A wonderful thing happened to me today. I walked into the office, wobbly with fevered anticipation and smelling of eau de fear on each pulse point. And as I threw my "chik'n" patty in the communal refrigerator, I saw these.
POTATO CHIPS. FOR FREENESS. Just sitting there, waiting to be taken! Sure, they said, "100% Fat Free" and (more ominously) "It's a Revolution."
Sidebar: Does my lunch look like a third-grader's? Thought so, just checkin'.
But I am not one to look at gratis grub sideways. I grabbed them, fleetingly skeptical about the oddly punctuated "Better than 'Baked' ...Much better than 'Fried'..." claim on the label, making sure to pick the french-onion-and-garlic flavor. And this is what I was rewarded with:
NO. NO, bad photo. This does not do the hideousness justice. The evil nastiness was exposed when I read the label—turns out the way around baking and/or frying is to FREEZE DRY THEM—but how was I to know? I was horribly blind-sided! They were the color of fluorescent light bulbs, eerily translucent with a purple-white glow. The texture? Potpourri. The flavor? Armpit.
Someone. Must. Pay.