Every old dude rocks their own brand of crazy. Making shit up, saying offensive things, and most of all, requesting to get buried in odd places. If all goes well, 50 years from now I'll be telling my kids about how I was the commissioner of the NBA AND the NFL, how much I hated short people, and requesting to be buried in a double cheeseburger wrapper off the dollar menu.
A pretty expected ending, if you ask me. Also, how are Pringles still in business? Didn't those "once you pop, the fun won't stop ads" end in like 1994? The drunk college/drunk young professional crowd could only buy so many $1.29 Pringle-mini packs. I know I've definitely supported the company with my consistent late night shitfaced menu of: 3 liter Poland Spring, 2 double-packs of White-Castle Cheeseburgers, and 1 can of BBQ Pringles. Called that shit the "3, 2, 1 Throw Up Combo." No I didn't, but that's definitely what I should have named it.
No shame in yo' game old dude. I can't knock you from my double-cheeseburger-wrapper ivory tower.
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