I was thwarted in my attempt to overdose on sugar and caffeine.

I secured the Dr Pepper portion, but when I went to get my M&Ms, they had changed all the packaging around, sending me reeling in a bizarre freakout usually only glimpsed in low-budget biker films of the early seventies. I panicked, pushed the wrong button and got the peanut butter kind, an unholy perversion of the true M&M, a taste treat which pales by comparison only to its superior and aloof British cousin, the Smartie.

Actually, I don't really eat candy or drink soda that much any more, now that I am a curmudgeon whose physiognomy is surely on the decline. Even one Dr Pepper and a bag of M&Ms makes my eyeballs twitch and usually results in me bouncing around and making woo! woo! noises.