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Syrup Flavored Armour Vienna Sausage

So I went to Burning Man last week. I’ll save the details and such for another post, but suffice to say, it was amazing. Perception-changing, even without the help of hallucinogenic drugs. Just all around, pretty damn awesome. One night during the event, I went exploring alone. As I packed my bag for the wanderings, my Boy Scout training kicked in, and I over-prepared like crazy. Because that’s the motto of the Boy Scouts… “Over-prepare like crazy!”. I should mention at this point I barely remember my time in the Boy Scouts, save for it being hosted in a church basement, and making small wooden cars that coasted down in a hill in a contest of… gravity, I guess. I didn’t win. I’m assuming that at some point I was instructed to over-prepare for everything. At least, that was my take-away.

So being the good Boy Scout I was, I packed the essentials in my shoulder bag; clear goggles in the event of a night dust storm, a baggie of single-ply TP in case I needed to poop, a pocket knife, 3 Coors Lights, an apple, some spare LEDs, and 2 cans of Vienna sausages. I was obviously ready at this point for anything that desert could throw at me in my travels, in my shorts and unbuttoned dress shirt that was caked in more dust than… something dusty. I was going with a “PigPen from Peanuts” visual, but no dice. Oh well.

When we were buying supplies for BM, we’d read plenty that basically “salty processed junk in a can” would be our best bet. The alkaline playa out there is apparently really good at sucking you dry of salts. Essentially, the dirt is a deer, and you’re a salt lick. Best analogy ever.

Anyway, cruising the aisles of the store, I ran across my old, familiar, stocky friend. That friend who’d been with me through so many drunken experiences with my cohorts in my youth. That friend who was always happy to see you, ready at the drop of a hat, and had a pop-top lid that didn’t require any tools. Fortunately, that friend with no sharp edges as well, so when you shoved your hand inside him sloppily in a drunken stupor…

…I should stop using analogies. This is awkward now.

But seriously, so glad I didn’t cut my fingers.

Of course I speak of the one and only Armour Vienna Sausage. I honestly don’t know what culinary purpose they serve, but I’m extremely happy they exist. They’re the platypus of the canned meat world.

I swear I’ll stop.

Anyway, like pretty much everything in life, things in the land of short raw vertical hot dogs in juices have changed as well. Back in my day, you basically had your pick between “Shitty Hot Dog Water” flavor, and “Shitty Chicken Hot Dog Water” flavor. I normally chose the former.

I have no regrets.

But this is the year 2013. We need excitement! We need variety! We demand something different! Something to Tweet about! Something to probably Instagram! Maybe we’ll blog… about… it… Dammit.

Point being, there’s a lot more flavors now. While prepping for the trip, I tossed a Bourbon BBQ and “Syrup Flavored” can into the order, because I couldn’t think of a single thing that fit the “salty processed junk in a can” definition better than my trusty non-cutting friend, Vienna Sausage.

So, back on the playa, I snagged both cans, with the rationale that I might stumble across some very drunk or high person who would think those would possibly be the best things in the world at that moment.

As luck would have it, I didn’t. Both cans stayed in my bag, while I had an exploratory time roaming around a pitch-black desert looking at lit-up art installations and running across awesome DJs on mobile astounding sound systems. Later in the week though, I found myself drunk, and of course, my first instinct was to go into my bag, and grab what seemed to be the safe bet, the BBQ Bourbon flavored can. Indeed it was, and tasted as generically “BBQ Sauce” as humanely possible.

We left Black Rock City on Sunday morning. Now it’s Friday, I found Vodka, and rummaging through my still-dusty bag in the basement, I ran across the 2nd can on VS, the Syrup ones. I figured I was time for a nod at my experience, by popping that bastard open.

Here they are, the new kid on the block. I’m still trying to figure out on what planet someone would eat these for breakfast, but I’m assuming they just needed to fill in the exclamatory banner on the can template with something, and “won’t make you immediately die!” didn’t fit in the allotted space.

