We've Stacked Gold in a Can: The Prongles Story*

A totally fictional tale about the invention of a totally fictional chip.

“We need to fix potato chips.” said legendary small-penised man, Frad Bower. But soon he would also be well known as the inventor of everyone’s sixth or seventh favorite chip, Prongles.

At this point in the story, the dream of Prongles is just a gleaming silver hair in Frad’s’ greying moustache. He’s about to share it aloud for the first time. 

In front of Frad, gathered around the table, was a completely white-male dominated board of people. It was the 60’s, so their new-fangled ideas and opinions always seemed to matter the most. And in this Mad Men world, fresh ideas looked and smelled like Prongles: plain, white and boring. 

Frad continued, “broken chips are bad for business. We’ve received complaints from customers that bagged potato chips always leave broken bits in the bottom of the bag. But as we know, this problem is impossible to fix, right?” 

“Yes.” One man at the table of white men replied. It was only one middle aged white man saying this, but it didn’t matter, cause everyone at this corporate snack food table had the same ideas and opinions. So when one said something, it was really all of them saying it. 

“Well sir, I’ve got good news. I’ve developed a solution to ensure no more broken chips at the bottom of the bag. In fact… I’ve developed a solution that requires no bag at all.”

Eager three piece shoulders perked up.

“Chips without a bag? And you call US Mad Men.” One person joked at the table. Everyone laughed cause funny enough, they were all thinking the exact same thing. 

Frad laughed along. His product pitch was going exactly to plan. He continued.

“Well you know how when you open a bag of chips, and all the chips are, how do I say this, individuals? They’re cut from potatoes, which are a natural product, which means they’re problematic by nature. In that, they are nature, and that’s problematic. Nature’s potatoes don’t grow the same uniform size, no matter how much we want them to. So when we cut them up and fry them, you end up with tiny brittle chips that get broken and greasy at the bottom of bags.” 

“Yes I hate that about chips. Some are folded, some big, some small, all different shapes. Like come on?Why can’t they all just be exactly the same?” one, but really all, at the table replied. 

“Well after 2 years of hard work and prototyping, I’ve  invented a new type of chip. I call them Prongles Newfondled Potato Chips.” 

Frad reached under the table and pulled out a red cardboard tube with a moustached man on the front. It had a plastic top, which Frad popped off and threw on the ground.

He sprawled out the curved chips on the table, like a blackjack dealer with a winning hand. Each chip was the same size. The same weight. The same level of saltiness. No more bag of individual chips. But instead, one can of Prongles. 

“They’re beautiful!” one of the board of men exclaimed aloud while the rest were exclaiming it in their heads.

Frad pulled a case out from under the table, and passed the 12 cans to each member of the board. They all popped the silver tops. As they did, Frad uttered the famous line, seemingly out of nowhere, “once you pop, the joy lasts indefinitely.”

One at a time the men around the table said, “that slogan is great. I love it. Marketing.” in slightly different ways.

But it was now time to offer more individual opinions:

“I love how they are all stacked on eachother, and I can’t grab them by the handful, but only one or two at a time. It’s like I’m a robot! I can feel my lust for life slowly dissaptaing with each tiny handful.” one of the board men said.

Frad replied, “Yes, glad you noticed. We used the latest supercomputers to design Prongles into hyperbolic paraboloids, so they can stack easily and forever on top of eachother. Unlike the archaic shape free-for-all in our competitors’ bags.” replied Frad.

“I love how now that I’m halfway down the can, I can’t really reach the chips anymore, it’s like a little brain puzzle, on top of a snack. I think my fat greedy hand is stuck!” another different man, but really the same board man said. 

Frad replied, “Of course, I thought it made the most sense to just make sure the chips didn’t break and tried not to think about how a human being would actually access them. At one point I did think, these cans are way too narrow for most adult wrists, but then I thought, if we make the cans too big, the chips will break, and then they’ll just be like all those other inferior chips. These are Prongles goddamnit.” 

One at a time each man of the board said, “these are Prongles goddmamn it!” 

“Speaking of which, how did you get all these chips to look and taste exactly the same… I like that there’s something creepy and off about them - like they’re a chip but also not. Like it’s obviously made with potato but it could almost be anything?”

“Well technically speaking, they are crackers. They are made from potato flour, shaped into molds, and then fried. Nature doesn’t have to get in the way anymore! No more worrying about Mother Nature’s imperfect potatoes. Like my daddy always said, ‘Everything is better when blended together in a fine powder, mixed with a bunch of other additives, fried, and stacked together in one plain indistinguishable hunk.’ ” 

“We’re still going to call them chips right? These were supposed to be chips.”

“Yah sure, we’ll see if the FDA ever gets us to change the name, but in that case we’ll just call them crisps, because that’s what they call them in England and it will be close enough.” Frad was quick to respond, he had an answer for everything. 

“But what if the London High Court makes us change the name from crisps?” 

“We’ll cross that London Bridge when we get to it.”

A hearty bout of laughter from the white men revelling this other white man’s wit. They knew they’d have millions of dollars soon enough and could toss money at any court cases that came their way. 

“Well Frad, if I could speak for the table” one man of the white homogeny said, “I think you’ve stacked gold in a can here. Just what the world needs, more uniformity, predictability and simplicity. I love the focus on preserving the product over making it a, easy-to-eat or delicious food. A tall and skinny can is such practical food delivery vehicle. I couldn’t get my hand into the bottom of the can, so these last few chips are dead to me. But I don’t even care because I’ve already ate 15 chips just like them and I’m bored of these now. What a novelty! What fun!”

“Right?” 

And there it started. The legacy of Prongles. Boring chips. Packaging highly practical for shipping and highly impractical for enjoying. They all would make many billions of dollars with this idea over the decades to come.

Frad was so proud of his invention and accomplishment, he had his family cremate him and burry him in a Prongles can. 

He’d rest peacefully knowing the only way someone could get him entirely out of that can was to do so in very small broken fingerfulls, or by puring out the contents on the table like an animal. 

Did it matter that this revolution in chips, wasn’t technically a chip? No. Did it matter that most people ended up breaking the last few chips into a greasy mess as they tried to pry them out of a too small can? No. Was broken chips ever really a legitimate customer concern that prevented people from buying chips? No. Did Prongles fix it? Yes.

At the end of the day, there’s always money in taking problems that don’t exist and inventing a solution for them. No matter how impractical. This is Capitalism goddamnit. 

*This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this story are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.