|
|
|
|
 |
 | |  |
| Yes eye yam. And I spy da ho' who stole my last potato. Au, gratin luck that your starchenemy should happen upomme you, eh? Irish revenge! | |
 | |  |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| | |
| This isn't your potato; it's a baby. | |
| | |
|
|
| | |
| Listen, spud, to coin a fries, that's a latke bull. You'd better quayle in the face of my wrath. I'm going to mash your nose, chip your teeth, and tater your clothes. | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| | |
| Please, I don't care what you do. Shove the potato up my ass if you like. Just quit with the puns!!! | |
| | |
|
|
| | |
| As you wish. Tuber will now cornhole you. | |
| | |
|
|
|