Then another shot, in all of their syupy glory, which sounds much worse than it really is.
Note from JK: Yes, I realize I ate most of them before I took the picture. I had a mid-can inspiration for this article.

Then finally, the presentation a la fork, which is French for “on the fork”.

Taste: Amazingly, decent. The syrup has a butter tinge to it, and it’s perfectly mimics pancake time. Of course that means little in the grand scheme of things, because:
Texture: While I went in to the can knowing exactly what to expect, if you took the texture of the Vienna Sausage in its purest form, and made it taste like pancakes, it would be really weird. Guess what? It is. I totally get what they’re doing. They want to invoke that perfect slightly-browned-and-crusted-over maple-drenched pork sausage thing. It doesn’t really work. Unless you like your perfect, slightly-browned-and-crusted-over maple-drenched pork sausage soaked in water for 45 minutes before you eat it. Because that’s really what you’re getting here.

Then again, they’re also fifty cents a can still. So maybe my expectations are out of whack.

JK Score: 5/10 I’m not kidding here, I’d totally just put the sauce from these on pancakes or something in a pinch and be totally and completely happy with how I started my day. I just doesn’t work as a Vienna Sausage flavor. I want to like it, I really do. But it’s weird.

Thanksgiving Leftover Burrito

I can’t believe it’s taken me 33 years to make a Thanksgiving Leftover Burrito. (Feel free to use that to wittily jab me for my blog-updating prowess.) Tortilla, turkey, mashed taters, and some thickened gravy, nuked for 45 seconds. Nom.

I’m working on two very diverse theories as to why it’s taken so long:

1) Having moved from the Midwest to the “more westy Midwest, but not the West, screw it, we’ll name the region after the rocks inhabiting its space” Rocky Mountain Region, which is located near the South West, and therefore, apparently affected by it; I’ve assimilated to local customs, and much more driven to eat anything supported by a Tortilla and/or covered in green chile, as is the tradition is the region.

or possibly 2,

2) Being out of bread, but having tortillas in the house.

It’s really anyone’s guess at this point which theory will prevail.

Regardless, I ate one. And I wish I would have sooner. I think we’ve all eventually reached the “screw it, I just want this food that remains in the fridge to enter my food-eating hole as fast as humanely possible” point in our early winters. After Thanksgiving, primarily. When there’s… You get it.

Necessity being the mother of invention, (to be fair, theory 1 is part of the reason theory 2 happened) I scoured the kitchen for the best way of getting rid of the last bits of Thanksgiving leftovers; the dark meat, the semi-crusted-from-being-in-the-fridge-too-long stuffing, you know, the tupperware that’s already mocking you a continual 3 days after you stuffed yourself about how many calories you ate.

And you can’t throw that stuff away. That’s admitting defeat. That’s your inner 4 year old whose mother always told to be concerned with children in Africa. That’s wasteful. That’s something reasonable, sane people do. All leftovers must be consumed.

Even if it means extending the half-life of a dish of sweet potatoes to to a double digit days, all because you couldn’t bring yourself to forcibly finish the stuff, but unable to throw it away. Because. Hey, maybe my wife wanted that last bite…

Anyway, having reached the point of no return, and committing to the finishing project, I scooped the last bit of sweet potato in my mouth while opening up the remaining dishes and assessing the situation:

3 small pieces of dark meat, check.
1.5 tablespoons of mashed potato? You betcha.
Quarter cup of gravy? Damn right.

Tortilla from the fridge, put turkey on, smear taters over, dump gravy upon, salt, pepper, close, nuke.

… and of course, it was awesome. It had no choice in the matter. It was DESTINY.

But was there room for improvement? It’s not like the Thanksgiving Leftover Situation occurs that often. That magic, distinct combination of food, that sure-you-may-have-the-same-thing-at-Christmas-but-it’s-not-the-SAME mix of food only happens once annually.

