For me, it’s always been Alphagetti, which is pretty much the same darn thing as Spaghetti-o’s, I guess, except without the mystery meat. But only if eaten with a large stack of lightly-toasted white bread that has been ‘buttered’ not with butter but with Parkay margarine.
I haven’t had this particular childhood-conjuring treat in years, living as I have been in the blessedly canned-noodle-and-tomato-sauce-free wastelands of Asia. But just thinking about it makes me feel all gooshy inside. And slightly constipated.
This by way of saying that Skot is a dangerously amusing young man, and deserves your undivided attention for at least a couple of minutes (which are, it must be admitted, veritable eons in these days of waking-life REMs).