A few weeks back, I went on a trip to New Hampshire where among many other things, I made a stop at a small sub shop where I had one of the best burgers I've eaten in a long time. Along with the burger, I purchased a bag of chips if for no other reason than to have an excuse to sing the old 1978 Rusty Tiggins song "Chips and a Burger" while I enjoyed my meal. If you haven't heard that song, here's one of the verses.
Chips and a burger. Chips and a burger.
Chips chips chips oh chips and a burger.
My wife makes my life misery
When I get home, I think I'm gonna murder.
Chips chips chips oh chips and a burger.
My wife makes my life misery
When I get home, I think I'm gonna murder.
What's special here is that the chips I bought were a flavor I never tried before called "All Dressed". When I tasted the first chip, my tongue walked out of my mouth, past my nose, slapped me in the eye and said "Fuck you for having been around all these years and never eating these before." My eyes crossed and I replied, "Well I'm glad you like them"
He got ever closer to me and said "Like em? It's like I've been jerking off my toe all my life, then one day I discovered my penis"
As you can tell from what my tongue told me, these chips were very satisfying. Based on the packaging artwork, "All dressed" is supposed to be a medley of different chip seasonings such as barbeque, salt and vinegar, sour cream and ketchup. Who would come up with such a concept? Answer: The Canadians, Jim. The Canadians.
There is a potato chip subculture in Canada that rivals their love of hockey and the word "eh". The seemingly endless chip flavor variety ranges from Indian Masala chips, to roast chicken with a lot of stops in between. Why so many interesting choices? Coming from the heads of the guys who think health care is a right, there's no telling.
Occasionally, the Candians' zany chip flavors make their way into the US. You may recognize some such as "Dill Pickle" and "Ketchup". Though most of their flavors stay up north as they cannot muster the courage the tolerate the berating customs officers shouting things such as "Immigrant faggot" and "Pinko faggot!" So we shouldn't take for granted the few flavors that have defied the border.
Having discovered the border defying All Dressed chips, one bag was simply not enough. On my way home, I stopped by that same sub shop to buy a few more bags, but alas, they were closed. I carefully squeezed out a spite shit onto their entryway.
As I drove away, everything looked like a bag of all dressed chips to me. The cars passing by. The painted lines in the road. All of the strippers in the 6 clubs that I stopped in on the way home from my 100 mile trip, normally a 2 hour drive that spanned several days. Everything.
My veins were growing lonely and they desparately needed a visitor. (In this metaphor, the chips are heroin). I couldn't find all dressed chips in any of the local stores. I was about to give up. But then the Mexican that I hire to change the lightbulbs in my head showed up - late as usual. He unscrewed the smashed bulb floating above me and replaced it with a shiny new one. He flicked my nipple to turn the light on, smoked a funny smelling cigarette, put his clothes back on, and walked away. Then BOOM! It hit me! What if I were to contact the company that produces these chips?
In this case, it was Humpty Dumpty. I called them up and spoke with a representative. I explained my admiration for their product and how I was having trouble finding them in my area. I told them I would have no issue buying a small case and paying shipping charges. After a silent moment, they flat out told me no and hung up. I immediately shot myself in the head.
Weeks later, I woke up to a man in a white coat shining a flashlight in my eyes. I asked him "Where am I?" "You're in the hospital," he said "You tried to kill yourself and fucked up once again" Already ignoring him, I was surfing the TV channels with the bedside remote. "Does this get skinemax?" I asked him. His shoulders lowered and he sighed as he said "Fuck this job," while exiting the room.
A few minutes after the doctor left, I ripped the IV's out of my arms and brain and filled a trash bag with medical supplies which I slung over my shoulder as I leapt out of the hospital room window. Not realizing which floor I was on, I fell 4 stories onto the sidewalk knocking down the doctor who had recently checked me.
The next day I laid in a full body cast shouting at a nurse who wouldn't flip to the next page of "Raunchy Whores Vol. 9 Issue 8" for me. As she stormed out I exclaimed "You don't flip the page for me and I will leave a gift in the bedpan that will make you want to quit!" It didn't work. She slammed the door and I was forced to turn the pages with the straw in my mouth.
