Why, no matter how stupid, do I always have to try new kinds of chips on the rack at Subway?
Seriously, I don’t like Sun-Dried Tomatoes, and I know nothing about Monterey Jack beyond that tubby mouse who was always chasing cheese on Chip N’ Dale Rescue Rangers. But for whatever reason, there they were in my stomach.
What is it about this shit? And why can’t I stick with the winners? Harvest Cheddar, goddamnit. That’s a chip. But you know what else I’ve had? Cracked Pepper Ranch. Garden Salsa. And those are just the Sun Chip varieties. I don’t think I want to get into the Dorito family. But I can assure you that if it came in a bag that’s far too small to satisfy any hunger and was on the rack at Subway, I goddamn ate it.
I have some standards. For example, one of my big standards is Fuck Pringles. Those things are shit. And that tube needs to be about forty times wider. How the hell am I supposed to eat those mindlessly while watching the same Family Guy episode for the fiftieth time but feel a little comforted by it and put it on just so my apartment isn’t so quiet and lonely?
And I’m not falling for those Cheetos gags either. A bag with gianter Cheetos? Nice try, stupid asshole cheetah.
But that Subway chip rack, I’d probably try anything. Dick Cheese? No problem. Dead Baby Corpse? That’s a steal at a buck-fifty. New Flavor Infested Dick Cheese with X-tra Extreme Flavor Crystals? Of course. The only hard part is going back to regular Dick Cheese.
If you see me at Subway, stop me. Please, god. Actually, if you could stop me BEFORE I go in the Subway, that would be a lot better. But barring that, just talk me out of the chips. Chips when those delicious white chocolate macadamia nut cookies are right fucking there? That’s the choice of a crazy man.