When the human reached in for a "Prime Chip," their fingers met only the dry, unyielding surface of a Pretzel. Then another. And another.
"The humans reach for me because I have soul," a Rye Chip would boast. "You lot are just fillers." check mix.txt
One Tuesday, according to the logs in check_mix.txt , the Pretzels decided they had had enough. When the human reached in for a "Prime