Dear baby Potato Head,

Let me first apologize to you, for your parent’s are a$$holes.  In an effort to attempt to be “different” or “original”, you got screwed.  I hope you don’t have dreams of bringing home a pencil or snow globe vacation souvenir that proudly bears your name, Potato Head. You won’t find that in Gatlinburg’s finest outlets.  You will look at every rack only to be left sad and dejected by Big Bob’s. Get a funnel cake, kid, it won’t let you down.

The only way your ridiculous name is even somewhat conceivable, Potato Head, is if Mattel paid your parents a fat stack of Benjis to do so.  And by fat stack, I mean a 10×10 vault stacked floor to ceiling with Puff Daddy as the body guard to rap “all about the Benjamins” on command.  Reminder: I did not say that was a good reason for making you a forever ass hat, it only makes a single brow gently raise in thought….

Here’s to you, Potato Head, I hope you come out cute as a button.  Otherwise, your resident a$$holes might try to pull off your nose and pop in a nice, pink oval in it’s place.  Real babies don’t work like that.

I hope you make a best friend early in life named Donut Hole so that when your class mates decide to give up carbs, you at least have each other.  By play I of course mean color with your plain, old, dull markers that do not boast your name in beautiful glitter foil on the sides.  It must really suck being you, but it isn’t your fault.  You were created by idiots.

I hope you are brilliant and cure cancer or run for president so that your parents realize the magnitude of their errors.  I can see you now, little Tater, on the news speaking with other world leaders.  I can see you nervously presenting a plan for world peace as your peers look nervously around the room, quiet tears of comedy streaming down their faces because someone is standing behind you holding a green plastic hat over your head.  Some comedy is universal, no interpretation  necessary.

On the plus side when you go to college, your frat brothers will have an easy time naming you.  You will finally have a normal name because in the world of ironic  monikers, you will finally get to just be Bob.  Way to go, Idaho!  You did it.  You finally get to wear a shirt with your name on it that doesn’t make you look like a black market toy scalper.  My heart is happy for you.

Someday you will meet your better half, Mrs. Potato Head.  You two will get married, buy yourselves a toy box in the suburbs, and pop out a few tater tots.  You will name them Sally, John, and Susie because, unlike your pretentious parents, you have nothing to prove.

You made it through your life, so far, with a constant reminder on your birth certificate that your parents loved you, but probably didn’t like you all that much.

You rose above and cured cancer or changed the world.  Now you can finally relax,retire and spend the rest of your life listening to the Mrs. Potato Head b!*#h about her “pear shape.”

Just know that as hard as you work to make an amazing and successful life for your self, you will always be screwed because the a$$hole who made you gave you a ridiculous name.  It isn’t your fault, we understand…

 

Dear Parents,

Stop being idiots.  Think about your child and their future, naming your little loin fruits is one of the most important things you will ever do.  I’m sure it is cute to tell the story if how little Tundra was conceived in your truck bed…. but NO.  We don’t care how beautiful you think the word Placenta is….NO.  No one cares that you were grinding out your love to “Wrong Way”, little Sublime doesn’t want to be reminded of that 5, 237 times a day.

Don’t be a$$holes, think of the children.

(While I do not actually know of a child named Potato Head, the odd name epidemic is growing in our nation and it is time to get that sh!t under control.)