I dare you to find a harder Turn up than this $hit here! First time I heard it on the way to a tailgate, I cracked my forehead on the car window, and I ain’t even know why! “YOU WANTED TO!” No I didn’t, Ghost of The Turnt-down Turnips! I’m not even into that screamin, double-drum sound, but this joint is THE ULTIMATE TURN UP, and best alarm clock possible! (nevermind the super dark messaging in the lyrics and background).
It’s best to interview the kids right away, while the incident is still fresh. The longer you wait, the more wild their stories grow. A couple minutes into my questioning and I realize I’m too late as it is. The grip of imagination has clasped around the kid’s tiny mind. He starts spouting off nonsense about a huge monster, an abomination with claws and teeth and four eyes.
His babble isn’t entirely worthless. If whatever deprived potato that did the Russet in was large enough to come off as a monster to the kid, then that eliminates a large section of the potato populace. No sense in chasing after Fingerlings or Petites. I’m looking for something big. Bigger than the Russet at the very least.
I let the kid finish off his horror story. It’ll do him some good just to speak about it. That’s the problem with seeing sick shit like this. It’ll stay with him the rest of his life. He’s as much a victim here as the Russet was, caught up in some scumbag’s storming wrath, winds that’ll rip through his mind well into later age. It’s hard enough growing up in a place like this with a name like Peewee, add seeing a man slaughtered in the street, and this kid hardly has a chance. Hell, in a few years this might be an interrogation, not a witness statement. Life’s a cruel bitch that way.
I thank the kid for his time. I pause before I leave him, wishing I had some advice for him, some soothing saying. But I don’t. So I say nothing. I nod as I walk away, leaving the kid to deal with Potato Protective Services. They’re stretched thin, but at least they care. I head for the next witness, a potato named Red. Fully grown, hopefully he can shed a little more light on our shadowy monster…
Not gonna lie, this interview format is kinda fresh. Madonna took to her webcam with nothing but a bottle of wine, cheese pizza, and a drastic shortage of phucks to give.
“Yes, I’d like to collaborate with Barack Obama“, on who she’d like to collaborate with (in music? O_o).
As if that wasn’t bad enough, material girl took more questions from her young (?) fans, and snapped open an umbrella of the coldest shade upon Drizzy Drake Rogers. With the presumable pinot pourin, as if to say “fuck it, I’m On One!”… When asked “what advice would you give to your younger self, knowing what you know now?” The Rebel Heart bled:
aaand the closest Swagga to the timeless Kanye Shrug goes to:
I’m going on vacation this week, leaving our fledgling blog in Siya’s hands, but I’m not worried about it. I think.
Well my long overdue vacation that I definitely should have learned more German for finally starts tomorrow. Long overdue? Yeah. I mean… I work hard. Sometimes. Don’t look at me that way. You don’t know! Oh sure, I don’t ever type a single word for Morning Commutes, but that’s just me letting art speak for itself. Or whatever. [Insert other argument about my productivity here.] (Shit, I should have gone back and edited this. It looks pretty damn lazy when you leave liner notes in the middle of a paragraph.) Okay yeah, perhaps I’m resting on the laurels of a little more than 100 posts. BUT I STILL EARNED THIS, DAMNIT! I HAVE A JOB OUTSIDE OF BLOGGING WHERE I FART SOMETIMES. Are we done with the link dumping yet? Nope! Fuck, it’s exhausting to write like Siya. Continue reading Ben’s Diary: I’m Going On Vacation And Leaving Siya In Charge Of Our Fledgling Blog But I’m Not Worried About It. I Think.