You know what I absolutely goddamn love?
Pringles and Cheetos are my preferred noms for movie time and whatever. I've tried all the crazy flavors, and tend to love them. Hence, when I was hustling on my way out of the local Wal-Mart with my brother last night, my eye lingered on something that seemed either too good – or too weird – to be true.
A new layout of Dessert Pringles was being advertised, in three distinctly bizarre and un-Pringlish flavors: Milk Chocolate, White Chocolate, and Pecan Pie. There are also apparently a few other flavors, like Mint Chocolate and Cinnamon Sugar, but they didn't have these ones in my store.
A sense of trepidation filled me. I wanted to try them, was unable to resist their strange allure. After all, Pringles had never let me down before; not even their kooky ventures into tortilla chips and whatnot. But what horrors could have lurked within those lightweight, cylindrical canisters? What would I be getting myself into if I tried one? Would they be delicious, or horrible?
I had to try them, at least one of them. Deciding on the safest option I went with the Milk Chocolate flavor, figuring that if only one of them was edible this was going to end up being that one. Questions continued to rush through my mind, though – were they chocolate-coated, like the Fudge-Covered Ritz crackers that I absolutely adore? Or would they be dusted with flavor, like normal Pringles? Would they be salty and sweet, or a pure dessert crisp?
I shook the can lightly, hoping it might grant me some enlightenment. It didn't. I was in this alone and I had to take the leap of faith. Shelling out the buck-fitty I brought the can to the car and opened it.
What I saw inside was neither what I expected, nor what I wanted. They didn't even have the courtesy to give the chips a chocolate-colored dusting; they just looked like completely ordinary Pringles. My fears grew more acute, but I was in this now, and there was no turning back.
And then, the moment of truth was finally upon me.
They were horrible.
A better name for these would have been “Sucralose Flavored Pringles,” because these flat-out don't taste like chocolate. I sat and searched, exploring every corner of my tongue to find a hint of chocolate flavoring. While I could occasionally detect something that seemed very slightly like chocolate (in the way that carob tastes like chocolate – not-at-f***ing-all), it was vastly overpowered by a sickeningly syrupy sweetness that lingered directly on the flat of the tongue, only a hair's breadth from being completely nauseating.
Yet another flaw of these was that they weren't salty enough. The idea behind chocolate-coating crackers/chips is that they're crispy, salty, and chocolatey all at once, and it's f***ing delicious. This was nothing like that. It was like some evil scientist studied everything that was desirable about this type of snack and did everything within his power to do absolutely none of those things.
I ate the majority of the can, of course, because I liked the mouth-feel and whatever additives were in there to get me hooked on them. My brother tried a few, agreeing that they were awful but having enough willpower to stop eating them, unlike me. Thus, I was the one left feeling like I had eaten a big pile of Splenda-sprinkled gravel.
Basically what I'm trying to say is that these are not good. They are objectively, unequivocally bad. I don't recommend them to anyone – it's not a matter of taste, it's a matter of these chips having no redeeming or desirable qualities whatsoever. If you read the title of this and went “hwoah those sound good,” then I recommend you seek out Ritz's fudge-covered crackers and eat those instead, since they're, y'know, good.
Want me to review more snacks? Say so in the comments!
Want me to review a specific snack you're too chicken to try yourself? Well, they probably don't have it in my area! But you're welcome to suggest it!
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