Potato Of The Day Episode 53

greenappleMaybe it’s because I’ve got Apple on the brain, or maybe it’s just because I’m in a pissy mood today and wanted to talk to someone as bitter as I am, I really don’t know. But regardless the reasoning, I hung out with my old friend Green Apple this afternoon. And dude, let me tell you, that is one cranky, tart bastard. I knew there was a reason we hadn’t hung out in a while, but I couldn’t quite remember why, the fog of time had drifted in, unsettling my reserve of dedicated memory space to my time spent with Green Apple. I wish had taken more gingko or played more of those cardboard matching games as a child, because I really could have used those memories. I really could have used a warning.

Chilling with Green Apple always starts off innocently enough. You think to yourself, oh he can’t be so bad, he’s an apple. After all, apples are sweet, delicious creatures, grown for their juice and their ability to ward off roaming packs of feral doctors (everyone knows it only takes one apple a day to keep your home safe from rabid rheumatologists). But those apples you’re picturing in your head, the ones that keep juice boxes plump, the ones that keep children satiated during snack time, the ones that vaporize intruder immunologists like the sun turning vampires to dust, those are all RED apples. They’re sure as shit not Green Apple. Green Apple ain’t here to play. He’s here to make trouble, snort cocaine, and hump bitches (definitely his words, not mine). And he’s all out of bitches and blow.

In a span of sixteen minutes, give or take an imaginary amount of enough time to make this parable of personification remotely plausible, Green Apple unleashed a horror show on everyone around us. I watched him tie a woman’s stiletto shoelaces together (I know stilettos don’t have shoe laces, but imagine if they DID), replace an old man’s glasses with two empty toilet paper rolls taped together, and trek through a freshly carpeted house wearing nothing but blood-soaked slaughterhouse boots. But that’s not even the worst. Nope. I watched that deviant sourpuss put a lit cigar in an infant child’s birthday cake like a candle, set a up a blowing box fan across the table from the child, gather the child’s family to stand around the child singing “Happy Birthday”, and proceed to tell the poor kid to blow out his candle, the result a billowing cloud of cigar smoke sent blowing back into the baby’s face via box fan.

Yup, dude is a straight up jerk. Don’t hang out with Green Apple.

Potato Of The Day Episode 42

applebiteI have an apple on my desk.  I can’t recall how many bites of this apple I’ve had. Does this apple look 20% bitten or 80% unbitten?

Hmm…  I don’t really know. It seems like an awfully stupid question to be asking regardless. Why judge the apple by what’s there or what’s not there?  Shouldn’t you, meaning I, estimate taste not heft? Shouldn’t you, meaning I, judge the apple by how it has been or by how it will be? Shouldn’t you, meaning I, ask whether the missing 20% of that apple was more or less delicious than the next 80% will be more or less delicious?

Frankly both of you, meaning I, are, meaning am, missing the point here. Neither the state of the apple’s matter composition nor the apple’s taste profile matter in regards to estimating the quality or lack of quality of that apple. You, meaning I, shouldn’t be asking how much. You, meaning I, should ask whom. As in, to whom was the missing chunk distributed? The question you, meaning I, should ask is whether or not the first 20% percent of that apple was consumed in the same matter, and by the same being, as the last 80% will be consumed in and by, or will the last 80% be consumed in and by different means from which the first 20% was consumed in and by?

The lot of you, meaning I, are, meaning is, missing the point entirely. There’s no sense in charting the past, present, or future of the apple that currently exists. The apple that exists is insignificant because it, like us all, meaning like I, will soon cease its presence on this plane of existence. Surely the absence of matter, the missing, the void, the nothingness, surely that negative space tells us more about the apple’s entirety than the physical observations we, meaning you, meaning I, could make in the world we, meaning you, meaning I, already inhabit. So we, meaning you, meaning I, must ask, where the does the 20% of the apple that no longer exists on this plane of existence now exist, and will the remaining 80% be destined for the same plane of existence as its theoretical counterpart?

Fuck everything about this post. I ate the rest of the apple. It didn’t matter.  

Potato Of The Day Episode 36

potatoappleOh what’s that, Mr. Attention To Detail? You don’t think a Honeycrisp apple is even remotely close to being a potato? You think I’m up to something? You’re wondering how I’m going to rewrite that apple’s existence, remolding it back into a starch shape? You’re wondering why I didn’t just grab a quick pic of a Fingerling, or a purple potato, or any of the other varieties of potatoes that I haven’t used yet? You’re wondering where this is all going? Well, Mr. Attention To Detail, can I talk? No, seriously. Is it my turn to talk now? Good.

I’m off potatoes right now. But I’m not off Potato Of The Day. I just need a break. This isn’t like that time I broke up with Sweet Potato, or that time I took drugs, or that time I was just dumb. It’s none of that. It’s just… well… have YOU ever written 35 articles about potatoes? No, probably not. Unless you’re Luther Burbank. Which, if that’s the case, what the fuck are you doing reading this, man? You’re dead. Go hang out with Tupac and do dead guy shit. You’re way too highbrow for this blog. Like maybe one person reading this even knew who you were pre-Wikipedia click. That includes me. Here’s a thing I just learned about Luther – even he liked a little variety. He might have a potato NAMED AFTER HIM (*swoon*, am I right?), but the dude’s fruit and veggie game was top shelf. There’s a lesson in there. That’s why I took a pic of this apple.

You know the nice thing about apples? You don’t have to cook them. You can straight up raw-dog that shit with your mouth. But, wait! If you’re feeling feisty… YOU CAN ALSO COOK THEM. Best of both worlds. Have you ever eaten a raw potato? I have. But I’m a weird dude. Normal dudes (that’s a non-gender specific usage there) don’t eat raw potatoes. One time I ate a raw French fry. It was gross. I don’t regret it. But it was gross. That’s not a sample size issue either. I know because I lied when I said one time I ate a raw French fry. I’ve eaten lots of raw French fries. Again, weird dude. I’d say all of the raw French fries I’ve eaten were terrible. I’d say only a small fraction of the raw apples I’ve eaten were terrible. That’s food for thought. (Siya, that pun was for you. I feel dirty now.)