Potato Of The Day Episode 100

Potato of the Day Episode 1Remember this? Probably not. It’s been a long time. A real long time. That was the FIRST Potato Of The Day. That’s where this nonsense all started. A Snapchat of a Red Idaho Potato just straight chillin’. Remember it now? Remember how I promised that potato wouldn’t go all Drake on us? Remember how I said it’d stay zero forever? Remember that? Well that potato stayed at zero. But you and me? WE MADE TO ONE HUNDRED FUCKING POTATOES. ONE HUNDRED. THAT’S TRIP-DIGITS MOTHAFUCKAS! Give yourself a round of applause. Now point that sound at me. Dude, come on! I’ve earned it.

I know broke some promises along the way. I lied to you a lot. I told you this was POTATO Of The Day, then I threw a bunch of not-potatoes at you. I wrote some fiction. I wrote some gibberish. Hell, I took a stab at haiku. I’d link to those things, but this is the 100th Potato Of The Day. I don’t have to do shit on this on. You can use the search bar for yourself. I also lied about this not going all Drake on our ass. BECAUSE WE WENT 0-100, didn’t we? Nope! Got you! THAT was a lie. We went 1-100. There was never a Potato Of The Day Episode 0, ya dummy.

That very first Potato Of The Day was barely 100 words. Now these things stretch. On Tuesday, I went over 650 words. That’s too many words for a potato. Potatoes can’t read. But you, you CAN read. And for that, I thank you. Thank you for the likes, the shares, the clicks. Thank you for help making these random bursts of insanity worthwhile. Thank you for reading. Not all of them have been great, but it’s great to have you there for all of them.


But thanks. For real. And thank you, Red Idaho Potato. You’re still a goddamned inspiration to us all.

Potato Of The Day Episode 99

kohlrabi99 heads of kohlrabi on the wall, 99 heads of kohlrabi. Take one down, pass it around, what the fuck is kohlrabi, ya’ll?

That’s kohlrabi, man. That’s it. It’s a root vegetable. It’s actually quite delicious. I have nothing profound or witty to off you in regards to kohlrabi. I could tell you it’s a little starchy with a nice watery finish. I could tell you I like to eat it raw with the slices lightly salted. I could tell you it’s often recommended as a filler vegetable for soups. But I couldn’t tell you a tangentially related, humorous anecdote about kohlrabi. Nope, I couldn’t do that. OR COULD I?

Still nope. See that was a little thing called a transitional sentence setup. It built up all this anticipatory desire in you to read on, but when you did, you found that nothing had really changed. That’s pretty damn anti-climactic, isn’t it? I thought so, too. Which is why TWISTING THE PLOT, BRO. Sorry, I did it again. I’m a habitual liar. I can’t help myself sometimes. Like when I see sliced kohlrabi and a shaker of sea salt sitting on the counter. Boom, sudden kohlrabi anecdote. I lied AGAIN! Believe me, I’m as disappointed in this post as you are.

OR AM I? Wait, that sentence needed to go up at the end of the last paragraph! Damn. I’d edit it, but it’s too late. This is all stream of conscious, first person P.O.V. narrative. This is just my experiences. Oh dude! I just remembered how I used to mispronounce kohlrabi so it sounded like I was saying “Cholera-be”. That wouldn’t be very enticing to eat. Cholera. That’s a disease that makes you spray a dangerous amount of liquid shit out your ass. That’s the direct opposite of kohlrabi, which is high in fiber content, making you shit a normal amount of solidified shit. This post just got gross. I’m sorry about that. OR AM I?

Nailed it. Nailed this post so hard. Just like I nailed up a picture of kohlrabi with outdated, left-justified paragraph nails. Only we don’t use nails on the internet. We use <HTML> and other web languages. Web programmers are just futuristic construction workers, man. What’s that got to do with kohlrabi, you ask? Nothing. It has nothing to do with kohlrabi But you already knew that. OR DID YOU?

Stop reading this post and eat some kohlrabi. It’s pretty good.

