/lit/ - Literature

\/ \/ You guys are going to laugh at this \/ \/

Cips, crunch of my life, fire of my loins. My tongue, my tastebuds. Ch-ips: the tip of the tongue taking a chip of great flavour down the palate to tap, at three, with the teeth. Ch. Ip. S. She was Ch, plain Ch, in the morning, standing --skip this part-----. She was chips in dip.. She was crinkle-cut at school. She was Walkers on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Frito-Lay. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Chips at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial chocolate-pretzel. In a candy story by the sea. Oh when? About as many bits before was chips as my age was that dip. You can always count on a chef for a fancy chip dip . Ladies and gentlemen of the kitchen, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, hungry, gluttonous seraphs, envied. Look at this bent chip

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