Kastany
I can imagine an advertisement for the Kastany. It would have a lot of velvet drapes, giant lounges, and a slinky couple with shiny, candle lit skin. It would not have a girl with a sinus problem and a ponytail, nibbling at sections of a Kastany whilst she attempts to do work at her desk.

The Kastany was meant to be a reward, one bite every paragraph, but it was so good that I couldn't control myself, and let my writing lapse whilst I gobbled the rest of the bar. It came in five conjoined teardrop shapes, dark chocolate around a dense coffee/hazelnut filling. It was like a gigantic chocolate box chocolate, the kind I'd save until last.

I couldn't stop trying to imagine television ads for the Kastany. They would be like the ads for ‘adult' chocolate here (I'm hearing a deep voice intoning “Old Gold Chocolate”). The voice over would be slow, and the Czech word for “indulgence” would most definitely be used. There would be some subtle, almost sexual groaning, and perhaps some sleazy music in the background. I would probably be angry with the Kastany ad, and yell out something about how they're selling chocolate, not sex. I am against the erotic marketing of food. Still, the Kastany had that rich, adult chocolate taste. It was so nice that I have kept the wrapper on my desk and have taken to smelling the empty packet during the many interludes which arise when I am trying to do something constructive. It is embarrassing to be caught sniffing things like wrappers. Humans aren't meant to sniff things, most of the time. Sniffing at the lip of a milk carton is alright, or sniffing a perfumed wrist or sniffing the air when the gas has been left on accidentally – these are acceptable. Think of all the things you sniff that are not acceptable, and imagine being caught at it.