Sex and candy

I've been at this job for 4 years, and in that time we've had the same old, dusty, dark, anemic candy machine in the breakroom. It sat quietly in the corner, dispensing slightly-stale treats in a most unobtrusive manner, like an old, crazy pervert in a trenchcoat on a park bench. He doesn't bother anyone (except when your bag of Fritos gets punctured by the metal coils that held it in place, trapping it there for all time no matter how much you cuss it). He just sits there, occasionally rejecting dollar bills, silently but earnestly hoping you'll sit down next to him and partake of a crushed Butterfinger bar. And sometimes you did, because you just couldn't resist the pull of his plethora of sweet goodness.

But a week ago, we got a new machine. It's big and bright....holy hell, is it bright. They installed a spotlight or something all up in there, so now instead of being able to scurry past it and pretend you didn't see it like the old-but-polite-pervert-on-a-bench model, you are forced to acknowledge its presence, like a loud hooker wearing fishnet stockings and screaming in the middle of a busy intersection: BUY A HONEY BUN! I GOT FUNYONS TOO! EXACT CHANGE ONLY!

I don't know if the whoremachine is more disturbing...or the fact that I likened junk food to the behaviors of our culture's sexual deviants.

I did, however, just coin the phrase 'whoremachine'. Sweet.