As you read this imagine this song playing…You know what I did? Are you ready to hear the most disgusting pervous thing? I just ate me some Pringles. And…cut. I just lost you. My Mom will probably continue reading though. Thanks Mom…my one true fan.
I got hooked on late night drives home from work. Ready for the justification of my addiction? Here it is: “Hey man, a cook gets hungry after work and everything is closed when you live in the country.” Or how about this one…”They’re somewhat healthy. It’s just potatoes and salt…and wheat starch and disodium guanylate(what, salty turd?), modified food starch(what “food” are we talking about here? While we’re at it, what is Art?), artificial flavors (you’ve read Michael Pollan, right? So you know what that is. WTF?), and I should stop.
It’s like siblings. You know so much about them…too much really. You hate them sometimes. You project all your issues onto them. They suck ass. But you love them. I love Pringles. But it’s complicated.
Alright I’ve gone too far. I don’t really love Pringles. And it’s not that complex really. I just really like them sometimes. They’re like fair weather friends. They’re like Facebook friends (but not you guys. I fitfully love you all. Except Jay Scott maybe…).
Some other blog pro with a super-taster, super-sophsticato palate (I’m being snarky because I’m jealous) might go into the delicate balance of flavors in some of the flavored Pringles. And some may just be die hard fans of the Original flavor, because being a dedicated Original flavor eater of anything, like Ramen packets, or Bubblicious(that dude looks like he’s taking off from the CIA campus, no?), or frickin umm… Pringles, shows a certain dedication to and appreciation for the essential essence of the product at hand. Soooo cool. But not me, man. I find the Original boring usually. And I’ll eat any flavor, anytime. And I don’t really think about the taste of it. I’m in a primal state when I’m eating those frickin things.
It’s just crisp and salty with some flavors of some sort on top. That’s it. That’s what’s up. I’ll house a can of those things in like 15 minutes and drink the crumbs sliding down at the bottom. I’ll get my hand all types of stuck in that tube trying to grab at those stupid things when the can is only half empty. I don’t care that the design is ergonomically ridiculous. Whatever. I don’t care about the phat beats and rhymes of their ads. I don’t care about the packaging. I don’t care how much they cost. I have no respect for those dumb ass Pringles. I just eat them because I suddenly am starving and I need them. And they’re crunchy. And I’m addicted. And I hate myself (what?). Period.
And I love Brad Pitt. Check him out…