Potato Of The Day Episode 87

rubyredpearYOU GUYS I FOUND IT! I finally found it! You know, it! The magical object that will set me free, returning me home, away from this endless dream of fruits, vegetables, and starches – oh my! It’s right here, finally, after eluding me for, what, 87 days (well more if we include weekends, holidays, and those inevitable days where I forget I’m supposed to blog). A truly long journey to be sure. But I’ve done it! I’ve located my magical vessel, my enchanted crux, my spiritual key. It’s not shoes, sure. But it is a pear! A beautiful, plump ruby pear! Right there waiting, waiting to take me home!

It was a long yellow road, built by corn kernel brick after corn kernel brick. But I’ve made it, past the deep dark forest of celery and cilantro, sneaking by the flying edamames, defeating the Wicked Kiwano of the West, peeling back to curtain to reveal the lime controlling it all. Those were the fiercest of the trials and tribulations. But there was good in this journey, too wasn’t there? New friends made along the way. A strawberry without a brain! A tomatillo lacking heart! A cowardly lemon unable to muster the courage (the courage to stop telling jokes)! And who could forget my trusty pet, Potato? They were all there, and it was so very grand! But it had to end, didn’t it? All journeys do!

And this one ends in joy, because I’ve finally found that piece of inspiration that will send these dreamed walls, those four edges of the screen, crumbling down! Because that’s all that was missing all along, wasn’t it? Inspiration. The inspiration to be free, to break away from the bane of normalcy, to find something worth imagining about, the unimaginable in the tangible. That’s what we’ve done! You, me, all the readers, all the fruits, all the vegetables, all the potatoes around the world! We’ve done it. And all I have to do is buy this ruby red pear, take a bite, and this all comes to a sudden, but wonderful and joyous end. There’s no food like home.

Annnnd… I’ve forgot my wallet. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. I’m too close! Please, man, just let me have for free! Please. PLEASE. Oh come on, the capitalist system isn’t worth it, dude. I don’t care about your family you have to feed. Feed them pears! SHIT. FINE. WHATEVER MAN, SCREW YOU. I’M JUST GOING TO JUST TAKE A GODDAMNED PICTURE AND KEEP ON WRITING ABOUT PISSANT PIECES OF PRODUCE AGAIN THEN. FUCKIN’ A, MAN. FUCKIN’ A.

Potato Of The Day Episode 67

thatonedudewiththebeetThis beet reminds me of this dude I used to know, but I’m having a hard time remembering his name. I know it started with like a vowel or a consonant though. God, what was it? We totally went to middle school or high school or college together. Or maybe it was work? Either way, he was sort of this smallish tall, skinnier dude with a bit of heft. Light-dark hair. Like really forgettably memorable, you know? Always there with the crowd, doing his own thing kind of guy. He had street smarts or book smarts but not the other, or maybe both. Do you know who I’m talking about?

Oh come on, I know you know the guy I’m talking about! The dude with the face? Two ears, mouth, eyes? Ate food for lunch? Used his arms all the time? Relied on legs to walk? Wore shirts and pants? Bled blood? Nothing? Come on! Help me out here. This beet is exactly like that guy was! I need his name so I can rock this wicked, tangled spidering root of an analogy about how their under-the-radar prominence really distinguished them, allowing them to hide away unnoticed. You know what I mean?

That guy was EXACTLY like this beet, always clean with a little bit of dirt. He was always kind of a funny, solemn guy, rocking indifferent passion about things and such? Ugh, still nada? I feel like we’re getting nowhere with this. You really can’t remember that dude? You’re not being much help here, my disembodied reader of taproot rooted blog posts friend. I’m trying to really unlock the mystery of the beet for you, opening your eyes to our bulb borscht bubbler. But I can’t do that without that one guy’s name. You know, the guy from the earlier paragraphs who used to that thing at that place? You know? No?

Well damn. I guess this beet has the upper hand. It doesn’t need to rely on names or memories. It just exists, being itself. Popularly unpopular. Just like that guy… or wait, girl? Well shit, that might be the problem. I think I was thinking of a chick this whole time. Yeah, she was definitely female if she wasn’t male! Long-short hair? Hey, wait! Where are you going? We can figure this out! We’re almost to a great blog post! ALL WE NEED IS THAT NAME!

