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By the fourth day, my wife Jade saw that I wasn't doubled over in pain, so she decided to try some herself. We worked down a large blue bag of Ruffles "Max" chips. Now, I should point out that Jade has a textbook diet. Really, the AMA should hold her up for all the country to see. She eats no meat, plenty of vegetables, lots of fiber, and very little fat. She rarely drinks, and doesn't touch caffeine. You know those kooky scientific surveys that say you should drink something like twelve glasses of water a day? Jade actually does this. She has a cup at work, and she puts a rubber band around it each time she finishes a glass.  One taste of these chips, and Jade was in love. It was junk food without the junk! We wolfed through the rest of the bag, and all was forgotten. Until that night, when I took a trip to the bathroom to meet the baker. Friends, the creature that emerged from my insides was borne in the pits of Hell and reared in the suburbs of Detroit. This foul monster was so excruciatingly wet and smelly that my eyebrows singed, paint peeled from the walls, and the mirror steamed up. I quickly flushed the toilet, but the beast did not budge. Water began to fill up the basin, and I grabbed the plunger and beat the demon down the toilet. After much struggle and another full flush, the minion was defeated, sent back to the steaming caverns of Hades.  On the bright side, there was no pudding in my pants. |