The Frito-Lay Frankenstein Chip Sack!
I know they’re just regular chips in a special package, but come on:
I couldn’t say no to this. A huge sack of snack-sized chip bags, made to look like an enormous Frankenstein head. Given that this monster is capable of fitting six sealed bags of chips in his mouth, I’d estimate his total height at, what, fourteen feet?
Frito-Lay always does something like this for Halloween, and actually, this year, there must be four different sacks available, plus other assortments sold inside spooky cardboard boxes. They’re all pretty nice, but nothing beats a 14’ Frankenstein with Droopy Dog eyes and one upper tooth that’s either gold or just rotted enough to look like it.
The details are phenomenal. From the chrome stitches to the oily hair, it’s inspired and inspiring. Even if snack-sized chip bags are an acceptable form of “Halloween candy,” it’s still rare to choose them over Snickers or individually wrapped Twix. Well, this freaky Frankie has made a believer out of me. When the costumed kids come knocking, I will bless them with Sun Chips and explain to them why.
Kid: SUN CHIPS? Passable, but strange!
Matt: See, they came in a big sack that looked like Frankenstein’s head.
Kid: I completely understand. Here’s ten bucks.
Now I just needed to make a monster out of Doritos and Fritos. You knew I was gonna.
The chips (if I may generalize them that way, with the admission that only some of the snacks are actually chips, so I guess I could just call them “snacks” instead, but eh, I made my bed) were not easy to make art out of. They laugh in the face of glue, and getting them to stick to that white canvas took the sacrifice of three small children. In an ironic twist, I was only able to capture those children because I had Fritos to use as bait.
My materials: The aforementioned Fritos, plus Doritos (regular and Cool Ranch), Sun Chips, Cheetos and Lay’s Potato Chips. And Elmer’s Glue. And a canvas. And a real ability to separate my worlds, as I could name several people who must never learn that I spent Thursday afternoon gluing Cheetos to a canvas.
So began the mission. I had to construct a monster head, using those materials and only those materials. I aimed to come up with something even better than a gold-toothed Frankenstein, and though I fell short of that lofty goal, I am not entirely displeased with the product:
I’ve named him Kerberos, with an assist to this handy list of evil-sounding names, rooted in ancient folklore. That’s also where Kerberos found his middle name, Zlogonje. He’s Kerberos Zlogonje Anderson.
I see Kerberos as the last line of offense. When Hell attacks, they start off with legions of mutant dogs. Then they send in the winged mini-devils, perhaps as a parody of Cupid. Then they send out the mutant dogs again, only this time, they’re bigger. Rinse and repeat for hours, only with progressively more powerful monsters.
Finally, long after all hope had already been lost, Hell rubs salt in our wounds with this guy. Kerberos!
Thousands of feet tall and capable of shattering human bone with a single growl, Kerberos rarely relies on fisticuffs to do us in. At the mere sight of him, humans have heart attacks and die. Then the smaller monsters swoop in to eat their remains. Then Kerberos lifts a leg and pisses all over a church. It’s siiiick.
The three things I like most about Kerberos are represented in the photo above.
#1: His eyes. Each is a Dorito topped by a potato chip topped by a broken bit of a Cheeto. I learned this technique in the third grade, and it’s finally starting to pay off.
#2: His Frito teeth. Monsters with long scars instead of mouths have long been a passion of mine.
#3: His skin. I made it out of squashed Sun Chips. Not only was it a cool effect, but it also gave me the opportunity to destroy Sun Chips with my bare hands. You usually don’t that, because there’s usually no reason to. When I saw my chance, I ran with it. It was every bit as amazing as you could imagine.
Let’s assume that the guy or girl who designed that Frankenstein bag will scour the Internet for any mentions of it. Let’s assume that he or she will someday find this page.
To the mystery artist, I leave you with this:
The key to an old cedar chest containing lots and lots of yarn.
Naw, it’s for my heart.
