Remember Gak? That got you fart sounds if you squeezed the container just right. And we thought that was the pinnacle of comedy.
A Brief Moment of Panic
I’d like to say I immediately identified it as Floam, but I did not. I was about two whole minutes from calling pest control. There was even a small mound of brick dust next door, which certainly didn’t help. I was sure something had burrowed in and laid, like, a bead-covered egg or something.
And yeah, if you had seen it, you’d have thought the same. If I hadn’t owned half the Floam supply at 10, I might not have recognized what I was looking at, either.
Should You Keep It? (Spoiler: No)
If you’re wondering what to do if you discover a desiccated blob of Floam under your shelf: throw it away. I don’t care how nostalgic it may be. That stuff is, like, 50 percent dust, 40 percent mold and 10 percent childhood dreams by now.
I did hold onto it for like an hour though. I showed it to my partner. He blinked at me and said, “You’re not going to put that in the display case, are you?” (I wasn’t. Probably.)
Honestly? That little gross-out surprise reminded me of all the joy we crammed into the strangest things when we were kids. Floam. Stretch Armstrong. That tuna-flavored jelly hand that adheres to the wall for five seconds before it becomes permanently hair-covered.
Those toys were simple. Messy. Often annoying to adults. But they were ours. They were about play for play’s sake — not for likes or livestreams.
And for a brief, squishy moment, I remembers what that felt like.
