I've struggled to decide what to write about this week because I really didn’t want to write about September 11th. I certainly could, but what would be the point? I'd just end up railing about the death of speech writing in America and W's eyebrows because I couldn't put into words the unfathomable shock we all still live with. I also have a few back up articles about my temp jobs to use for weeks where I have nothing to say, but it seems pretty pathetic to dip into that well on week 3. So, I'll take this opportunity to discuss the most traumatic thing that happened to me this week not related to what was on the television. That trauma involved Skittles.

I am in no way what one would describe as a Skittles addict. I consume, maybe, 5 bags a year. I enjoy them for their chewy-fruity goodness. But as candies go, they're no Toffifay. (And if anyone knows where I can find some Toffifay in the L.A. area, please e-mail me.) I am pretty much a fan of all of their flavors though. Lime is my favorite, as it always is. I enjoy the other two points on the citrus trifecta, lemon and orange. Strawberry reminds me of the jam my grandparents used to make every year, so it has a sort of nostalgic sweetness. Grape has it's moments and cherry, though ubiquitous, can be fun. But Skittles aren't really appointment television for me. They're more like I Love Lucy re-runs: something I'll watch occasionally if nothing else is on or if I'm the mood for a good "Oh, Riiiiicky." (or, in this case, a chewy lime pellet). But on Thursday, when I sat in front of the candy machine at work, I looked past my usual choice of Knott's Berry Farm Raspberry Shortbread Cookies (which, along with the occasional Double Decker Taco Supreme were my only means of subsistence for two years of college) and decided against the Snickers because of my peanut issues. I accepted that I was in a Skittles mood. Unfortunately, right now, the impulse purchase of Skittles is a treacherous path. Because right now, they have a Mystery Flavor.

Let me be crystal clear on this point. The Mystery Flavor phenomenon must be stopped. Unfortunately, I did not notice the large "Mystery Flavor" label on the bag, but I sure as Hell noticed when I opened the package and saw a white Skittle come tumbling out. Skittles should never be white. It's like the X-Files with the albino buffalo that meant Mulder was going to die.

My first thought is, "Hey, I won!" thinking there was some sort of "Find the Albino Skittles" campaign to compete with the "Find the Purple M&M" craze that's sweeping the nation. When I see other colors mixed with the white I realize that's not the case.

My next thought is that they've introduced coconut flavored Skittles. My loathing for artificial coconut flavoring is deep-seeded and eternal, so I blanch at thought.

It is then that I notice the "Guess the Flavor" label. My last experience with a mysteriously flavored candy was not a pleasant one. A co-worker had given me some sort of fruit chew she found at the bottom of her purse (It was a Friday and I was hungry and very bored) which was advertised as a mystery flavor. I have no idea what the flavor was, but it reminded me of bad rice pudding. I could not complete the it. It, too, was white.

So, steeling myself, I popped one of the enigmatic orbs into my mouth. It chewed exactly like a Skittle, but the taste was strange. It was not coconut, so that was good, but it was not watermelon either, which wasn't as good. It wasn't pineapple. Grapefruit? Not so much. Apple? Kiwi? Passion Fruit? Nay. Nay. Probably nay, but I have no idea. Breadfruit, maybe? (Does anyone know what that tastes like? Sourdough?) Well, whatever it was, I was not enjoying it. Part of that may have been the white color. I know that the colors in Skittles are not actually derived from the "natural fruit juices" they employ, but I still expect them to have some color, dammit. My family is Norwegian, I know from white foods. White is the color or codfish and potatoes, not fruit chews. And this flavor was too sweet for lutefisk.

I continued to puzzle over the taste, sickened to discover that half of the bag was filled with these mysterious pests. I accepted that I was not going to suss out the flavor on my own so I looked at the package for a clue. I discovered a web address. Yes, that's right, Skittles now have a web presence. I type the address, www.chewtheclue.com, and wait for the answer. What the fuck? I have to register with them to find out. This is all just a prelude to spam. But now, I'm like Rat Dog with her fuzzy green doll. I will not let this thing go. I give them my e-mail (the old Juno account I only keep around in case an old friend decides to e-mail me. And because I love seeing the words "fuck" and "farm animals" in the subject lines of e-mails. I did not have to give them my address, though, just my age, gender and city. Because Skittles also now have demographics.