There was a knock on my door. It was my boss coming in to tell me that he had to let me go after he saw that my absence brought productivity up. I knew this was coming and I was surprised I got away with it for as many years as I did. When he turned to leave, I was readying a loogie in my straw, aiming for the back of his head, but he turned back and asked "How did you get into this whole mess anyway?" I explained to him the All Dressed Chips story and he nodded saying "Yeah, I love those chips"
"Oh, you've tried them before?"
"Yeah. They sell them at the gas station on 110 across from the movie theater"
He got ever closer to me and said "Like em? It's like I've been jerking off my toe all my life, then one day I discovered my penis"
As you can tell from what my tongue told me, these chips were very satisfying. Based on the packaging artwork, "All dressed" is supposed to be a medley of different chip seasonings such as barbeque, salt and vinegar, sour cream and ketchup. Who would come up with such a concept? Answer: The Canadians, Jim. The Canadians.
There is a potato chip subculture in Canada that rivals their love of hockey and the word "eh". The seemingly endless chip flavor variety ranges from Indian Masala chips, to roast chicken with a lot of stops in between. Why so many interesting choices? Coming from the heads of the guys who think health care is a right, there's no telling.
Occasionally, the Candians' zany chip flavors make their way into the US. You may recognize some such as "Dill Pickle" and "Ketchup". Though most of their flavors stay up north as they cannot muster the courage the tolerate the berating customs officers shouting things such as "Immigrant faggot" and "Pinko faggot!" So we shouldn't take for granted the few flavors that have defied the border.
Having discovered the border defying All Dressed chips, one bag was simply not enough. On my way home, I stopped by that same sub shop to buy a few more bags, but alas, they were closed. I carefully squeezed out a spite shit onto their entryway.
As I drove away, everything looked like a bag of all dressed chips to me. The cars passing by. The painted lines in the road. All of the strippers in the 6 clubs that I stopped in on the way home from my 100 mile trip, normally a 2 hour drive that spanned several days. Everything.
My veins were growing lonely and they desparately needed a visitor. (In this metaphor, the chips are heroin). I couldn't find all dressed chips in any of the local stores. I was about to give up. But then the Mexican that I hire to change the lightbulbs in my head showed up - late as usual. He unscrewed the smashed bulb floating above me and replaced it with a shiny new one. He flicked my nipple to turn the light on, smoked a funny smelling cigarette, put his clothes back on, and walked away. Then BOOM! It hit me! What if I were to contact the company that produces these chips?
In this case, it was Humpty Dumpty. I called them up and spoke with a representative. I explained my admiration for their product and how I was having trouble finding them in my area. I told them I would have no issue buying a small case and paying shipping charges. After a silent moment, they flat out told me no and hung up. I immediately shot myself in the head.
Weeks later, I woke up to a man in a white coat shining a flashlight in my eyes. I asked him "Where am I?" "You're in the hospital," he said "You tried to kill yourself and fucked up once again" Already ignoring him, I was surfing the TV channels with the bedside remote. "Does this get skinemax?" I asked him. His shoulders lowered and he sighed as he said "Fuck this job," while exiting the room.
A few minutes after the doctor left, I ripped the IV's out of my arms and brain and filled a trash bag with medical supplies which I slung over my shoulder as I leapt out of the hospital room window. Not realizing which floor I was on, I fell 4 stories onto the sidewalk knocking down the doctor who had recently checked me.
The next day I laid in a full body cast shouting at a nurse who wouldn't flip to the next page of "Raunchy Whores Vol. 9 Issue 8" for me. As she stormed out I exclaimed "You don't flip the page for me and I will leave a gift in the bedpan that will make you want to quit!" It didn't work. She slammed the door and I was forced to turn the pages with the straw in my mouth.
There was a knock on my door. It was my boss coming in to tell me that he had to let me go after he saw that my absence brought productivity up. I knew this was coming and I was surprised I got away with it for as many years as I did. When he turned to leave, I was readying a loogie in my straw, aiming for the back of his head, but he turned back and asked "How did you get into this whole mess anyway?" I explained to him the All Dressed Chips story and he nodded saying "Yeah, I love those chips"
"Oh, you've tried them before?"
"Yeah. They sell them at the gas station on 110 across from the movie theater"
You're fucking kidding me.
I bought three bags yesterday and will from now on frequent that place as the "Potato chips guy who always uses our bathroom".
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