Baked Potato is pretty damn brave. It takes a lot to put yourself out there, to show your guts to the world. Baked Potato doesn’t think twice about it. Baked Potato only knows how to live one way. And that way is open. Way open.
Now you might look at Baked Potato and have the urge to yell, “HEY, PUT ON SOME DAMN PANTS YOU CRAZY POTATO! THERE’S KIDS IN THAT PARK!” But Baked Potato wouldn’t listen if you did. Baked Potato is too busy soaking up heat rays. Baked Potato doesn’t worry about anything. Look at the size of that take-out box Baked Potato is in. THAT’S WAY TOO BIG OF A BOX FOR ONE POTATO. Baked Potato doesn’t give a fuck.
Maybe it’s because Baked Potato doesn’t feel. Maybe it’s because Baked Potato is the most chill of all the potatoes. Maybe it’s because Baked Potato was born a Russet, raised in a culture of dominance and privilege. Whatever the reason, Baked Potato doesn’t care who sees Baked Potato. Baked Potato just does what Baked Potato does, staying open, honest, exposed to the whole world. No butter. No sour cream. No chives. Baked Potato doesn’t need coverings. Baked Potato doesn’t hide from anyone.
What if we were all as open as Baked Potato? What if we all just hung it out there all the time? Imagine a carefree world run under the governance of Baked Potato. Sure, lots things might not get done. But why do things ever get done to begin with? Baked Potato doesn’t know the answer to that. And Baked Potato doesn’t care.