“When I write, I usually take a can of Pringles potato chips and eat only 13.
Any flavor will do. If that doesn’t satisfy me, then I eat 13 more.
While I’m eating, it gives me a good way to stop and look at what I wrote, and to concentrate on correcting my mistakes.
This is my lucky way (and an excuse) to write a good story while eating a good can of potato chips.” —Michele Jenkins
While searching for a post image I found THIS
Phriggin’ Pringles . . .
Have a great weekend folks
Something short and sweet, so to speak . . .
Someone floated an air biscuit on the train this morning, a silent sulfur scream (SSS) so deadly in intent that my eyes literally crossed.
Dude, if you’re sick, go to the hospital.
It was odd the way people picked their heads up one by one and started looking around for the gravy pants responsible for the great brown cloud.
There were only 12 or so people in the car I was riding in so it was a bit uncomfortable.
I heard one guy groan and say, “Oh, man.”
Oh, man is right.
The odor of the unholy airlock was almost indescribable.
Oh, alright, I’ll try. I’m already grossed out anyway (as you will soon be, as well).
It was somewhere between ripe, warm and hairy egg salad and way-past-the-due-date hamburger. My olfactory senses are somewhat dulled at this time of the morning but I definitely detected a hint of burnt string bean casserole.
It was right after that when people started getting up one by one in search of a fresher car to ride in. Not wanting to be seen as the person that “drew the mud”, I too got up and left the fragrant car.
It was painfully clear that this demanding piece of colon-speak wasn’t going anywhere.
I overheard a woman say to someone, “Well, I’m certainly awake now!”
She sounded almost pleased.
As soon as I stopped my eyes from watering, I found a new seat.