Tootsie Pops: This is important.

I've gotta know:

Free sucker or not?! According to the Tootsie Roll company, nope. Wikipedia and Urban Legends say if you mail in a lucky wrapper, they don't send you a Tootsie Pop. Instead you get a pamphlet telling of the legend of the Indian who magically appeared and told someone to put chewy stuff in the middle of a lollipop. Um . . . cool? Yeah, cool! But I still think a free Tootsie pop would be cooler. 

According to the Nice Old Man who ran the grocery store in my home town, the shooting star brave equaled FREE CANDY! It was a kinder, gentler time. With more cavities.

This all begs that other question: How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?

First of all, the owl's a punk. That was so mean. And I've always thought that kid has a weird butt. And is he naked? Anyway, unlike the rude owl, I would never want to hurt someone's feelings, so I won't bring it up. How 'bout that turtle, though? Nice guy, self-aware, honest. Just doesn't give very good advice.

So, how many licks? They study this at universities and nobody's answers are ever remotely close. They range from a few hundred to a few thousand. They're all wrong, even the Tootsie Roll company who says, "the world may never know". I do.

Here it comes, brace yourselves, because in all my age and wisdom I've figured out the real answer:

Bite it. It's supposed to be bitten. The point is to bite. DO NOT LICK THE ENTIRE POP. What good is the combination of crunchy shell and gooey middle if you don't combine them? Would you eat your PB&J on two separate slices of bread, one with PB and one with J? No, because then it would be a PB or J. Savvy? It's a carpe diem thing. Bite that sucker!

Or, do like my youngest and leave it in your mouth while colorful drool runs down your chin and onto your shirt, and every now and then make a gosh-awful slurping noise. He doesn't lick it. He drowns it.

Well, I've sufficiently grossed my self out. That's enough of that.