This is important. I only have 361 days to plan for the next one.

I was initially lamenting a lack of stuffing, but it’s borderline too starchy as it sits now, between the tortilla and the potatoes. GBC (Green Bean Casserole for you newbs) would have made the entire thing too gravy-ish between the mushroom soup and well, the aforementioned gravy. I pretty much abhor Cranberry sauce, (notsomuch in taste, but moreso in principal) so that’s out for me.

Of course, after assuming for a second I had just made a ground-breaking discovery, I googled it, and the 4th hit (here) had someone who posted a thing about it 2 years ago, using jalepeño Asadero cheese (the creamy sauce-type stuff) in addition to my ingredients. That’d definitely make it more burrito-y, but really that’s not what we’re going for here. I’d think any softer, more buttery cheese (not necessarily sauce, due to gravy concerns) like provel or something would be bombastic, if not completely unnecessary.

I’d post pics, but since I went into the project with trepidation, I didn’t really have the forethought to take a picture. Go to the link above (or if you’re lazy, here) and see pictures of what they looked like.

Taste: You know very well what it tastes like. You just ate it 3-7 days prior, but now it’s more congealed. And in a tortilla.

Texture: Well.. Mush. With bits of turkey.

JK Score: 10/10 Things that are better than Thanksgiving food? None.

That’s actually science.

Twisted Pine Brewing Ghost Face Killah (Beer)

Peppa style!
Peppa style!
Hot-ass beer ain’t nothin to eff wit.
Hot-ass beer ain’t nothin to eff wit.
Hot-ass beer ain’t nothin to eff wit.

I don’t always review beer, (mostly because I’m not an über beer snob at leave that to the pros at Beer Advocate), but when I do, it’s because I can’t feel my lips, and holy crapnuggets.

Being in Colorado, which is one of the top-producing/consuming craft beer states in the country, I’m spoiled rotten with readily available awesome beer at my fingertips, constantly. That said, I still love me some completely screwed up brew on occasion, much like the god-awful Mama Mia Pizza Beer I tried once in IL.

Also being in Colorado, the hip-hop scene is fairly non-existent, so combine three things I think are awesome, (beer, hot stuff, and Wu-Tang references), and I’m all up on that.

Before we get into the actual beverage though, there’s a bit of history to be told, and some clarity to bring to the table. So with that in mind, here’s a short list of the similarities and differences between this beer and its namesake.

1) While Ghostface Killah (the beer) really lacks the proper management and industry networking to get licenses and royalties ironed out, Ghostface (the man) did record an awesome remix of an Amy Winehouse song

2) While Ghostface Killah (the MC) does indeed spit hot fire, he is not brewed with 6 types of peppers, including Anaheim, Fresno, Jalapeño, Serrano, Habaneor, and Bhut Jolokia (aka Ghost Pepper).

3) Although I haven’t met GFK in person, I can pretty much guarantee he wouldn’t make my lips burn. If he did, there would be a slew of questions that would quickly follow the sensation, the first being “why the hell did you kiss me, Ghost?”

4) GFK (the beverage) was never a member of the Wu-Tang Clan, although Twisted Pine Brewery has applied for “World’s Hottest Beer” with the Guinness World Record folks, which would put it somewhere in the same degree of celebrity, but not really at all.

For those of you who like your asinine data in chart form:

….but I digress.

So, totally have this beer. Ghostface Killah, from Twisted Pine Brewing in Boulder, CO.. I love hot stuff, so I figured this was right up my alley, and picked up a bottle for $4 at my local uber-beer-store-place.

Obligatory packaging photos:

Things that are cooler than flaming skulls: Um... Nothing.

Words n' stuff

And the beer, as poured:

Hooray, beer!

I’ll spare you the beer-snobbery stuff that I’ll probably butcher anyway, and just tell you what’s up, standard TJE-style. And by TJE-style, I mean the actual review, not waiting 8 months between posts. (doh.)

