A few Saturdays ago I was in the mood to hate (we’ve all been there).  So I cruised the old Ford Taurus down to the local Wal-Mart Supercenter, or as I like to call it, The Mobility Scooter Grand Prix, and had myself a little hate-wander to blow off some negative energy.

Screamin' Dill Pickle Pringles

And what is there not to hate at the Wal-Mart Supercenter?  Parentless children exploding out of clothing spinners and into the backs of my knees?  Employees that may or may not be human?  Ironically named express checkout lines?  Shoppers who haven’t yet discovered the concept that aisles are for walking and not  for sagging listlessly over the handlebars of their NASCAR-apparel filled carts?  So much hatey goodness!

As I wandered, passing silent judgment and cracking snarky one-liners in my head, I found myself in one of the forty-seven snack aisles.  And there sitting forlornly: one lonely can of Screamin’ Dill Pickle Pringles.  This seemed like a product I could hate.

Screamin' Dill Pickle Pringles

Now, I thought we had happily left the Xtreme movement behind us, but apparently not everyone got the memo.  Maybe Pringles is hoping to lead the Xtreme Renaissance, what with their flashy colors, in your face fontlery, and g-dropping product naming.

First off, while fun to say, I do not understand the name: Screamin’ Dill Pickle Pringles.  I have eaten sour foods that have made me pucker or cringe or even shudder, but never once scream.  The can indicates the level of sour by providing us with the academically accepted Rosenblatt Sour Scale developed at MIT’s Sour Particle Xtreme Supercollider.

Screamin' Dill Pickle Pringles

Screamin’ Dill Pickle Pringles only earn one green sour splat.  And while certainly more puckering than the single, or double, green sour teardrops, they don’t quite reach the Xtreme Sourocity denoted by the anthropomorphic, slightly effeminate, large green sour splat (I know I don’t need to tell you about the scale.   We all remember learning this in middle school science.)

Even on a good day, Pringles are mediocre at best.  Usually, I prefer an actual potato chip instead of a potato-paste hyperbolic paraboloid.  However, I will occasionally find myself in a situation where a can of Pringles provides an easier method of funneling empty calories into my gaping maw.  Usually this occurs in a vehicle or commute situation of some kind.  I was going in with low expectations.

When I opened the can, I was physically repulsed.  I inhaled the screamin’ pickle bouquet and my eyes started to water, the smell was so pungent.  Luckily, the chips weren’t as strong as the initial odor suggested.  They do pack a lot of pickle flavor and they are sour, but not xtremely so.  The initial strength of the pickle flavoring fades into the crisp after a few chews, which is what makes them tolerable.

Screamin' Dill Pickle Pringles

I don’t know if I hated them, but Screamin’ Dill Pickle Pringles are pretty terrible.   I couldn’t imagine eating more than a few at a time.  Why would you?  How many dill pickles can a person eat in one sitting?  A spear or two?  Three?

I can’t say I’ll ever eat them again (I’m only about an inch into the can). But I’m sure there are plenty of people who are enjoying a can at this very moment.  I mean, burnt out skateboarders and white girls with dreadlocks have to eat too, right?

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