Dear Potato
Dear Potato,
I’m writing this to you because I refuse to do as I’m told and start it as ‘Dear Diary’. Whoever originally thought that up was stupid. Why even write a letter to the book you’re writing in? It knows you wrote in it, why remind it?
Anyways, I write to you Potato, because French Fries are our Lord and Savior. The salty chunks of your flesh fried to crispy golden wonder, makes the sun go round. I will admit there are days where the ketchup I plunge you in is viewed as the blood of my enemies. Basking in the glorious mess of their demise as I relish the sweet tomato mixed with your crunchy and smooth texture.
As murderous as this seems, I do adore you. But the many ways we abuse your flesh still lessens our burdens. Now the blood of our enemies upon your golden stalks as wonderful as it is, cannot surpass the smothering.
The smothering of hot melty cheese, the thick chunky chili with crumbs of moo, the icing of sour cream, sprinkles of salty bacon pieces and tang of crisp green onions. The symphony of flavors, the combination of vegetables, cow and pig. A farm in a smothered pile of debris.
Now I know what you’re thinking ’Why is this crazy person writing to me about murdering me and others?’. I mean no disrespect, I praise your ability to be in one form and pair so well with many things. As for my murderous words, well I’ve always believed to use my words first, so writing them here is much better for everyone. Also, writing means I’m not eating my feelings.
Thank you my Salty Savior!
