The Pringles Man is a bastard hellspawn of arrogance and avarice. More fiendish than the cowardly cunning Nesquik Rabbit, and completely aversed to the divine generosity of The Quaker Oats Man, The Pringles Man is one of the most deadly inhabitants of the Spectral Realm, and, by far, the most dastardly member of PilotRedSun’s Advertiser Demons Trinity. Behind the thick, mangled showman’s mustache, the gnarled fangs of The Pringles Man betray his insatiable lust for blind consumer slavery on the altar of his fearsome prepackaged chip-like product. The insidious, oozing brain that festers and schemes inside the rotting, corporatistic skull of The Pringles Man contemplates the malevolent nature of just one thing: the swift and merciless expansion of his grand empire of crunchy crisps encased inside of erect cylindrical containers. Upon his terrible steed of foul-smelling yeast and faminous carbohydrates, The Pringles Man sleeplessly traverses the squalid wastelands of the Spectral Realm, spreading his hideous snacktime gospel to unconverted, unsuspecting denizens by the millions. His extravagent, blasphemous sermons astound and awe the drunken fools who seek salvation through mindless penance and monetary indulgence; and fool not the wary men who see-est true the materialistic constitution of his predatory, timeworn charade with contemptous dour. But let he who knows the malicious word of the awful entrepreneur not make it known that he does; for should The Pringles Man catch wind of such a doubter, he shall use the fearsome power of his terrifying exclusive cuisine to condemn his lonely, unguarded soul to a salt-sprinkled death beyond rest, and a soul-destroying fate beyond words. Such The Pringles Man shall also bestow upon his followers whose loyalty should e’er be swayed by another brand of chip beyond the domain of his leisurely control. To admit disbelief in the scarlet conflagrations of The Pringles Man is death; to attempt to assuage the unholy grasp of The Pringles Man’s power over thy soul is death; and thus, to be even truly be thine own self in the evil prescence of The Pringles Man is death. It has been said that The Pringles Man fears only one thing: The Quaker Oats Man, who is the wheaty salvation of the Coming Morning, and who was long ago banished to a secret recess of the Spectral Realm, never to be seen again, and awaiting the day of that glorious Morning, where he shall rise early to meet the wicked eye of The Pringles Man, and slay him for all the Spectral Realm to see. It is the mission of The Pringles Man and his fearful slave worshippers to find and destroy the sacred golden haven of The Quaker Oats Man, and claim the vitamin-enriched souls of all who know him to be their holy savior. Should you ever find yourself somehow trapped in the dreaded, unstable expanses of the dark and malignant Spectral Realm, make haste for cover; for the revolting armies and the wrathful eyes of The Pringles Man are always on the prowl. And should ye ever be so unlucky as to find thyself staring into those black, spiteful windows of his vile and horrible soul, you’d only do well to accept his ultimatum of eternal slavery at the crunching heel of his mighty Pringles empire. For to deny his tyranny at that point is a purchase which you will undoubtedly regret.