Pringles… you gone done fucked up this time. You pulled that shit where you just stared at me when I walked into the gas station… trying to lure me with your lies. You sit there all like “I’m a can of robust spicy wing sauce chips. I’m Xtreme, and I want to party on your tongue and in your belly.” Fine, you filthy fuck. Let’s rendezvous.
Upon opening the can and doing the official Snort Ramen Opening Whiff, the smell was straight up vinegar, and the chips themselves had very little color to them. It was certain… there were going to be snack issues. First off, the fuckery began with calling it “Buffalo Blazin’ Wing” chips… seeing that chicken doesn’t even appear in the ingredients list (see a full-on rant about this here). These things don’t taste a goddamn thing like buffalo wings… not even wing sauce. Yeah there’s a teeny bit of heat, but it’s nothing to write home about.
So I decided to amp it up and double up on the chips with every bite (Pringles are the perfect shape for this). Well, it had a little more heat, but not much more in the buffalo flavor department. Amp up to 3 chips. Motherfuck… it feels like I just took a shot of potato vinegar with two drops of old Tobasco water in it. Pringles, you have failed to be extreme. I should have known this when you called yourself “Xtreme”… which reminds me to tell you: learn to spell, asshole. You are not worthy of the chili peppers, ejaculatory wing sauce bottle, and lying liar liar-pants heat gauge adorned on your can. I hope to fuck you’re happy making people feel used and hungry. Don’t try to seduce me anymore, Xtreme Buffalo Blazin’ “Wing” chips. We’re over. Shit… who wants the rest of this can?