Your Friend and Mine by Marjorie Ingall Shut up, it is not disgusting. It is appalling and addictive and seductive, the rock cocaine of the confectionery world. Candy corn rules.
Candy corn lends itself to both nibbling and snarfing.
You can delicately work your way down the triangular niblet shaft, daintily devouring each color tier in precise librarianesque succession. Or you can throw great corn-syrupy handfuls into your yawning maw, quivering in sugar shock like a Beavis on a bender. It's better to fall in love with someone who hates or is indifferent to candy corn than one who eats it differently from you. Candy corn, on the vile candy scale, is nowhere near as gross as Marshmallow Peeps, wax lips, or those bright orange pumpkins that are made of candy corn substance but are rendered putrid by their oversized, mutant, chewy density. An abomination unto the Lord.