The Origins of the Were-Potato: A Spudly Abomination.

My love for the potato is frightening.

But not as frightening as some of the things that happened today at work.

- I had folks try to order $180 worth of ice cream pints with a continually declining credit card (it was expired)
- poorly-parented children knocking things over and running all willy-nilly about the store
- a host of older folks with interesting hairstyles (my favorite being a man with a white mustache, light brown eyebrows, and black hair), scents (insert those of your wildest imagination here), candor (they were doozies), and jewelry (my favorite set was a broach and earring set that were shaped like lion doorknockers. The thick framed glasses really set them off).
- Of course, we also had strange calls (yes, plural) from Tennessee asking specifics about flavors that we haven't even released yet. Calls came from other places too, but the Tennessee lady was my favorite. I like telling you guys my favorites. It's my favorite.

I was calm and friendly to all, of course. I am an ice creamian professional. That's opposed to a hot creamian professional, although I am a whipped creamian specialist as well.

So what is so significant about today that is making the crazies come out to play? Apparently it must be the full moon. That's the only explanation I can possibly conceive.

Knowledge of tonight's full moon got me thinking about were-things after I returned home. That's probably not too far a cry from today's thought processes with all the tween supernatural phenomenon, but I'd be in this place of mind regardless from all of my comic book upbringing.

Where does the were-thing train of thought take you when you're like me? It drops you off at Potato Station. And never picks you back up.

So, right here, right now, just for you, I reveal the first findings of the Were-Potato.

Born of moonlight in a potato field next to a graveyard, the Were-Potatoes first rose out of a desire to live among humankind. 

 Originally a peaceful breed, after constant rejection by man, they turned violent, eating all humans they came across just as the humans had done to their lesser brethren. After a great war that lasted decades, the Were-Potatoes fell to General Bob Evans, who scalped and skinned them all and then sold their entrails in packages that were marketed with adorable children.

Some say that there are a small band of Were-Potatoes that survived. It is legend that they lurk in the shadows when the moon is at it's fullest, waiting, regrouping, biding their time until the war can begin again. Beware, humans; that rustle in the darkness, those eyes you feel watching you, may just be the Were-Potatoes out to eat you alive. *cackle, cackle!*

Yup, it's the delusions settling in permanently. Just over a week left. Dying!

Looking to the science:

Height: the 5'0" of a hardened Were-Potato Hunter.
Weight: the 124 lbs of what is not Were-Potato Chow.

It's dangerous to go alone. Take this:

Rini