Michael F. Nuñez

Ferrero Rocher makes little balls of crack.  Please, eat responsibly.

It starts with a nonchalant decision: after a hard day of work or maybe an unpleasant morning, it could be any day, at anytime, but for some strange reason, you’ll wander into a convenience store with no purpose in mind.

Who’s supposed to worry about that, though?

“This is why streets are ridden with these places anyway,” you’ll think.  Besides, you’ve earned it.  “Go buy something nice for yourself.”

So, you head into the convenience store…
“No… Fuck chips.”

“Hrmm… I’m not that thirsty.”

“Preserved sandwiches??? …. they can’t be serious.”

“Lollipop?  Lolli-shit!  Chupa Chuv it up your ass, Seven Eleven.  I’m in need of something exquisite.”

Then, you stumble into the perfect aisle…
“Mmmm… chocolate.”

You’ll browse through the goodies, only to realize that there are 15 shitty candy bars for every decent treat.

“Twix, Hershey, Crunch?  … that just won’t do the trick today.”

“Oh! Cadbury! Hell yeah. Oh, fuck…I’m in China. “

Then it all comes together in a flash…
Ferrero Rocher.  That sounds absolutely perfect.

So you buy the candy, and bust out of the store, leaving with the chocolates.  You open the clear packaging and unravel golden wrapper.  A hard chocolate shell and crunchy wafer protects the gooey Nutella inside where a hazelnut is nestled.  You toss the morsel into your mouth, and take your taste buds on a journey through time and space.  The experience is one that could never be told through words. Regardless, just know that you will be back for more.

“Oh my god that shit was good.  What the hell did I just eat?” you’ll ask.

….Apparently, the internet knows.  Here’s a dissected FR:

My theory is that it starts with a more fine material, though.

Why? Because I can’t stop poppin’ into 7/11s to grab a bag of these little f’king candies.  They’re so damn good.  The more I eat, the more I fiend for the next batch.

My name is Mike, and I’m addicted to Ferrero Rocher.  Days sober = negative 50.