Hey! You! Damn you.

Okay, broken tortilla chips at the bottom of the bag. I’m calling you out. YOU are what’s wrong with civilization. You sit there, all disingenuous, pretending to be cute little juvenile chips. “Oh, baby chips, how adorable and undoubtedly tasty,” we’re supposed to proclaim.

I don’t buy it, broken chips. You’re impostors. You’re not cute or tiny or in other ways deserving of the affection we give tiny mammal creatures, with their floppy heads and ridiculous mewling “et la” fencing cries, “hilp hilp hilp” guliping swallows, big eyes and delicious ears and milk-smelling breath.

No, chips. You are not cute and you are not babies. You are detritus. You are the trash that ought be thrown into a witheringly hot tortilla soup, or reserved for some lame casserole dish that demands crushed chips, not for grownup tasks like scooping salsa or taking the edge off my gnawing disillusionment and anger.

I try not to just throw you in the compost, though that is the fate you deserve. No, I make an effort, you chip-goodwill welfare recipients. I try to select you individually, little crumbled useless shard of corn and salt, to get just a hint of salsa on my palate. Tiny flake after tiny flake, I waste precious time and compulsive eating impulses just to make it seem as though I am responsible with the chip dust that I, in all likelihood, caused to break away from the bigger pieces. I have chip breaker’s guilt, and so I try to eat those lame shards.

But then my rage controls me. I might run out of binge energy at this rate, long before I’m overfull and long before the shards are gone. I don’t want to go through this again next season when I have random chip urges again. Get out of my way, chip gravel!

So I shovel pinches full of the little bastards into my gaping maw. No way to dip them, so now it’s just dry, salty tortilla shrapnel. Unsatisfying.

Finally, I look into the bag. The broken bits of chip, like my life, used to hold promise and endless possibilities. And now they are the uncomfortably dessicated flotsam and jetsam of poor choices (like bagging the chips next to the gallon of milk) lying on the shores of a vast ocean of now impossible possibilities.

So I throw the nigh on empty bag of crumbs back into the cupboard, so they can taunt me and torment me and mock me and drive me into an existential spiral in a few months. Oh, they’ll be there. Because it’s not as though anyone else will eat those little bastards in the meantime.

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18 thoughts on “Hey! You! Damn you.

  1. I actually used a spoon today to scoop out 1) chocolate chip cookie crumbs and 2) potato chip bits from the bottoms of bags. Yeah, I was hungry, and those little shits were not feeding the trashcan instead of me.

  2. bloginsong…not strong. sweettoothed to the exclusion of salty snacks.
    jc, I have no qualms…NONE…about getting every last dusty bit of cookie essence. Esp. the choc chip variety, for they seem to pulverize with just the right ratio of cookie to chocolate. No, no…spoonfuls of cookie detritus are absolutely justified. Necessary. Totally unassailable.
    And potato chiplets, at least, don’t pretend to be whole chips incubating huge flavor in little packages. They look like gravel, they taste fine, so sure, eat ’em. In fact, Al Gore wants you to save the planet by eating the cookie and chip crumbles.

  3. Sadly, I’ve dipped tortilla shrapnel. Rather, I’ve dipped my fingers that clenched the shrapnel and ate them together. (And I’d totally do it right now if I had some.)

  4. “Chip gravel?” I’m laughing my butt off over here.

    I actually love the dessicated bits. Cause those suckers don’t have any calories. Thus, I can dunk my finger in them and munch without guilt.

  5. Okay, clearly, I’ve missed out on the art form.
    ck, dipping the fingers would help. i was trying to keep the fingers salsa-free, but now I see that jc’s spoon or your reckless abandon would help.
    TKW how did I forget the calorie leakage that follows breakage? Nice point.
    And Evenshine? Melted cheese is PERFECT! Keeps the bits in a big gob for faster consumption. I’m just looking for a mouthFULL, dear readers, and your wicked ways have enlightened me.

  6. I’m efficient. I even admit to taking scissors to the bags, chopping off the top 75% to make it easier to spoon out the bottom.

    …off to open new chip bag!

  7. Damn chips. I’m more of a throw-them-out-now-before-someone-small-dumps-them-everywhere-and-I-have-to-sweep kind of girl, myself. (In other words, lazy. Lazy and waaaay more into sweets than salty snacks. The chocolate crumbs in the bottom of the bag of chocolate chips? Those I will eat, every last one.)

  8. Melissa, you’re my gal on both the intolerance and the sweet tooth. I tossed the things in the compost so I wouldn’t have to listen to Spouse cut the bag and then toss ’em back in a single, loud, endless bit. And I’d lick the bag if it were cookie related.

    Ink, we totally deserve unsullied chips. I’m standing up for our right to disdain the bits and leavings.

  9. I really don’t know why you don’t know this… one is meant to pour the chip bits out directly into the hummus or salsa or whatever and then eat the mixture as if it were frozen yogurt with gummy bears on top. The conveyance becomes the topping. It’s like culinary Freaky Friday. You’re so angry about one of life’s small pleasures… when life gives you lemons, use them to garnish your martini.

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