I can't believe there exists such things as "Instant Halloween" capsules, but I won't fight it. You've all experienced the magic of these little pills before, though most likely, you've only dealt with dinosaur sponge capsules. The unnamed secret company that makes these things really branched out!
Yes, it's the timeless delight of seeing a handful of colored pills putrefy in warm water, reemerging as small sponges in hilariously improper shapes. The back of the package suggests giving Instant Halloween sets to trick-or-treaters instead of candy, leaving me to wonder who would be willing to spend two bucks on each complete stranger who wandered up to their door in a bee costume holding a grocery bag. Not I said the fly. Or bee. Then again, they did include a more proper suggestion -- you could fill up the loot bags for a kid's Halloween party with these pill sets. No arguments there. If I was six-years-old at a seven-year-old's eighth annual Halloween bash, I'd love to get sponge capsules in my loot bag. Sponge capsules and Twix.
The pills are perfectly skewed for the spookiest occasion, arriving only in orange or black. You get twelve with each set, but there's plenty of duplicate sponge creatures. Incredibly, Halloween is only the latest in a long line of holidays that have now been IMMORTALIZED as sponge capsule sets -- click here to read all about last year's Christmas variety. The "Instant Halloween" set has some serious work to do if it wants to match wits and wonders with Santa-shaped sponges. Good thing it's born with the ability to summon Lucifer. Lucifer does 100 different things with Christmas sponges, and I can't mention a single one of them without making all of you throw up. "Instant Halloween" is on the right track, and best of all, it's nontoxic. The real question is: if you take two of these for a headache, who do you consult when you begin shitting witch-shaped black sponges? Maybe Dr. Giggles. That retard.
I gotta admit, it's still pretty impressive even after all these years. I've seen sponge capsules drop the suffix at least six dozen times in my life, and still I find myself entranced by the silent grace as they quickly change clothes and get ready for their close-ups. The hard jelly pills dissolve in less than a minute when placed in warm water -- even faster if you go nuts and pour boiling liquid over the things. An old wives tale claims you can hear the pills' screams for a brief second before they succumb to the fiery waters of your stovetop. Other old wives tales claim you can successfully eat a car and that people are really bears. Were old wives ever on the money with their tales?
The assortment of sponge creatures is predictable but adequate. The black pills turn into witches, cats and bats; the orange pills turn into ghosts, pumpkins and really neat skeletons. After taking the moist sponges from their birthpan and setting 'em out on a tavola, I realized that there just isn't anything to do with small, wet sponges. Even if they're shaped like cool stuff.
Almost makes ya wish they took longer to cook. I can't exactly wash dishes with the things, and they're not pretty enough to devote any shelf space to. The package suggests using them as decorations on Halloween cakes, something I cannot envision in any potential scenario no matter how hard I try. A better suggestion comes later -- dip the dried sponges in paint for spooky art projects, one of my favorite aspects of the season. Taking things a bit further, the top of my bedroom walls are now lined in black bat-shaped splats. I'm not sure how I'll feel about this come December.
