Tag Archives: doritos


27 Aug

Have to write something family friendly so I don’t miss a month in archives. Point of pride. Done this over five years and if you look on the bottom right you’ll see not a month missed. In the beginning not a day missed. I’m a god damn institution. Continue reading

Reader Mailbag: Fantasy Island

3 Apr

sw snacks


can you write a thing of all the things you’ve fantasized about doing to/with/on/in/etc me?

or am i not allowed to see that yet

because that’d be entertaining

I mean: I want to fuck you. That’s pretty much it. You know what fucking is like. The dick goes in the hole. Maybe I’ll put your wrists behind your head but I’m not gonna choke you or any of that shit on the first date. My cat will probably come in the sliding door I’ve left open, walk in the room, and meow. We’ll have a little chuckle. The mood will be ruined. I will continue shuffling my flagging erection into you in a workmanlike manner but I won’t be able to cum. I’ll jokingly apologize and get up and get more booze. Give the cat a can of food. Then you’ll stand behind me as I read shit on reddit. We’ll laugh but you’ll be thinking: what the fuck? This guy could have my wet young pussy and he wants to watch Russian dash cam videos? I’ll be thinking: who cares. I fucked her. Check. Now I can not think about it for a while. Also, unlike these World Star Hip Hop fights, the fucking Russians know how to break it up with a left occasionally. Black guys it’s just right right right right right. Continue reading

Old News: R.I.P. Arch West, Inventor of Doritos

9 Apr

Originally posted September 27, 2011.

The last bag of Doritos I ate before the death of Arch West were the best I’ve ever tasted.  We were up in the mountains, me and my fake girlfriend.  Smoggy and hot in the city but up in the Sierras it was cool, clear day, and we stopped at the Native American Cultural Center to check out some artifacts—longbows and shit made from pelts.  It was a welcome relief from a tough week, and the two stoned Mexican guys running the federally funded shack and posing as Native Americans had a cooler of soda and basket of various chips for sale.  We chose original flavor Doritos and a Coke.  The classic American snack.

Something about the mountain air, the rigors of the wilderness; something about the long grueling week– the experience of eating those fucking Doritos was magnified.   I could taste freshly harvested corn pulled from a heartland field in the dawn.  Chilis hand dried in an adobe marketplace by a Toltec woman with hard, withered fingers.  Salt delicately culled from the nurturing bosom of the sea.  These Doritos tasted like life, seriously.

It brought to mind how about every three months for the past several years I’ve thought, apropos of nothing: who is the guy who invented Doritos?  This man will get no Nobel Prize, but what he gave the world brought more joy than virtually anybody.  In retrospect, I might have known that the universe was giving me a chance to truly taste the man’s masterpiece before he passed to the great beyond. Continue reading