Potato Of The Day Episode 48

apricotbuttLOL, this apricot has an old man’s butt!

The end.

[Siya’s note: Uh, Ben… We need SIGNIFICANTLY  more than ten words for this post.]

Damn it. Okay, that’s fair, but let me explain myself first! I totally wrote more than ten words to start. Initially, I went ahead and brainstormed some names for an apricot with an old man’s butt using weak puns. My favorites were apriBUTT, ASSpricot, and apriCRACK. Then I was all like what if we dig a little deeper and get scientific up in this post? That led me to the solid gold waters of PruANUS armeniaca and Prunus armeniaCAN. Then I was all like, well apricots are basically peaches and that gave me PeaCHEEKes. At that point, WHY NOT TANGERINES? So TUSHYgerines became a really disappointing thing that I wrote on purpose. Then I looked down and got startled because, right at that moment, I was totally jumping the shark.

So I backed it up! I withdrew myself from apripuns (I LIED JUST NOW, DID YOU CATCH THAT? WINK!) and dove into a twisting, long form narrative. I laid out the framework for a harrowing tale of fruit turned monstrosity, a horrid self-devouring entity, an Ouroboros werewolf forever howling at its own moon. But then I realized that entire premise is just a weak mash-up of the zomberry and Uranus posts from earlier in the week. That made me sad. So I took a bite out of that apricot. Then I gagged a little bit because I pictured taking a bite out of an old man’s ass. Then I thought about writing a long, flowing poetic interpretation of cannibalism, but then I realized I’ve already written about cannibalism. So I ate more and more of that apricot, until there was nothing left but the seed. I stared at it for longer than I care to admit, when I was suddenly kicked in my own ass by an apropiphany (Apricot and ephiphany. Yes, I know these are getting weak.) about how that seed sort of looked like snot, BUT THEN I REALIZED THAT’S LITERALLY WHAT I WROTE ABOUT YESTERDAY.

As you can imagine, it’s pretty frustrating to have nothing but terrible, recycled ideas smoldering in your brain. But I try to view myself in the holiest of glowing lights. I’m a narcissist, remember?  So I geared back up and was all ugh, fine, whatever, LET’S DO THIS THING. And promptly cranked out the following post:

LOL, this apricot has an old man’s butt!

The end.


[Siya’s note: You know what… phuck it. Never mind, GREAT JOB BEN.]

Potato Of The Day Episode 41

fruitpizzaI’m going to tell you a riveting, gripping tale about fruit pizza. Yes, THAT fruit pizza. It looks pretty damn good doesn’t it? Except for maybe that one strawberry near the top of the photo. You see it. The one with the older brother who wouldn’t stop yelling, “Why are you hitting yourself,” smacking its younger berry’s arm up into its own seedy face until it cried out for mom with a blackening eye. Older strawberries are notorious bullies. We all know an older strawberry.

Damnit, there I go getting derailed from this epic adventure I need to tell you about. Okay, enough with the sidebars. Are you ready for this harrowing account of redemption? This classical parable of friendship? This legendary anecdote of… FRUIT PIZZA? Get yourself mentally prepared. Loosen up those reading pupils. Put some droplets in your mind’s eye. This is a real doozy you guys, a real emotional seesaw. This is the type of culinary journey Homer would have waxed Greek about. This is about two blueberries south of a Nobel. This story is downright biblical.

Alright, I’m going to need to you to picture this. Ready? Of course you are. You were born ready. This is your time to shine. Okay, close your eyes. And… oh shit.

Wait! Open your eyes back up! You won’t be able to read this if you keep your eyes closed! Crap, oh crap. Are you using a text to speech app? Yes? No? Hello? Go back. Shit, no don’t say that out loud! Stay on this page! Don’t leave me! The rest of you, please open your eyes. Please? Are they open yet? What if you never open your eyes again, anxiously anticipating a story about fruit pizza? I DON’T THINK I CAN LIVE WITH THAT. You guys? IS ANYONE THERE? Did I blind the whole world? AM I ALL ALONE?

Well… shit. I really screwed this blog post up. And it really was an incredible story about fruit pizza. 😦

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.


Dear Diary,

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.