South of the Border, Part Dos

Yes, potato chips were definitely the snack of choice during my Puerto Vallarta vacation (as well they should be!). An entire week of chipmania, to be precise. In fact, one morning we sat with a charming gay couple from Moncton (apparently, they do exist on the east coast, too) and had an excellent chip conversation, particularly focused on the silver-bagged President Choice flavours. Those silver bags sure are all the rage in Canada...Might I add that one of the men in question was a hot-bodied Speedo-wearer, who looked like he was carrying a potato down the front of his bathing suit (for emergency snacking purposes, I imagine)...but I digress.

Next on my discoveries were a delicious Jalapeno chip, not unlike our own President's Choice kettle variety...so no reason to go into much detail. They rated a solid and tasty wang reading of 8 inches. Next were Ruffles Queso (cheese, for my non-Spanish-speaking readers.). They should have been called The Queso-iest, as I have never sampled a chip so cheesy and which actually tasted like real cheese. Obviously, peso equals queso...cause Senor Ruffle (opposed to our North American version, Mr. Ruffle) sure packs one mean wedge of wonder into his underwear. On el wang-o-metro, these dong-inspired bites of deliciousness score a porno-worthy 9 inches. Muchos gracias, Senor!!!

Then there was the entire Sea Salt Chip fiasco. At 3:00 AM one morning, I awoke...a pang of hunger whacking away inside of me like some horny teenager. Not wanting to devour anything too spicy on an empty stomach, I opened a bag of Sea Salt Crisps (of the kettle variety). For a plain chip, they were quite yummy and satisfying...About three quarters of the way through the individually-sized sack, however, my travelling companion awoke and commenced chastising me for the deafening crinkle noises I was making with the bag. I explained how I was sucking the chips to reduce the crunch factor and was about to explain that if the bag was made of a non-crinkle material that most likely chip-oil would seep through...but a mini-dispute ensued, resulting in me tossing the remaining uneaten portion onto the night table in a Dynasty-like huff. Needless to say, I have now been scarred for life where Sea Salt chips are concerned. Tasty as they were, on el wang-o-metro (no matter how many inches), I'm afraid these bedroom buddies rate a Not-Tonight-I-Have-A-Headache.