Doritos Roulette: An Open Letter to Doritos

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This bag of chips is a stupid fucking idea because it strongly discriminates against people who are both high and not with friends. Do you know how frustrating it is to want a nice pleasing dorito and instead receive a mouth full of figurative lava? Now imagine that you’re more baked than the cumulative bakedness of a bread factory and then experience the burning pain of an extra spicy dorito. Doritos seemed to jump on that stupid fucking marketing trend of pretending that everyone has friends all the time. Well, Doritos, I may have bought the doritos roulette with the intention of playing that game where one of us would suffer while everyone else stood around taking an unhidden pleasure from said suffering but then I was high at home and hungry and alone.
I ate the whole goddamn bag, which, I guess, Doritos, you may take as a compliment, but I didn’t enjoy it. It was like a spite fuck, where you fuck someone you hate and derive the sickest and most twisted pleasure from the act. I did that with your chips. And just know that I know you derive a just as sick and twisted pleasure from knowing that out here, there are presumably at least dozens of us who made the mistake of buying that bag, and eating it all alone, dwelling in our basements, suffering, suffering in silence.
If you noisily open a bag of meant-to-share-doritos, and nobody is there to call you a loser, are you still a loser? Doritos, this the crisis I have had to face. I can never go back to the days of happily munching on cool ranch, content with my existence, washing it down with the glorious video-game nectar of mountain dew. Now I am aware, aware that a “junk-food”, a term I still detest as stigmatizing, is meant to be shared. Aware that there is a lack in my life that has always been there, but now I am forced to confront it.
I don’t know if you really are aware of the havoc you’ve wreaked upon my life, Doritos, but I hope you have a follow-up chip bag, one that reaffirms my introverted tendencies, and confidence in my ability to survive without the presence of other, attractive human beings at all times. Life isn’t all good-looking people and sunshine and toothpaste-ad-smiles. It’s not all models looking sultrily at each other, while sliding a thin chip between their full lips, the satisfying crunch (kudos on still delivering on your crunch). Sometimes it’s crying after being called unprintable things by 12 year olds who probably jerk off to low quality porn. Sometimes it’s that heavy dark feeling in your gut. But maybe it can also be a sweet and salty dorito that makes everything alright. Redeem yourself, Doritos. Save the soul of us anti-social people who can’t find friends to make witty banter with.

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