Ben Kissel

Anyways, he was at some event this place was having, and he was in a macaroni-eating competition there.

Now, thank God I was not there to witness said competition, but my then-fiancé and I were there for lunch, and Mr. Nut himself was walking around.

And I stood up to meet him with the rest of my party, and he cut off my then-soon-to-be-future father-in-law to ask me, "'Where'd you get that bag?'

My wife wants one so badly.

Now, I'm not going to lie.

I straight up lied to that man.

I told him I didn't know where I got it.

Knowing full damn well where it came straight from China as it was a knockoff of Goyard Bag.

But do you think I'm going to admit that?

Oh, hell no.

You just did.

Anyways, that's not the fun part.

When I tell you the breath on that man could have killed every single competitor in the Enhanced Games.

Oh, my God.

I couldn't tell you what it looked like, what he said, what I said, what anyone said, because that smell was so powerful and terrible.

Oh, my God.

It's been years, and I can still smell it.

If I think about it for too long, it will ruin macaroni for me, because I'm pretty sure it was from the, like, 10 pounds or something stupid of macaroni that he had just benched.

I can't even describe it.

I dated a wrestler for years, and during wrestling season, when he had to cut weight, he would get awful cotton mouth, and that was bad.