Fellas, it all boils down to this - to get the ladies all steamed up, get to know the humble spud. If you can get to a level of ability in the kitchen that's even a fifth as good as my own when it comes to the pommes de terre, then you will be surrounded by beautiful ladies from morning till night. It's a secret I learned from reading the chef's diary of legendary gourmet, bon vivant, and potato aficianado Chris P. Bacon, who died when attempting to get out of his well-worn bed in order to visit the kitchen and whip up a fresh batch of Murphys when the bed collapsed, entangling him and his two female companions in a heaving mass of silk sheets, continental quilt and coiled spring. The more they struggled to be free of the bed's metallic grip, the tighter the coils became, not to mention the splintered wood and nails flying all over the place. They were discovered three days later, all dead and contorted together with eerie grimaces on their faces, not to mention flecks of dried mash on their chins.
Unlike Chef Bacon, however, I practise moderation in all things - if I didn't, I'd be the size of a small hotel - but still live a life fully satisfied in the whipped potatoes dept. as well as the female companionship area.
See, the ladies can't resist a well-prepared spud. These pics should more than prove my point.
|Oh yeah. She knows.|
|Fresh is always preferable, but the popularity of these items with the ladies kinda goes some way to proving me correct.|
Oh wait, it gets worse (or better as the case may be)...
Oh, hang on a min... I've just noticed Unbelievababe Sheila E. McEaston slipping in through the door of my boudoir, wearing nothing but a sly smile - which she flashed in my direction - and this item...