You know a snack has issues when the most famous part of it isn’t the crunch but the crime scene it leaves on your fingers. Doritos didn’t just invent cheese dust, they invented nuclear cheese dust. This stuff glows in the dark like it was engineered in Area 51 by a bored scientist with a bag of cheddar and a highlighter. No one has ever seen cheese this color in the wild, yet Doritos proudly sprinkles it on chips like culinary fairy dust from Chernobyl.
The obsession runs deep. Every flavor, no matter how random, gets coated in that suspicious neon powder. Cool Ranch? Still glowing. Spicy Nacho? Basically lava. Even the Roulette bag? Congratulations, your tongue is now a glow stick. If the government ever needs to track snack consumption in America, they could just use Doritos dust like fluorescent ink.
And let’s be real, the dust is the whole experience. Nobody brags about eating Doritos without showing their orange fingertips like a badge of honor. It’s less a snack and more a mark of membership in a messy fluorescent club. You don’t eat Doritos, Doritos eats you, slowly staining every keyboard, controller, and pair of jeans you thought you loved.
The wildest part? We’re addicted to it. Americans see this radioactive cheese powder and say “mmm, flavor.” We willingly eat chips that could double as road flare material. Doritos could sell the dust by itself in shaker bottles and people would sprinkle it on salads like gourmet parmesan.
So here’s to you, Doritos, the snack that turned neon cheese fallout into a national treasure. May your fluorescent fingerprints keep branding us all as willing participants in the cheesiest science experiment on Earth.
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