Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Wokkels (Euro Snacks pt. II)

Uncle Kris, who was the driver for Mental on their EU tour and one night started crying and saying he 'couldn't take it anymore' out of sheer exhaustion, so Stief went and drove so Kris could sleep in our van, but instead he just played Gameboy and kept all of us up, well he sent me two bags of Wokkels potato chips. He also founded Dead Stop, the best live hardcore band I ever saw, but he has truly topped himself by mailing this package. It is probably the most noble and meaningful thing he, or anyone for that matter, has ever done. Wokkels are my favourite chips in the world, and are only available in Holland, the country that Kris sold out Belgium for. I used to get these at the gas station on road trips, as I often agreed to play shows in Holland just so I could snack on these. We even started practicing in Holland for a while, yes, band practice in a different country, just for Wokkels.

Wokkels are simple. They are curly, and they come in two flavours: salt and paprika. I like simple. I don't need 16 different kinds of fucking chips. I don't need Extra Mild Sweet and Sour Vinegar Cream Ketchup chips. Salt and paprika, motherfucker. Keep it simple. Salt and paprika. Like chocolate and vanilla. Mayo and ketchup. Tits and ass.

I have no idea why Wokkels are so awesome. They just are. It's like the people that made them actually gave a fuck. They actually sat down and wanted to find out what makes chips taste good, and then wanted to know how to make them even better. Research, man. Snack science. Snack scientology. Also, I'm pretty sure they sprinkle crack in the bag and shake it up before they ship them. This shit is addictive. I mean I will wolf my way through any snack like there's no tomorrow, but you should have seen me with these things. I'm shocked I even managed to stop and take pictures. I ate both of these in about ten minutes. Holy fuck, I don't even know why I'm reviewing this. You're never going to eat Wokkels. Fuck you. Eat some Pringles you lousy fuck. Unless you want to start taking life seriously, and befriend some Dutch guy and start smuggling in Wokkels and giving me a cut, don't even talk to me. I'm fucking pissed. I ate these fucking chips like two months ago and just thinking of them now is aggravating me in ways you cannot understand. Unless you were a professional athlete that brought in millions of dollars a week and blew it all on buying opium for your secret harem you kept in your personal batcave (you bought the one they shot the movie in) and in hiring a medical research team to rid your dick of all kinds of fucked up foreign STDs that don't even exist yet except for on your own dick, and then you go and do some ridiculous shit like jumping out of a plane with no parachute and you just pull out a bazooka and you shoot it at the ground just in time for the backfire to slow you down, and you pull out a bottle of jack as you land and start drinking and walking at the same time while behind you an entire cattle farm is going up in flames from the bazooka explosion. You throw a wad of cash at the farmer and tell him to fuck off, because the wad is enough to buy five cattle farms made out of gold and it's just pocket money to you, but he's still pissed and puts a voodoo farmer curse on you. And then you slip on a banana peel and break both of your legs and then you try and break your fall with your hands and you break both your arms and the bottle of jack shatters and the glass goes into your eyeballs and you start screaming "I can't see! I can't see shit!" like Ray Charles and the farmer catches up with you and kicks you in the dick so hard you lose the ability to have an erection, and the board decided they can't pay a limbless blind athlete, and all the sponsors are like, dude, you don't even party anymore, you're cut, you dickless motherfucker. And you're like "dude, I still got a dick, look!" and you flash them and just as you do a cop walks by and you got arrested for indecent exposure and then you go to jail and some huge old fat guy molests you and eats his dinners out of your asshole. If that has never happened to you, then you can't fathom the pains of giving up Wokkels. They're that good.

1 comment:

Kris said...

Paying $12 for sending $3 worth of chips is not the most noble, but the most stupid thing I've ever done.

Fortunately, I saved myself from an act even more ridiculous; sending 2 cans of andalouse sauce (which we Belgians eat with fries and is for a fact, the best sauce in history), 2 bags of stroopwafels and a pot of speculaaspasta (as reviewed some time ago on this blog) to a friend in San Fransisco. That would have been $45 on postage for $10 worth of delicious treats from the old country.

Btw, Spoiler, still waiting for Canadian snacks...

Uncle Kris

Ps: Coming to Boston in August. Let's hang.