After registering, I am taken to the "Chew the Clue" game, which I discover also includes Starburst and other fruit candies made by the Mars Corporation. The picture of the white Starburst, in it's diseased-looking white wrapper gave me another wince. I type in the code on my bag of Skittles, and was invited to take a multiple choice test. The options were A. Apple. B. Mango. C. Tofu. D. Blue Raspberry. I ate another one and finally identified the flavor as "Blue Raspberry". Mystery solved. And now my anger was turning to righteous fury. There is no such thing as a fucking blue raspberry. And even if there is, in some remote valley in the raspberry region of southern France, some ambitious farmer who cross bred raspberries for generations until they took on a bluish hue, they are not the color of Windex.

The whole point of the blue raspberry flavoring is that it's blue. It's in the name. A white blue raspberry cannot exist in a logical universe. If you want a raspberry flavor, fine, great, go with it. But do not give me something white and tell me it's blue. There are four lights, capiche?

And while we're at it, why do Skittles need another flavor? What's with the sudden need for blue candy? I feel pretty much the same way about the blue M&M as I do the decision in Bush v. Gore. You may think you're an M&M, there, Bluey, but there is only one M&M and it's light brown so go back to your hole and give us the real one back. Now there's a purple one, too. That's just wrong. Not as wrong as pink or teal, but wrong nonetheless.

I'm all for diversity. I'm all for citizens of many fruits coming together in one big summer salsa. But when I choose Skittles, I expect a few things. I expect only A-List fruits. Lemon, lime, cherry, grape and orange. These are Tom, Julia, Tom, Denzel and Mel fruits. They are the fruits we are all familiar with and always have an idea of what we can expect. Some of those flavors annoy us to the point of picking them out. Some go down our gullets like comfortable old friends. They are constant, never-changing. Strawberry is the John Cusack of fruits. It's pretty much A-List, but mainly to a smaller cadre of very loyal fans.

Other flavors are more like lesser-known actors. Watermelon is the Parker Posey of fruits. Occasionally, she'll pop up with the A-listers, but she mostly labors in independent films, or Jolly Ranchers. Apple has a vaguely Streepian quality. It's pretty much A-List, but it usually appears in a different kind of movie, often with award prospects.

Pineapple and coconut are like John C. Reilly and Philip Seymour Hoffman, working often but never really expected to carry a picture. They are often there to lend a bit of indie cred.

Mango, guava, passion fruit, like Jon Polito, C.C.H. Pounder or Helen Mirren, all tend to appear in genre pictures or lower-grossing imports. They are the Hey, It's That Guy flavors. To this extent, Tropical Fruits Skittles are the artificially flavored equivalent of Gosford Park, with pineapple thrown is as a sort of Ryan Phillippe in an attempt to attract the American teenager.

Pear, to me, is like Emma Thompson. It may not pop up often, but when it does, I'm there.

But blue raspberry is the Vin Diesel of fruits. Its origins are mysterious. It's often coy about its true nature. And it is now being unleashed on the candy counters of America as if we asked for it to be a star. Like we clamored for it at the studio gates. We did not. We do not need it. We do not want it. There's no such thing as a blue raspberry and I for one, will not accept it even if it does look talented next to Paul Walker. Normally, I like both raspberries and bald men, but in this instance I must scream no.

These Mystery Color ad campaigns must stop. I do not want to be questioned by my candies. I don’t want to feel like an idiot who can't identify a flavor, even a non-existent, wholly artificial one, at first taste. I'm looking for lime, not a brain-teaser. And what if I am a child who is allergic to the mystery flavor? Do I get extra points for guessing the taste if I do it after a trip to the ER?

Candy executives of America, I beg you, let it be. Give us the flavors we want. When I purchase a snack, I do not expect, or require, a test of my tasting acumen. A treat should not be a pop quiz for my taste buds. And under no circumstances should a Skittle be white! We want stability from our snack foods, not change. We don’t want to see Extreme Lime or Purple Strawberry any more than we want to see Julia Roberts as a scullery maid or Brad Pitt as a Buddhist, Nazi sympathizer. We want what we want and you have a duty to provide it.

And no more blue raspberry.

Thank you for your time. I promise, the next time I'm at a loss for a topic, I'll at least just do a "here are my favorite movies" entry. You have my word.