This morning I left the air conditioned oasis of my bedroom and ventured into the fiery desert that is the rest of my apartment. While in the living room I noticed a slightly funky smell, which got stronger as I approached the kitchen. I couldn’t figure out what it could be since the only food in my house besides condiments and a giant jar of Skippy was a bag of potatoes that I had purchased on Sunday.  I was pretty sure potatoes could never smell like that. I was mistaken.

What kind of fuckery is this?

Sitting in the middle of the kitchen table was the bag of tomatoes, reeking like I don’t know what and excreting a black liquid that had oozed across the table.

Now, I’m no expert on tubers, but I’m pretty sure this is not normal. Which leads me to believe that my bag of potatoes was actually a group of shapeshifting killer aliens in disguise. They took on the form of potatoes because they knew that people are supposed to store them in dark cool places, and their bodies cannot withstand the high temperatures of Earth summers. However, because I was lazy and left them out in the heat for a couple of days, their delicate alien bodies could not take it and they dissolved onto my table.

In conclusion, I’m like Will Smith in Independence Day. (Yes, I punched the bag of potatoes and said “Welcome to Earth.” before dramatically dumping them in the trash can.)

You can thank me later.

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