O Potato of my swooning and love-dazzled soul, thy carbohydrates may make my doctor weep, thy incarnations may by and large be palatable and interesting only when forced to copulate with the unhealthiest of accompaniments. Thou mayest creep me out by growing things out of thine eyes but thy truest, purest gift remains, O Potato, the shining jewel of my wet bar.  Once I went to lunch at my Ukrainian friend's mom's house. I don't remember what the hell we ate but I do know that his mom, a tiny little woman, gave me the shit for not being able to keep up with her at vodka shots. By the time we were around eight or so I thought I had finally won. "Ha-HAH, Tiny Woman!" I cried, exulting in the fact that she was now sideways. "Sit back up, you're going to spill your drink." Oh, I was sideways.....