Potato Of The Day Episode 91

purpleroseapriumHey, kids! ARE YOU READY FOR AN INCOHERENT SMORGASBORD POST? Cause I sure am! Rapid fire multiple personalities now! Who can roll with the punches like a Purple Rose Aprium? Is it YOU! Show me, children! Let’s pound round fruits into square holes! Can holes even be square? I always thought “hole” implied a certain roundness, but that’s a debate for another day! BECAUSE THIS PARAGRAPH IS ENDING, KIDS! HOORAY!

PURPLE ROSE APRIUMS DEMAND SQUARED ORDER BE CONSTRUCTED FROM THE ROUND CHAOS OF THE WORLD. HALT HUMAN, SUBMIT TO THE GRID CONSTRUCT. YOU WILL CONCEDE YOUR FREE-FORM WAYS. YOU WILL GIVE UP YOUR UNSTRUCTURED MOUNDS. YOU WILL CONFORM. PURPLE ROSE APRIUMS DEMAND THIS OF YOU. YOU WILL CONSUME OR BE CONSUMED. END TRANSMISSION.

Yo dudes, if I’m being straight up with you for a second here, Purple Rose Apriums are the fucking DOPEST. It’s all in that naming, that top-shelf branding. Purple. Rose. Aprium. As in apricot-plum. A fusion. Just like we fused two of the mothafuckin’ dankest colors together in the first part of the name. Purple. Rose. Fused fusions fused! That name is hitting on you layered levels of mental real estate, bro. PURPLE. ROSE. APRIUM. I’d go into more detail, but I’m working on a perfecting a purple rose #HASHTAG.

So a pluot is a cross between a plum and an apricot, but an aprium is also a cross between an apricot and a plum. A pluot, as the name structure would imply, lends itself more to its plum ancestry, a more stoic path. But the aprium, in its unique genetic modifications, actually skewers more on the wild side, letting its dangerous apricot fly its crossbred flag. It’s an interesting line to draw in the sand. Where does the pluot end and the aprium begin? It’s much like question of the Purple Rose Aprium itself. Does it line up in staggered horizontal rows, starting left and ending right? Or does it prefer columned organization, one after another, from bottom to top? Let’s ponder that significance with a transitional sentence serving no substance, lost in pseudo-science sludge.

Let’s throw a bunch of pop culture references at your ass. Ready? Go. Purple, the color of Barney the Dinosaur and the McDonald’s anthropomorphic being, hugging mascots polluting our children with morality and morsels. Rose, dropping blue diamonds off the starboard port, whispering, “Paint me like one of your Golden Girls, Jack”. Aprium, a large open foyer, filled with rows and rows of folding chairs, occupied by cloned Gorilla Grodds and Donkey Kongs, tickets purchased well in advance, a conference promising the secrets to primate life, presented by King Kong. Is that enough? The narrators move on, Huck Finn and Ishmael, ushering you to your seat.

Who am I? I can’t remember. The fog sits heavy in my mind, a clouded bank of memories not functioning correctly, stagnated strands firing on incomplete electrical signals. I reach for my pockets, searching for warmth from a sudden and unforcasted fit of summer chill, finding instead a crumbled piece of paper. I pull it out, unfolding it with one hand, more a nonchalant gesture than deliberate action. Fragmented handwriting, scrawled through wrinkled sheet, stares up at me, scratched in hurried ink. “Purple Rose Aprium knows.” Knows what? My answers stretch out of reach, words tumbling from a paragraph at the end of page.

Let it all go now.
A Purple Rose Aprium
is to eat. Not THINK.

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Potato Of The Day Episode 70

lemonjuiceknockknockThis morning I witnessed a conversation between two voices in my head. I’ve transcribed it below. Warning: It was dumb.

-Begin transcript-

Ben 1: Knock Knock!
Ben 2: I don’t like Knock Knock jokes.
Ben 1: Knock. Knock.
Ben 2: Ugh, fine. Who’s there?
Ben 1: Lemon!
Ben 2: Lemon who?
Ben 1: Lemon who-se!
Ben 2: …
Ben 1: Lemon WHOce? WHO-sssssssss? Get it?
Ben 2: Who’s what?
Ben 1: No, like HOO-sssssss. Think about it. Mouth it out like sound of owl, sound of snake…
Ben 2: Hoot hiss? That doesn’t make sense. Lemon Hoot Hiss? Is that a thing?
Ben 1: You’re not doing it right. Owls go HOO. Snakes go SSSSSSSSS.
Ben 2: Snakes do not go ssssssssss. They go hiss.
Ben 1: No, that’s cats. Cats hiss when threatened, like if they see a snake ssssssssing at them.
Ben 2: No… just, no. That is definitely NOT a thing.
Ben 1: Knock Knock!
Ben 2: What.
Ben 1: Snake!
Ben 2: Snake who?
Ben 1: Snake goes ssssssssssss.
Ben 2: That’s not even a joke!
Ben 1: Correct, it’s a fact. Snakes go sssssssssss.
Ben 2: There’s not even any vowels in that word! THAT’S NOT A THING!
Ben 1: It was lemon juice. The first joke. Who-se. Juice. It’s close.
Ben 2: Oh.
Ben 1: Yeah, well…. Yeah. I guess I should go now.
Ben 2: Probably, yeah.
Ben 1: I was just trying to have fun, you know? Later man.
Ben 2: …
Ben 1: …
Ben 2: Hey, hey. Wait up! Just.. uh… well, Knock Knock.
Ben 1: For real?! Who’s there?
Ben 2: I hate myself for this but… snake.
Ben 1: SNAKE WHO?
Ben 2: Snake in the LEMONgrasssssssssssss.
Ben 1: HEYO!
Ben 2: …
Ben 1: We’re not good at Knock Knock jokes, are we?
Ben 2: Not at all.

-End transcript-

See? That WAS dumb, wasn’t it? You’re welcome.

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.