Don’t feed your dog Ruffles

I had a dream last night that I was hanging out with Curt Bieker, Andrew Love and Mr. T, just having a few beers and watching some movie some afternoon. (Must have been a while ago because we all look a little older in real life than we did in the dream.)

Mr. T picked up a bag of potato chips and they were just plain, ridged potato chips. He spit one noisily aside with a trademark grimace and said, “What is this? Dog food? Gimme some chips with flavor on them!”

I started clowning him right away, like, “Really, dog food? Like you see you’re out of dog food at your house and you call your wife and you’re like ‘Honey, we’re out of dog food, can you pick up a bag of Ruffles on the way home?'” and just kept going and going, we were all laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe by the time I woke up.

I’m glad he was such a sport about my good-natured ribbing, it would have been weird to wake up with a black eye or something.