A Girlyskirt Chip Review

After the last BBQ chip disaster, which I have officially dubbed Korea-gate, I decided to venture into hotter territory. And, what could possibly be hotter than Hell, I asked myself. So, naturally, Devil's BBQ, a flavour named after its chief resident, would have to be burning with the flickering flames of Damien-like evilness. Immediately, upon acquisition, I tore open the packaging and received a walloping whiff of Lucifer's loins, penetrating my nostrils with a savoury Satanic scent, thrusting deep into the bowels of my sinuses with a demonic dementia that dared to defile me of my innocence with its indulgent insurgence of inferno-esque intensity. Could this finally be the BBQ baddie that blows my skirt up over my scrotum and sends me into a blazing state of in flagrante delicto? With bated breath and bulging basket, I brazenly bit into the Beelzebub-based potato crunchers and my first reaction was to blurt out with unbridled bravado, "Ehh, they're OK." The thick tater snacks were definitely tasty and tangy and worthy of a repeat purchase. However, the Devil's barbecue ended up being more of a hibachi. Sure, they had a hint of Hades to them, but nowhere near the scorching hellzapoppin-ness that I was a-hopin' and a-hoppin' for. Once again, my dreams of Fahrenheit 451 had fizzled into a Celsius 27. What I thought might be my new BFF with benefits turned out to be nothing more than a very pleasant booty call, that I would not hesitate to dial long-distance for on some future occasion. In short, on the wang-o-meter, the devil's dong was delicious enough to keep putting back into my mouth, but not hot enough to require a mango lassi afterwards.

And while on the subject, my latest puzzle: