Holy hand grenades Batman! That is a LOT

Holy hand grenades Batman! That is a LOT of potatoes! What in the wide wide world of sports are you planning to do with such a ridiculously large mountain of

(I hate him) Well aren't you the greatest little potato chomper? (Oh god, my fake joy was making me sick) You call them "spuds?" Ha ha (the canned laugh almost made me puke all

the Pringles I ate last night). That remained me of Idaho and the Tater Tot festival when I

entered the Mr. Potatohead contest, wearing only a brown suede loincloth, dirt caked all over my body. I was the most spudly contestant as I strutted down the runway, showing off

a pair of potato eyes and a .. sprout? How did that get there? I tried to cover up, but the loin cloth made the contours all too apparent. I was disqualified for obscenity.

The commentators mocked me, "Well he's no new potato!" Steamed, I tried to explain that I yam what I yam, but it was no use. The peels of laughter brought tears to my eyes.

Cursing their lack of respect for my mash-ups, I retreated to my own private Idaho. You da ho. I ain't no ho. To begrudge my foul mood, I crank called Dan Quayle again, but it

was an au gratin thing to do. I admit that now.Dan Quayle was not amused &didn;'t appreciate me hash-browning his inadequacies up again. His admonishment took all the starch out of

the root vegetable which I tried not to mention, but it was the tuber in the room. "I say potatoe, you say potato, let's call the whole thing off," Dan Quayle said sadly.