doing it’s yo-yo binge, Merlin football trading cards- in particular the silver ones or montage team photos, Fighting Fantasy Trading Cards (to me at least), and of course super-hard (steeped in vinegar and salt) conkers in conker-bashing season.)
The Push Pop has something inherently regal about it. It transforms itself, like a Gobot. It comes in multiple flavors, some of the rarer ones including Salty Seaweed, Crushing Acorn Marzipan, and of course the eponymous Ultra Gold Beans-On-Toast.
I loved Push Pops, and I’m pretty sure they loved me too.
Now I find them nestled on the shelves of my conveni in Japan. I suppose it must be a sign, though I don’t know of what. The Second Coming? The imminent arrival of my Cyborgisation kit, including exo-skeleton and Mr. Whippy dispenser?
Who knows, is the answer I give to that question. We will have to wait, my friends.
Here are my Push Pops transformed and extended. Glory, you have a name, and it is Pushed-Out-Push Pop.
The flavors here are the rather bland Coke, Grape, and Apple. And how do they taste? I don’t know, since I wouldn’t want to sully their magnificence by actually consuming them. These I will save, until next I have to fend off a level 12 troll, and I’ll fire them at him with unerring accuracy, and he (or she) will die, speared to death by Push Pops.
Ode to Push Pops
Oh Push Pops,
a season of forgotten emulsifier,
K flavors 125, 785, and Aspartame,
candied sticks that transform,
I hath not all-forgotten thy well-tempered blade.
Cast thyself not unto the fires of Mt. Doon,
rather, in mine hand, see thyself a new Excalibur,
grafted like metal sinew,
forever granting me access to the inner sanctum of the playground’s toughest bullies.
Oh Push Pop, thy art too friendly in thy friendliness,
dulling my sense as if of Flavinoids I had eaten.
Oh Push Pop, thou art mine,
and weighing heavy on my mantel piece,
shall remain until I tire of thy asymmetric beauty,
which will probably be tomorrow.
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