I moved into a duplex once and found in the pantry a perfectly preserved appearing bag of Lays Potato Chips (crisps to the Britons here) that were 7 years past the expiration date. As an art statement I placed it on display on a bookshelf and kept it dusted. It stayed there three years.
One day Burt came over just as I returned from the gym and sat on the sofa and waited for me to shower and get ready to go Christmassing. While toweling off in the bathroom I hear a crinkling of plastic, and a voice that said, "Gee, these chips are terrible!" I stuck my head out and called out, "Burt!...that bag of chips is a decade old!" He looks at the date on the bag, and then I saw what could best be described as a "stomach contents geyser" erupting in my living room.
In the closest watering hole I acquired the reputation as, "That crazy fuckin' meat-head dude that kept a bag of 10 year old potato chips in a state of spot lit honor on his bookshelves."
