I love Dentyne Fire (DF) cinnamon gum more than anyone in the world. The WORLD. I request that all of my partners chew a piece of Dentyne Fire Cinnamon Gum before every encounter. My father has a DF Cinnamon Gum-shaped scar in his abdomen for telling me that he preferred Dentyne Ice. How many other people do you know that sleep with a single piece of Dentyne Fire under their pillow? What’s my happiest memory of DF? A trick question. Every moment of that sweet cinnamon sorbitol gracing my tongue is a happy memory. I believe that it was famed pervert Charles Bukowski that once said “find what you love and let it kill you.” Well I hope to die from choking on a piece of Dentyne Fire Cinnamon Gum.
Of course, when you love Dentyne Fire Cinnamon Gum like I do, you are bound to meet some detractors. Here are 4 times that I was forced to defend Dentyne Fire Cinnamon Gum:
In the womb
Even before Dentyne Fire Cinnamon Gum had graced my taste buds I knew what my life would be for. From my earliest memories of the womb I always sensed the presence of vitamins, a necessary evil for both my health and my mother’s. At around 11 weeks, my mother decided to try Dentyne Ice gum for the first time. I don’t know why she waited until that moment, or else why she thought that I would want to know pain before even reaching grade 7 (a DF story for another day). What I do know is that I was violently ill. For seven days. I recall writhing in my icy prison, hoping to use my umbilical cord as a means to end my shaking and shivering. I will never forgive my dear mother for the pain that I endured. When she decided to enjoy frosty breath again a week later, though, I was ready. Rearing my not yet fully formed head, I began ramming into the walls of my gestational prison. Again and again did I ram my softened cranium against her womb, warning her in a pounding Morse code that the repercussions of her continued icy defiance would be grave. I felt the red dye of DF Cinnamon Gum coursing through my fetal body. I had fought for Cinnamon and won.
At the supermarket last month
This one, I am sure, was destined to happen eventually. I am, however, surprised that it took me 37 years to find someone that would challenge God’s spicy gift to our one true Earth. As per my usual routine, I was in line at the supermarket to buy my weekly Cinnafix when a man with two small children lined up behind me. One of them, whose name I did not learn but shall be hence referred to as Satan, reached for a pack of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit. Their father did not say anything about their choice of chew and so naturally I had to intervene. “Whoa there hot heads, not so fast!” I said, smiling as I grabbed the Juicy Fruit. “Haven’t you heard of Dentyne Fire Cinnamon Gum?” Satan, smiling back, called me a stinky freak. His sister spit on my shoes. Father of the year had wandered off to look at soap. I felt a sense of almost religious duty as I explained to Lucifer himself that he was the stinky freak and that he needed to be cleansed in the healing vapor waves of Dentyne Fire Cinnamon Gum. Without hesitating, I tore open my week’s supply of cinnamon gum and began chewing as quickly as my well-trained jaw would let me. Before Satan could summon his minion sister to attack, I spew unto him wave upon wave of hot, cinnamon-laced breath. I did not stop until his father called the manager and I was escorted out by security. They were too late though – Cinnamon Gum had triumphed again.
At my sister’s convocation
I knew something was wrong from the get go. Entering into that great hall of academia, I was immediately disturbed by the lack of sponsorship from DF Cinnamon. Could I really set foot into this waste that God had forgotten? I put my concerns aside for my sister. Dentyne Fire would understand. As the convocation carried on, I began to get the familiar anticipatory tingle on the tip of my tongue. Checking my watch, it was as my tongue had warned me: Fire Time. As I unwrapped my first, second, and third pieces, the woman beside me started coughing loudly. “Allergies,” I heard her mutter. Other people around us began looking too. Soon the convocation had stopped because of this woman’s coughing fit. At first, the crowd was unsure how to proceed. That is, until the sweet trickling air tendrils with my DF cinnamon smell began to lick at their innocent nostrils. It became obvious to all that my delight was the source of her pain. Since when is joy a crime? A skeleton (I was later told that it was her husband) grabbed for my gum hand. I reacted instinctively and – before I knew it – Skeletor was on his knees pulling cinnamon gum from his hair. Necessary collateral for anyone who would try to remove the Fire of my eye. Before I knew it, a crowd of well-dressed parents began to converge upon me. I reached for the rest of my gum. I had rationed it for the week but I needed the power of Fire now more than ever. As red-40-lake artificial colouring began to cloud my vision I knew what I had to do. I ripped off my dress shirt to reveal a Dentyne Fire Cinnamon Gum Spicy Crop Top and immediately began to pummel the mass of suits with the intensity of fifty Dentyne Fire Cinnamon mints. I didn’t stop until I found myself outside the building. From there I ran barefoot (I had lost my Crocs in the heat of the battle) to the nearest convenience store where I was found by the police, sweaty and reeking of cinnamon on the floor of the employee washroom.
At the final hearing for my daughter’s custody
By now I definitely thought that I had proven myself worthy to carry the Flame. Dentyne, I guess, had other plans. As my ex-wife Karen’s lawyer moved to finish the hearing I saw him give me a look of reprehension while trying to calm my nerves with a piece of gum. That look set my Cinnamon spark off. In that moment, weighing the choice between my daughter and the one true Flame, I knew what had to be done. I leaped on to the table. Karen screamed as if she had not known the hunger of Dentyne in our many years of marriage. I ignored her. All that mattered to me now was defending the sweet Cinnamon stick that had so often put me to sleep throughout my long and tear-drenched life. As if possessed by the spirit of Franklin Canning, inventor of Dentyne Fire, I sprang at this lawyer with the intensity of a million freshly packaged boxes of Dentyne. Before the bailiff could act I had coated this legal scum head to toe in Dentyne’s finest sticky stuff. I then reached into my back pocket and removed a single piece of Dentyne Classic. The spiciest thing that I had left. I recognized the look of fear in the lawyer’s eyes that I had so often seen in my Cinnamon victims and began to beam while I chewed. With a final weary smile to my daughter, I took the lightly chewed Classic and forced the lawyer to finish the single most wonderful Gum on this Earth. As he collapsed to the floor, weak with cinnamon, security forcibly removed me from the court room and placed me in a holding cell. I am now awaiting trial for the love of Cinnamon. Now my daughter, Dentyne Firette, can live the rest of her long, Cinnamon-fresh life knowing that her father was the hero that Dentyne needed… the hero that Dentyne deserved.