cybergeisha

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I swear, I am not even making this up. RAP SNACKS. My friend Amber had these sitting on her coffee table a while ago when I went to visit, and I couldn’t stop staring and eventually had to take a photo. They’re “honey BBQ” flavor. But… RAP SNACKS? Are they snacks for eating whilst one listens to rap? Or snacks for those who rap? Maybe both. Maybe neither! How mysterious…

I didn’t eat any. I didn’t even know what they WERE. Were they pork rinds? Were they crisps? What exactly WAS a “rap snack?” And, if I had eaten one, would I have suddenly gained the ability to spit mad rhymes and freestyle wicked hardcore? Or perhaps my “bling” quotient would have dramatically increased, causing all the honeys to come to me like moths to a light bulb. The possibilities were truly endless, the powers beyond imagination, with which I may have been endowed by partaking of the Rap Snacks, but I chose not to. The risk was too great, the power too frightening. I couldn’t risk the possibly deadly consequences of the Rap Snacks.

See, on the other hand, maybe eating a “rap snack” would have given me mad street cred, putting me directly in the middle of a gang war. Or a East Coast West Coast rivalry. Or something.

I’m not sure. But there they were. Rap snacks.