Jazz on Your Face



My first assignment as a college student will be to turn in a paragraph on why I love potatoes so fucking much.

Opening sequence:

"It was Thanksgiving. Aunt Kate passed the mashed potatoes. That’s when i realized I fucking love potatoes. Fuck yeah."

The seats were cold. Everyone was doing the usual chatting and reminiscing of the last year. Mentioning stupid things that no one cares about, asking about things to keep conversations going, the regular bull shit. I kept getting the redundant questions about my life just so they forget before next year and have another topic to bring up prolonging the awkwardness that lingers behind each one of my answers.

 “So have you finished school?” she asked.

“Yeah, last semester actually” I replied. “That was my last one.”

“Oh, that’s great!” 

“Yeah!” I always seem to struggle with fake enthusiasm. I can’t ever make it real enough and it almost always comes off sarcastic. 

“Would you like another one?” Pointing at my beer. 

“Oh no I’m fine, Thank you though.” I replied. The worst thing about the awkward conversations is that that is all there is at these things. No actual fun conversations or good times, it’s just meeting up with strangers that I have known for a while. 

She walked away for a little bit and came back with another familiar face.

“Hey man, hows it going?” He said.

“I’m great! How are you?”

“You know, I’m just great man. How’s school going?”

“I actually finished this last semester.”

“Wow, man that’s great! What did you end up studying?”

“Civil Engineering, actually.”

“Whoa thats some complicated stuff! But I’m actually gonna go say hello to John over there so we’ll be right back. Great seeing you though, really!”

 I continued to sit in my cold chair as I watched them walk away. The food was finally getting passed out which was amazing for two reasons: being the one thing that I could occupy myself without feeling bad and providing a halfway point for how long I have to stay here. The odd thing was that they had french fries and equally weird baked potatoes. Not one or the other. Kate was placing the food in the middle of the tables as John came over.

“Hey man! Great to see you!”

“Hey, you too man!”

“How’s school man?”

“I’m actually—“

“Whoa, man you gotta try Kate’s baked potatoes!”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah seriously man, they are fucking delicious.” He picked one up and starting placing french fries into the open part.

“What are you doing there?” I asked.

“Oh seriously man, put this shit in the potato. It makes it fucking delicious, man. Trust me.” 

I picked a potato up and starting doing as he said. Seeing as how this looked like a normal thing to everyone else around us, the food choices kinda made sense now. I stuffed the potato as much as i could with its fried counter part while occasionally watching John stuff is face with pleasure. As soon as I lifted it up to my mouth and took a bite, John turned to me.

“Oh yeah man! It’s delicious isn’t it?” He said.

I took a really big bite in order to get a bunch of the french fry portion into my mouth. I couldn’t believe it. This was amazing. How was this so amazing? I could taste the garlic, cheese, and hints of herbs and spices just dripping down my throat. I felt like I was eating a potato cheeseburger it was so good. I swallowed my first bite and turned to John.

“Fuck yeah.”

“Right man?!” He laughed hysterically. I’ve never really been a fan of baked potatoes before. But this changed me. This changed my view on food in general. Nothing was as good as this was. Nothing could be as good as this was.

I finished it and leaned back in my cold seat. John was staring at me like I should say something but i couldn’t say anything. I just wanted to sit there gazing at the potato reminisce on my plate and thinking about how haven’t I had this before. I’ve gone my twenty-four years without having these feelings for a food. This one food changed my life.

That’s when I realized I fucking love potatoes. Fuck yeah.



This HR dept doesn’t negotiate with Terrorists.

Finish reading This Is The Most Passive-Agressive Office Note Battle We’ve Ever Seen








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