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.