Today I walked into a grocery store, wound my way to the produce section, took this picture, and, to the confusion of the worker building pyramids of red bell peppers, turned right back around and left. I managed not to purchase a potato during this trip. But I will soon enough. We all will. The Russet demands we consume.
Stacked upon dozens and dozens of nameless clones, the Russet peers through your soul. It knows your deepest desires – chips, fries, loaded baked potatoes. From Idaho to Ireland, the Russet is an international entity, overshadowing all who would challenge its rule. The Russet knows all. The Russet sees all. The Russet is always there waiting, outlasting any would be health craze or starch challenger. The Russet crushes all opposition, forever trudging forward in its steady march of spud superiority.
There is no choice but to embrace the Russet. No one human can rise above the potato empire. We are all caught in the endless turning wheel of the Russet. We will buy. We will eat. We will rinse and repeat. This post was inevitable. The Russet is inevitable. Our consumption is already a foregone conclusion.
When the sands of time drop their last grain through the hourglass, when humanity has been washed in fires of wind and dust, the Russet will still be there. Waiting.