He is not your friend.

"But he's just like my friend the sweet potato."

No. Never believe that. Not for a minute.

He causes the moon to quake and he chills the dog to howl.

He is the fright in the night and the bloody beak upon the dastard crow. Wrap yourself up tight in your warmest blanket and shiver as you face the door. Do not trust the Yam.

"No... a yam is just a vegetable."

Yes. But he is not a kind vegetable.

"But yams tastes nice with butter and cinnamon"

Sure. So does EVIL.

Blackest hearts and cruel deeds taste fine with butter and cinnamon. Just like the yam.

"You're full of crack."

The yam speaks through you, so I forgive you, brother. But I would rather all the crack in the world were flowing through my veins rather than one mouthful of yam. How he damns the good name of the other tubers.

Take the sweet potato. Truely one of god's great gifts to us. You boil it, and when tender, it yields up the tastiest of sweetest treats. You need no condiments. You just peel back the skin and sink your shovel-like teeth into sweet delight.

But not so the yam.

It will fight you every step of the way.

Boil it, and it will fester.

Pop it into the microwave, and it will blacken and writhe.

Cook it in the broiler, and it will plot your demise.

Never trust the Yam.

The Yam runs with the ghouls and the flesh eaters of the night. It sings the unholy rites of doom. It suckles on the flesh of newborn babes.

Trust not the Yam.

"Dude, chill."

No. Never. Not while there is a yam alive. I must rid the world of their foul presence.

You! You sir. Have you seen the evil that lives in the heart of the yam?! Can you attest to it's wicked tuber ways?

What about you sir? Or you ma'am? Can you attest? Will you join my hand and sing out in righteous indignation against the wrath of the yam? Will you stand with me, this night, this very hour against the yams that beat at your soul's threshold?

"Sir. Please... Come this way."

Officer, you have seen the victims of the yams. Have you not? Their puffy soulless eyes... the bleating of their stomach... A wretches sorrowful state. You will not find me in their ranks. No. Never. For I am watchful. I have been warned of their ways... And now I warn you!

"Please sir... put down the fork."

No. I must defeat them. I can tell when they are about to strike. You can sink the fork all the way into their center. You must believe me. They are insidious.

"Sir. The fork. I won't ask you again."

What's that? Do you hear him? I recognize that roll... I hear the deadly thump thump thump of his tread. He will not catch me napping, nor snacking... I will have it out with him. Bury him in an unmarked grave.

For he is an evil evil tuber.