It started innocently enough. My soon to be ex-girlfriend dropped by my house one night while I was in the midst of perfecting my Cali-rita recipe. It was a perfect Friday night. I was blasting my music library from my computer into the surround sound system in my den. Sitting at my bar with a giant bottle of Cazadores tequila and a carton of Paul Newman's Limeade, I began to test various ratios of the two liquids to formulate a new drink I would call the Cali-rita. I drank drink after intoxicating drink as some of my favorite songs from the 80's and 90's blarred with digital clarity over my speakers. My girlfriend was a quiet but willing audience as she listened to me reminisce about life experiences that each song reminded me of. I gave her verbal chip mack stories years before I'd manifest into the Chip Mack I am today.
Then it happened. The last thing I remember is feeling amazingly amazing and tingly with a numb face sitting on the couch with my arm around my girl. Sex and Candy was playing by Marcy Playground (great song btw) which conjured up the warm memory of the first time I heard that song, which to her chagrin was also the first time I went to a strip club. It's a great story, but in retrospect, not one I should have told my girlfriend in concise detail while I had a blood alcohol level of 1.98.
I woke up in my bed the next morning. First thought..."how the fuck is it daylight already?" Second thought..."how the fuck did I get from my bed to the couch?" As I turned to get out of bed seeking answers to these questions, my girlfriend was sitting in the bed next to me wide awake, fully clothed, with perfect posture staring straight ahead. It would soon be revealed that after I passed out from my liquor experiment, she put all 220 lbs of me in the bed and proceeded to stay up all night as she typed various four digit number combinations in my phone's lock screen. She did this for who knows how long until she successfully cracked the code. My girlfriend-turned evil tech genius would find voicemails that I stupidly saved of chicks I knew before her. Some were innocently flirting, others were incriminating drunk dials. Regardless, the damage had been done.
We patched things up but would eventually break up for good a few months later. Til this day I am in awe that this chick had the patience to wait until I passed out and the tenacity to manually try different number pin combinations until she got in my phone. This bud's for you...you sneaky broad.
Anyway, on to the review! My cousin BB told me about these one night over a game of Madden. I couldn't find them anywhere! Luckily, on the way back from Vegas, my brother-in-law found these at a gas station in Barstow. Upon first bite, these taste like zestier funyons. Almost like a funyon version of the Doritos cool ranch flavor. The picture on the bag shows a blooming onion that's commonly served at a notable steak restaurant. These taste nothing like that. After a few bites, the extra seasoning dulls the tastebuds and the chips begin to taste like regular funyons. Good, but nothing special. 3 outta 5 on the chip mack scale.