Like I said, I like hot stuff. Bring it the hell on. I’ve had chili beers before, and while I’ve mostly enjoyed them just out of the uniqueness aspect, I’ve never had anything that I’d really consider “hot”, just like a 4/10 on the hot scale of what I can really tolerate, with 10 being “Holy crap, my anus will burn for a week if I finish consuming what’s in my mouth”.

Having drank approximately half of this bottle (over the course of the last hour and change, and with the help of my awesome, and apparently very spice-tolerant wife), I’d put this at a solid 7. As a beer, it’s nothing amazing. It’s the chilies and such that really make this beast. It hits you when you smell it. And holy crap when you take a sip. And you have to sip it. I’d contemplated making a video of me attempting to chug the remainder of it, but I decided against having vomit all over our office and my PC. And cat. Because ew. Beer-pepper-spray cat-mace-vomit is just mean/nasty. And mostly nasty.

Oh. The flavor. It actually has a really good roasted pepper flavor. I despise smokey beers, but I really like this for some reason. But that flavor is quickly overrun with HOLYCRAPTHAT’SHOT. It’s that kind of hot that sticks on your lips, hangs out in the back of your throat, and has you sweating a few minutes later, but not running around like an idiot looking for ice cream, or sticking your head in a bucket of water like a 50’s cartoon character.

Me gusta.

Taste: Roasted, spicy, Sleepy, Dopey, Donner, Blitzen. HOT. It’s just a freaking hot beer. Any trace of flavor in your head is just quickly wiped out of your brainstem by your mind nugget trying to figure out what in the hell is actually going on in your mouthal area.

Texture: Liquid-y. Like a beer. Because it’s beer. I’d pontificate on mouth feel and other snobbery, but it’s just a damn beer.

JK Score: 7/10 Like I said, as a beer on its own merit, meh. As a beer that’s awesome because it’s freaking spicy as hell and has freaking GHOST PEPPERS IN IT, it’s pretty damn good and interesting and make-you-sweaty-but-releasing-endorphins-because-the-body-is-weird. And any beer that makes me release endorphins is a just dandy in my book.

Blantant shameless plugs

2 new crap sites for your perusal: is a collection of oddball stuff found at is… well, what the site name implies.

PB&J Candwich (6 months old)

A man, a can, a plan, a crappy sandwich!

What’s up, science? We can put a man on the moon, we can stream pterodactyl porn across a series of copper wires and glass tubes to my phone in my pocket, anywhere in the world (Seriously, that type of film exists. Don’t ask me how I know.), we can spray freaking skin cells onto a burn patient with a freaking squirt gun, and have them heal insanely fast, but a long-lasting, tasty, easy to transport in pneumatic tube peanut butter and jelly sandwich has somehow managed to constantly slip through the grips of science’s diabolical hands.

Oh, wait. You mean a canned PB&J with a one year shelf life exists?

Hold on... Quick, AND tasty?! Sign me up!

This is what we’ve been waiting for, folks. Years of research, development, blood, sweat, and tears have all led up to this moment. Do you know how many people had to die in a centrifuge to make this possible?

Actually, five. Also, I don’t really know what centrifuges had to do with the creation of this, but that’s why we have grants, people.

But those deaths were NOT in vain. Behold!

The same could be said for shiny pebbles, but they didn't have the marketing budget.

It fulfills every mission set forth by the Canned PBJ Mandate of 2009. I bought these (yes, plural, no, I don’t know why. I have 3 left, if anyone is interested) in May or June of 2011, making these samples currently about 6 months old, but still a solid 6+ months from their expiration (or maturation) date of June 20-freaking-12.


If Billy Mays wasn’t in hiding (don’t think for a second he’s actually dead, that’s what the government wants you to think), he’d be happy to scream about the final incredible aspect… Wait for it…

I mean really, it's not a surprise anymore, but I guess it's the thought that counts.

BOOM! Candy Surprise. In your FACE flu vaccine!

