Blinko Chompframe

Blinko emerged from a Chevron stall,
A snack oracle, half-topiary and all.
His LED face glitched,
His cupcake was hitched,
And the vending errors won’t forestall.

He dispensed empty wrappers with art—
Poetic misprints from the heart.
The fortune cards read
“SOON” (guaranteed),
And the snack fate was only the start.

“EAT B4 YOU’RE EATEN,” he screamed
Through a staticky loop, as he teemed
With corrupted ZIP codes,
Outdated chip odes,
And a prophecy nobody deemed.

He was banned from three gas station chains
For hauntings—prophetic refrains
That chilled every lounge,
Made the patrons all scrounge,
And the Pump’n’Chug never explains.

His cupcake grip is non-serviceable—
The foil-wrapped contents: irreversible.
The paw must retain it,
No one can explain it,
And the contents are wholly immersible.

Insert 25 cents and just ask—
Response may be delayed by the task
Of prophecy buffering,
The LED stuttering,
And the snack-fate oracle’s mask.

“Jalapeño Future Detected!”
He screeched, unprompted, dejected.
Three fortune cards fell,
Each reading “SOON”—well,
The manager unplugged him, deflected.

He’s misremembered by 90s kids
Who never actually saw his grid-
ded LED face.
The promotional race
Of 1993’s Grizzly Chomps skids.

He dislikes modern QR codes,
Freshness seals, and the goat who rode
His replacement throne
In 2001, alone,
And the animatronic corrodes.

So if fortune cards read just “SOON”
And the vending machine plays a tune
Of corrupted fame,
That’s Blinko’s great claim:
Half-bitten, fully broken, marooned.