Friday, April 10, 2009

Why Society Owes Me a Ricer


• Damn Ikea will only give me store credit for those fucking ill-fitting couch covers I bought in December.

• Gotta do something to disguise my spuds if the Asian Starch Gestapo comes a knockin'. First, they came for the polenta, and I said nothing...

• Some would say having a ricer and a garlic press is overkill in terms of bourgeois, lever-action kitchen gadgets. I say those people can dunk their nuts in a volcano.

• Telling people I have a ricer gives them the impression that I race tricked-out Mitsubishis with hunky, vaguely ethnic actor Vin Diesel.

• Look how shiny.

• As a notorious dictator, I'm always in need of new and novel devices to be used in the crushing of dissidents' nether bits. This is also why I bought TWO ricers, one labeled in red magic marker "P" for potato, and "T" for, well, you know...

• Hey, did I buy a fucking McMansion on a flimsy mortgage backed by no more collateral than a bass boat and a handful of unscratched Pick 'n Win tickets? Grant me my fucking potato toy.

• Constant consumption in pursuit of momentary respite from self-loathing has brought me to this ricer, and no force can turn me away.

• A hateful god gave Potato an ugly shape. Through this technology, we make him into something sublime.

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Et tu, Mr. Destructo? is a politics, sports and media blog whose purpose is to tell jokes or be really right about things. All of us have real jobs and don't need the hassle that telling jokes here might occasion, which is why some contributors find it more tasteful to pretend to be dead mass murderers.