So, we pop this mythical beast open, and with a quite unnerving gush of air, dump out the contents (vid at the bottom)… A sealed bun-type piece of bread that’s riding solo, and not even sliced, a plastic knife, a packet of squeeze peanut butter, a packet of squeeze jelly, a piece of cherry Laffy Taffy (which was worse for the wear than the sandwich materials), and a desiccant pack for science/freshness.

To be completely honest, I was sort of let down by science at this point. I was hoping in the however-many-years science has been sciencing, I’d at least have a pre-made nasty sandwich, and not have to build it myself. I mean, why time-capsulize everything seperately, when you KNOW that people in the future (or now) are going to be remarkably lazy? I mean, sure, it’d most likely make the bread a nasty mess, but you have to think of the children. The lazy, lazy children. I mean, you’re handing over some poor soul a CANNED SANDWICH. Let’s set the expectations realistically here.

Anyway, as you can see in the ever-so-professionally produced video below, I roughly assembled, and consumed said canned goodness.

Taste: I wish I could explain what I was eating. The bread was very obviously… well, it wasn’t bread. At least not in the normal sense of how you’d think bread would taste or feel in your mouth. Really sweet, really, well, obviously preserved.

Texture: The jelly was partially separated, and the peanut butter was technically peanut butter, but was barely spreadable, like it really just wanted to stay in tube form. Can you blame it? The bread was remarkably crumbly and firm, and again, just overall odd.

JK Score: 3/10 Not inedible, if I was in a bomb shelter, I’d totally eat it if need be, but I sure as hell am not going to pneumatically tube one of these to anyone I liked, when i could just, you know, make them a flipping PB&J.

Of course, that candy surprise was 6+ months old, and couldn’t even come out of the wrapper in one piece. It gave me a sad.

Moving picture futuristic amazement:

Sweet Action Ice Cream

Disclaimer: We went here on a whim, and didn’t think to bring a camera, and was too caught up in the moment to break out the phones, so, sorry in advance -JK

It’s summer. This summer, in particular, has been pretty much on the annoying side of hot in Denver this year. Thankfully, it’s that ever-so-annoying-to-say (at least it’s a) dry heat.

All the more reason to go seek out some frozen cow byproduct.

My buddy Rob told me of Sweet Action back in May, when he got a hold of them for his Mental Floss article, “7 Alternative Uses for Beer”.

Of course, it was March, and most likely snowing or something here, and I had no time for such frozen dairy thingers. My friend Eric decided to text me about the beer ice cream a month or so ago, and while the weather was more appropo, we were in the midst of planning a wedding, and yet again, frozen tasties were the last thing on our collective minds.

Enter today. Hot as hell, nothing to do, lazy-ass Sunday. Perfect. Ice cream that mofo up, as we say in… well, nowhere. I don’t think anyone ever really says that. But they should start doing it. Now. Dammit.

Like any good members of the Internet generation, we went to their website first to check the flavor board and prepare oursleves mentally for the journey we were about to undergo.

While, sadly, the only beer option on the menu was a Smoked Porter S’More (never been a fan of smokey beers), I did spy two things that intrigued me quite a bit more:

Stranahan’s Whiskey Brickle, and the second-only-to-vanilla staple ice cream flavor, Colorado Sweet Corn.


For those who don’t know, Stranahan’s is a locally-distilled single-barrel Colorado Whiskey, and is freaking awesome. If you have the means to obtain it, I HIGHLY recommend it.

So, we set forth on our journey. Hopes high, spirits soaring. Parking was easily procured on Broadway since it was a Sunday, and shockingly, for a 95 degree day in Denver, there was a minimal line at the shop.

I decided it would behoove me to hit a taster before going for the full-scoop commitment. I asked for a taster of the sweet corn. The dude behind the counter procured his tiny spoon, and dug it into a vat of ice cream that looked like it had only been touched by taster spoons, and never a scoop. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, so to speak. But whatever the corn equivalent of that is.

