I rolled into the BertFlex offices this morning jonesing for something -- a fistfight, a 40, salty snacks -- to take my mind off last night's 15-inning marathon of all-star suckitude. The Good Face was just cocking around as per usual, so I sent him to QT for sugar-free Red Bull and pineapple Now and Laters. Like the fuck-up he is, he comes back with Rap Snacks instead.
You play with my money, you play with my emotions, TGF. Turns out, though: If Southern Crunk Barbecue chips don't make it better, it's not broke.