(if anyone's confused about the title, F.S. Tuberosum = Fried Solanum Tuberosum = fried potato)

Here's some extra crap for you to read! :D

Other potential "last words":

* FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HELP ME

* CANNOT YOU SEE SHE IS CONSUMING MY VERY FLESH

* ...Fine, whatever. Joke's on her, anyway. ENJOY YOUR PARTIALLY HYDROGENATED DEATH YOU SIX PIECE CHICKEN MC-HARPY

(that last one is a take-off of one of my favorite Space Ghost quotes.)

My mom's thoughts on "Tell my wife I love her.": ...ohhh, okay!! At first I thought that girl was his wife.
hahah, not surprising! :D I just hope that's not the common reaction. haha My mom tried to fill a tea kettle through the SPOUT last week... so yes. To give you an idea of how my mom's thought process works. haha


In closing, please enjoy this snapshot from my childhood:


photo circa 1947, age <2; according to my aunty, I could eat a medium by that age! scary, I know. [granted, the sizes were smaller back then, but still])

Yes, the talking box of french fries was also there.* I'll be honest with you, it scares me that he hasn't aged a day since that photo was taken, and lately he's been quite salty (HAAAAaaaa... GET IT?? FRENCH FRIES? SALTY??.... yes, tumbleweeds and crickets ahoy. Moving along.) about the recent celebrity acquired by a certain goateed box of talking french fries. "Where's MY lucrative cartoon deal?? Where's MY smooth black man voice?? Where's MY Hungry Man dinner??" (when I asked him if he thinks it's in bad taste to eat the mashed potatoes, he responded, "No, tastes fine to me.")

So, perhaps, if this design gets printed, he'll shut the hell up and stop haunting my thoughts and dreams, and I'll finally be able to escape the deep fried, french cut nightmare of complaining.

(aaand, as usual, my post has spiraled into incoherent insanity. [sheesh, did I start enough words with "in" just now? IN-DEED.])


* trivia time: that is the original drawing of Frenchy the box of french fries! :D wheee reusing things. (I am a hack. hahah)