Pepper Spray Is My Condiment Of Choice and always has been.  So
here’s a story about how I was a huge idiot. When I was a
teenager the local mall had what can only be described as a “Spy
Shop.” The place was filled floor to ceiling with various
gadgets, grappling hooks, and bullet proof items. All of which I
lusted after with all the manic strength that a suburban sixteen
year old who had never felt a moment’s danger or been in a real
fight could muster.  Visions of my future badassedness swam
continually through my hormone addled brain and I was convinced
that by owning these items I would immediately enter a world of
mystery and danger, and somehow women would find me
irresistible. Women would love me, and men would want to be me…
despite all the pimples and the rock’n acid washed jeans.  The
problem was I had no money. I could not scrape together the
funds to attain my goal of becoming James Bond with a license to
kill. I did however have enough money to purchase the keyring
pepper spray from a very bored