Madness string 91943

Random mermaid
There are days I have categorically failed to comprehend a potato. It's like... what is this? What is potato?! Have you ever stopped to think about potatoes? As objects, they are squishy and firm, rough and smooth, solid but liquid. As plants, they're the entire plant packaged up for transport, or storage, safe and hidden. Every eye is a sprout in waiting. You can chop them up and each piece becomes a new potato. They sit in the ground and wait. Potate. Sprout, and infloresce, lush and green. But the green is poison. They have made themselves indispensable as food, and yet the leaves are deadly. Nothing should be comprehensible. Nothing is! It's all potatoes! All the way down!

My mouse is full of sand and there was a pin in my leg. This is too stupid to be a dream.