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Kneel before me! Do you not recognize one who is a god?
I am Axo-Mama, the Potato God! What? You laugh? Did the fate of the Incas seem laughable to you? Before I came they were puny and few; but with my graces they grew -- their numbers swelled! But you humans are stupid and fickle with your worship, so when the Spanish came along I destroyed the Incan nation, and vanished in the night with my new servants. Tremble before my might -- taste my tuber goodness! And do you see how I brought success and riches to the Spanish empire? If you let your monkey fingers scuttle over the pages of history, you will find me walking hand in hand with the conquerors and the just. Only when they spurned my nature were they driven from my sight in waves of famine and defeat. My legions are without number, and my followers devoted. Frederick the Great threatened those who did not pay me homage with gross dismemberment - the removal of ears and noses! Ha! So that those who shunned my greatness could see what they had lost. Sif and Nodotus were pushed aside as the people of the world embraced the potato over the miserable wheat! All hail the great potato! My hour was at hand, my people were to bring me a nation as never had there been before. But did they? Did they erect images in my honor? Write epics in my praise? Worship me with loving devotion? No. I who gave them life, more so even than water... and they ignored me. So I withdrew my love and the fickle were left to try and live off mud. And so I've bided my time, these last 160 years. But things haven't gone as planned. In my hay-day (damn that expression) I was often 80% of the caloric intake of the entire land... but now... now... a measly 6%. 6%! What haven't I done for you Americans? Don't you love your french fries? They're the largest portion of your potato intake. Don't you love your chips? Get with the program! You don't want me backing Germany, do you? The Germans are out eating you 2 to 1 when it comes to potatoes. Do you really want to face the spud reich? In ancient times my followers would ask me how I felt? I felt loved and cared for. And do I feel loved now? Well? Do I? No. You spurn me. You don't carve little dolls out of potatoes in my image, or ask me to look after your harvest. I had hope when the Hassenfeld Brothers introduced the Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head collection. Finally, I would be respected once again. But oh no! Less than eight years of service and the scheming god of plastic usurps my claim. No longer was an honest potato dressed up for a false idol carved of plastic. Plastic! Heads will roll at Hasbro, let me tell you! Anyways, eat your potatoes, worship me, place an idol of me on your hearth. Is that too much to ask? I think not. And damn it, if you're going to cook a potato, don't wrap us in tinfoil. We're not subject to intrusive telepathic scans they way you humans are, and all that foil-contained steam just makes us pasty instead of delicious and fluffy. |