Description
I’ve got the smoky taste of road trips, the sting of a rusty blade, and the scent of a barbecue gone wrong.
A meat stick? Nah. A stick of rebellion.
I’m living proof that pain can taste divine — and garlic is a weapon of mass seduction (or destruction, depending on who you kiss next).
Rip that pouch open. Bite into legend.
You’ll soon understand why I’m hidden between two bottles of apocalyptic hot sauce.
I’m the Garlic Reaper, the stick of judgment. And you? You signed up to burn — loaded with Carolina Reaper heat and raw garlic rage.
I’m your Sunday snack. Come see if you can handle me.
P.S. Sold without the presentation knife!
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