As I took a whiff, it smelled… Well, like corn. And it had pieces of corn in it. Hrm.

The taste and mouth feel was completely bizarre. Like some sort of really cold bite of creamed corn. But sweeter. And ice cream. Just. Weird.

I stuck with what I knew, and ordered a double-scoop cone of the Stranahan’s Whiskey Brickle, which was AMAZING. Like a really sweetened version of Stranahan’s Whiskey, with an instantly recognizable flavor, minus the pepper-y-ness that’s present in the liquid version. Oh, and with toffee chunks.

Anyway, awesome place, awesome people, awesome ice cream. It was like being a kid again. But with more whiskey.

Must Try: Stranahan’s Whiskey Brickle, Chocolate Peanut Butter Chip

Avoid: Colorado Sweet Corn. Unless you REALLY like creamed corn, and wish you could have it in a much colder form than normal.

JK Score: 10/10 Definitely one of those ‘something for everyone’ places. Even if you’re lactose intolerant, or otherwise don’t dig on animal juice, they always have a few vegan options as well. And giant-ass cookies that looked amazing.

Sweet Action Ice Cream
52 Broadway
Denver, CO 80203


Just a heads-up, (and every site I have otherwise) will be moving to a new host next week. So since I’m pretty unprepared for the move (i.e. don’t have a new host lined up yet and an expiring account), don’t be shocked if you’re unable to access all that is my awesomeness next week, and for a bit after while I get everything migrated and upgraded and situmanated. It’s a word.

Wasabi Gumballs

Hunger Strike – Day 307:

The first 305 days really weren’t too shabby. Lot of time to play chess, read books, hallucinate, and pass out form lack of nutrition. Day 306, I started looking at bookshelves funny. Not because they were starting to look like food, just because I thought it said something to me. About holding books. When the bookcases become self-aware, look out Jujubear.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Luckily, one of my loyal readers and old friends from high school sent me a bunch of random most-likely-nasty stuff entirely too long ago (Hey Stacy!). So I decided to eat it.

Oh hey, look. Stuff!

They're so angry!

What could possibly go wrong?

And green!

Looking at the thingers… They’re greener than a green… something. Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve done this, I’m kinda rusty. They’re green.

They don’t smell like anything, which is either really really good, or really really not good.

Texture: Well, it definitely exploded in my mouth. With dryness. Very weird. And then it turned into an incredibly hard piece of gum within about 4.6 seconds.

Taste: Horrible. Not wasabi at all. I have absolutely no idea what it was, but it sucked. Not like “holy crap I have to spit this out before I catch mouth-death”, but more “wow, this just sucks”. Very weird.

Did I mention it was weird?

I really got to polish up this whole “writing” thing.

Oh, hi! I’m back.

Bigass Orange Gummy Bear

Big bear! Big bear chase me!

…and… be orange flavored. And gummy.

It was bound to happen. The irradiation of all of our food items, while making them nice and glossy and longer-lasting, was bound to have side effects. And sadly, the first to be affected are always the gummy bears.

Seriously. It’s sad.

Also, they’re apparently the first food items to be put in Han Solo-style tombs and displayed in the prize area at Dave & Busters. I can’t into the specific details of how so many superflourous tickets were acquired, but let’s just say I’m not proud of the things I did for a bucket of paper scraps.

People of the court, if you will… Exhibit A: “Bear in plastic”

It's like a regular gummy bear....but all individually wrapped.  Oh, and huge.

It's like a regular gummy bear....but all individually wrapped. Oh, and huge.

Upon closer inspection, you will also see that this particular neon-orange bear is, oddly enough, “Orange Flavor”.

I has an Orange Flavor

I has an Orange Flavor

And just for the sake of proving the validity of the “Bigass” portion of my statement regarding the bear, I present Exhibit A, alongside Exhibit B, which I call “cat”, for scale and proportion.

No kitty, that's my pot pie... Err.. Giant nasty gummy bear thing.

