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Bring it Back to the Future: A List of My Demands

By Amanda Rossenrode

I was on the old Facebook today and saw about sixty-seven posts from grown people that are ecstatic that Hi-C’s Ecto-Cooler is back in an obvious marketing stunt to evoke nostalgia and goodwill towards the new Ghostbusters movie. So… awesome, I guess? I may not be the one to speak on the matter, as the only clear recollection I have of the beverage was one being shoved in my hand by a mean counselor on the first day of Day Camp, along with a peanut butter sandwich. I hate peanut butter as I hate no other thing in this world and I hated that day camp. But these are matters better left to discuss with my overworked therapist. 

So now that we’ve checked rebooting green sugar water off our national to-do list, here are some other things I feel we should get to work on bringing back.  


How many of you have a Wii or a Wii U gathering dust on your entertainment center? That’s because the Wii was an ambitious yet ultimately dumb concept. The games with the wands and rackets and bells and whistles are fun on Christmas Day when your drunk Aunt Sue knocks over a lamp in bowling, thereby starting a bitter feud that will divide your family for generations, but playing them alone is insanely sad. Think about what your neighbors would think if they saw you playing some sort of dance party game solo through the blinds. They’d start bringing you casseroles as an excuse to make sure you hadn’t died alone in a stack of old newspapers. 

That said, the Mario series is the only game with any real replay value. It’s fun, bright, and those secret levels are damn near unbeatable. Mario should be like Madden and come out every year. And no, Nintendo, don’t try to slap Mario on some dumb speedboat game and tell me it’s a green mushroom. Or sell me another three hundred dollar system just to play the newest Mario where Toad can fly. I want honest-to-god, block-crushing, turtle-stomping Mario that will work with the Wii or DS I currently have. Get your cutely worded signs ready people; we’re taking this to the streets. 

Trick-or-Treating (mainly for adults)

I went trick-or-treating with my little nephew last Halloween and we met one other trick-or-treater during the entire night. It was a woman in a full-on cat costume with an infant in a pumpkin hat or something. Moreover, the group that accompanied my four-year-old nephew consisted of a gang of twenty and thirty-somethings that had put more time and thought into their costumes than most people put into job interviews. Clearly today’s children do not get the true meaning of Halloween. If my mother had ever suggested schlepping me around a brightly lit mall in lieu of actual trick-or-treating, I would have seriously considered that she had been taken by the Pods. 

If everyone is so afraid that the old lady next door, who you’re fine with the other 364 days of the year, is going to lure the local kids with Snickers into her kid dungeon, who I am to argue? I say we throw the holiday back to the adults and make it socially acceptable to sprint down the streets dressed as Batman, with a pillowcase of cheap candy in hand. Who cares if you have a stupid job and can buy all the candy you want? Was that ever really the point? Besides, your mom ate all the good candy the first night. It wasn’t about the candy, it was about the sheer anarchy. The adult world is filled with schedules and the stress of bills, obligations, and social proprieties. What do kids have to be stressed about anyway? That their summer vacation is too long and too filled with ice cream? Fools that we are, we’ve turned the holiday into drinking cheap beer with co-workers with a Rite Aid mask discarded on the table. Except for Mark, who showed up to the office dressed like a baby and it’s pretty awkward. 

Take to the streets my friends. Spend your rent money on ornate Silent Hill costumes and wave your Mario flags high! It’s revolution time!

Chester Cheetos Butter Popcorn

I just really like the stuff. I have no idea why they stopped making it. I lived on that and frozen lasagna for like ten years. So while I’m demanding things, let’s bring back Chester’s popcorn! Nothing can stop us!

Choose your Own Adventure Books, by George R.R. Martin

Have you read the Song of Ice and Fire books? It’s not exactly the death and nudity machine gun that is the Game of Thrones television series. I mean sure, there’s plenty of death and nudity, but there’s also a lot of… walking. And eating. Maybe riding in a carriage while eating. Or riding a horse. There’s also a lot of people getting detoured from where they were walking or riding to and having to start over. There’s a lot of closing the book and saying, “I hate this stupid book,” and then going back to it an hour later to see if Arya got where she needed to go. Spoiler: she doesn’t. 

How much more fun would the series be if you could choose the paths of Westeros you wanted to take? Do you choose to follow the underdeveloped Dornish knight’s pointless quest or kick it with Cersei in King’s Landing? Do you want to read a chapter about the dysentery outbreak in Meereen on your lunch break or have lemon cakes in the Highgarden? Should you accept that request to the Frey’s dinner party? All roads lead to your inevitable death, but at least you can cheat and figure out if you want to die by dragon fire or something lame like bad lamprey pie. 

Do you hear me, George? I have an army under the House Mario, and we all dressed like Batman because no one thought to call each other beforehand. I, Amanda Rossenrode, second of my name, implore you that you use the mountains of cash you have constructed into a defense wall, to meet my demands! Give us the games our thumbs twitch for, the freedom we yearn for, and the popcorn we starve for! Give us the freedom to choose our own destiny! Finish the books before the show goes off the rails and things get more confusing than they already are! Exile peanut butter to the furthest corners of the land! I beseech you!

Or, we can just be jazzed about the Hi-C thing. If that gets you through the work day.

Crystal HarrellComment