Aimeé
During quarantine, people have a lot of time to clean and go through their belongings. Some of the stuff they’re turning up is pretty interesting, but this item presented by Twitter user @DinosaurDracula has caught everyone’s interest. The account is run by a guy named Matt, who writes in the bio, “I run Dinosaur Dracula, a site about 1980s toys, 1990s candy, holidays, horror movies and weird recipes.”
That might explain why they have this “wildly corroded can of Spider-Man pasta from 1995” and their promise to share what’s inside for a certain number of RTs. 1,995 of them in fact:
I have a wildly corroded can of Spider-Man Pasta from 1995.
And if this gets 1995 retweets, I’ll show you what’s inside. pic.twitter.com/adEFFPNNO9
— Dinosaur Dracula (@DinosaurDracula) April 16, 2020
Naturally, the people demanded to see what was inside this can, and the RT levels was achieved. True to his word, Matt did start the process, making it into one of the more entertaining threads about totally gross things:
Opening a wildly corroded can of Spider-Man Pasta from 1995: a thread. (1/5) pic.twitter.com/DW7w7ALMO4
— Dinosaur Dracula (@DinosaurDracula) April 16, 2020
Matt documented every step perfectly. Though he was afraid to start cranking the can open, the inside didn’t smell like it would knock him unconscious immediately, so he kept turning.
I put the can opener to work, unsettled by the rust, but emboldened by the lack of noxious fumes. I turn the knob and wince, unable to rule out the possibility that the contents have mutated into something alive & malevolent. (2/5) pic.twitter.com/IBmJXBWZI2
— Dinosaur Dracula (@DinosaurDracula) April 16, 2020
Once the lid was off, Matt could see that the contents had shrunk over the last two and a half decades, kind of like it was dried out in a dehydrator:
They say tragedy plus time equals comedy, but there’s nothing funny about 15 ounces of Spider-Man Pasta reduced to a rotted 3-ounce chunk. Recalling the fate of Jordy Verrill in Creepshow, I’m thankful for my rubber gloves. (3/5) pic.twitter.com/W5WqQ7wEHs
— Dinosaur Dracula (@DinosaurDracula) April 16, 2020
Once removed from the can, the pasta began to look like a cross-section from a geologist’s dig, full of hidden powdery caves of old sauce:
I carefully remove the mass, which looks like a cross between Big Thunder Mountain and one of those Geonosian hives from Attack of the Clones. (4/5) pic.twitter.com/PIchW9mdMy
— Dinosaur Dracula (@DinosaurDracula) April 16, 2020
And like a true archeologist, Matt identified a single Spider-Man, frozen in the mass, like Han Solo imprisoned in carbonite:
I think I notice something, but consult the label on the can to be sure. Indeed, there’s poor Spider-Man, trapped in this godforsaken toxic monstrosity. I’m sorry, Peter. With old pasta comes great instability.
Thank you all for taking this journey with me. (5/5) pic.twitter.com/6UcfRcN9tz
— Dinosaur Dracula (@DinosaurDracula) April 16, 2020
People were on the edge of their seats for this, and inspired to share their own true can stories:
A while after my Mum died, I was clearing her flat. I found two cans of hotdogs, both unopened. One felt normal, the other felt completely empty. Still scares me.
— North. (@TheMainstand) April 16, 2020
if any of us are still alive in 10 years i’ll open this in your honor pic.twitter.com/O7GXjXNUuH
— raccoon sully (@DoctorSpagEddy) April 16, 2020
Ok so buying canned food during an apocalyptic pandemic is useless. How about Twinkies…??
— RatPurge17 (@funmoney19) April 20, 2020
My Stepdad kept a can of wartime condensed milk in his cupboard. No-one was allowed to touch it. I honestly hope they put it in the coffin with him when he went
— 99th Redraw Handwash 🐝 (@99thRedBalloon) April 16, 2020
Keep your cans clean and dry, or your doomsday bunkers will only be filled with rotten pasta. That’s the true lesson of Spider-Man.