No kitty, that's my pot pie... Err.. Giant nasty gummy bear thing.

Flip the badboy upside down, and you’ll see the “Nutrition” facts. I put that in swarmy quotes because the single bear contained within has OVER A THOUSAND FUGGING CALORIES. Oh, according to some savvy conversions it weighs about 3/4 of a pound.

This is some serious-ass gummy here. I cheat a little on my Atkins diet. I cheat a little on my Atkins diet.

I’m going to preface the unveiling and consumption video below with two statements:
1) I’m freakin tired, easily distracted, and not completely sure what I’m doing.
2) The audio goes completely out of sync at the end. Sorry.

…yah. It’s gummy.

I seriously took one more bite out of the thing about 5 minutes post-video, and had to spit it out. It’s just too much sugar. I mean… wow.

Texture: Hah. Hah. As you can see in the vid, it’s definitely gummy. And by gummy, I mean more dense than and chewier than Abe Vigoda.

Cuz… He’s chewy. Like a fox. Did I mention I’m tired?

Seriously? The thing is chewier than all get-out, and has the consistency of one of those gummy erasers. If you tried to eat one. Which… You shouldn’t.

Taste: It’s orange for damn sure. Smells like orange Jello… tastes like… really, really, sweet orange gummy. Just stupid sweet. Also like Abe Vigoda.

JK Score: 3/10 It gets points for performing as advertised, but anything I can’t consume more than two bites of automatically gets docked. I mean, given the dietary info, it’s probably not a bad thing necessarily, but c’mon. Plus my jaw hurts. From two bites.

Doritos 3rd Degree Burn Scorchin’ Habanero

Anyone that knows me, knows 3 things about me:

1) I’m not proud of my third nipple, but I’m not ashamed of it, either.
2) I served two tours in ‘Nam.
3) I like spicy crap.

Seriously. Give me a nuclear Bloody Mary with Dave’s Insanity Sauce after a heavy night of drinking, and I’m one happy camper. Really, I’m like George…

I’m generally pretty bummed out when I find something labeled “Hot” in the grocery store or in a fast food setting. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that people are hot wusses.

So when I saw these pretties sitting on the shelf at my local 7-11, I grabbed them.

Whoomp.  There it is.  Or they are.  I guess it depends if we're referring to the bag, singular, or chips, plural.  Either way, whoomp.

Whoomp. There it is. Or they are. I guess it depends if we're referring to the bag, singular, or chips, plural. Either way, whoomp.

… Because I needed a reason to post a new entry. Sue me.

Upon removal from the bag, and pointless macro photography, you see they are basically Doritos, only redder than red. Even more red than the Diablo Enchilada chips, if that’s even possible.

Red, red, holy crap red.  Or as they say in Spanish, "rojo, rojo, holy crap rojo."  I think.  I suck at Spanish.

And then since Mr. Doritos bag was promising the 3rd Degree Burn, I decided to give the bag the 3rd degree…

Does Marsallus Wallace look like a bitch?

Does Marsallus Wallace look like a bitch?

There was a good 20 minutes of thorough interrogation. It ended up with me getting all sorts of great information, including the knowledge that these are, in fact, a bag of Doritos, and Doritos, by design, don’t respond well to any sort of questioning. Because they’re chips. And not people.

Oh well.

Texture: I’m not sure why I even bother. They’re fucking Doritos. They feel very Dorito-y in your mouth.

Taste: A little nacho-y, only sweeter, is the best I can describe. You stop caring once the burn hits. Nice delay behind it, but once it it hits, it hits hard. These chips, my friends, are hot. Eat a lot in succession, and you’ll be sweating, and have your sinuses cleared. Yes. They’re hot. They nailed it. Finally.

JK Score: 9/10 I killed the entire (99 cent) bag in one sitting, fairly quickly. They made me sweat and my nose run. It was awesome. I’m deducting a point for them making me look like a wuss.