Posted in food, life

Pimp My Chips

Earlier today, I made the unfortunate decision to buy a regular serving of chips for lunch. To be blunt and to have no other way of describing the absolutely rancid excuse for a meal I had received, they tasted like the smell of human feces … or shit, if you’re French.

Out of utter disgust, I had to learn how to use a credit card to pay for a $3 bottle of water. It was my first time using the card for a purchase. But thankfully after five painful minutes of the store clerk begrudgingly guiding me through each step, I had obtained my glorious plastic chalice of healing and drank the lot in a minute flat. My body can thank me later for the extra 600ml of fluids that it has to process during Mental Health class. People probably thought I was getting a bit weak at the knees during the in-depth class discussion regarding depression. Truth was, I just really needed to go to the bathroom.

Still … going to need to find a place that can actually make chips taste like chips and not excrement.

"No amount of chicken salt could save them."
“No amount of chicken salt could save them.”


"And so, let my heart be hardened." This blog was all but abandoned, gathering digital cobwebs and whatnot, before I checked back in after the pitter-pattering of cyberrain. Or were they emails? Let this place be a beacon for my mind during my few sleepless nights.

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