FY Friday: Riff Raff – “TiP TOE WiNG iN MY JAWWDiNZ”

Riff Raff lives somewhere between mythical world of “is-he-for-real?-What’re-we-even-doing-here?” and Planet “I-can’t-stop-watchin… $hit-now-I-like-it”. Lil B The Based God is from this place, for reference. Unlike the humble Based God, Riff Raff is a high roller. So much so, that his alias is in fact, “Jody Highroller”, or “Jody” for short”. So it’s no surprise that women from space are intrigued by his shoe game. Lace your J’s up, and tip toe into the weekend wit this one:

Potato Of The Day Episode 46

These blueberries have expired. They’re done for. Goners. On the verge of extinction. Yet… they’re still here. Still blue. Still creeping along. Neither completely dead nor completely alive. You could say they’re undead. Oh, but wait… oh no! Undead berries. You know what that means don’t you? Don’t make me say it. Don’t let that curse spill out into the world. I’m a fool. I should have seen it all sooner! Undead blueberries. The end times have come at last. This is the final scourge of mankind. There’s only one monstrosity that exists in a state of perpetual undeadness. You know it. I know it. We all know it. Yup. Zombies. Which makes these blueberries… ZOMBERRIES. We’re all doomed! DOOMED!

Whatever you do, don’t bite a zomberry. That’s how they spread. That’s how the poison gets in. It starts off slow, creeping up through your digestive tract, releasing subtle unease into your blood flow. You might feel just a tad off at that point. You might feel the bubbling pressure in the pit of your bowels. It might make you a little queasy. But then it hits you hard. It rips into you, devours a path to your heart. During that stage, you’ll feel a sharp, sudden blueness radiating out from your brain. You might even start humming Eiffel 65. By then, you’re already done for. There’s no cure. You might as well just say your goodbyes.

The penultimate stage of becoming a zomberry, the Willy Wonka moment, is worse than death. You’ll slowly start to inflate, your torso convexing outward, broadening wider and wider, shaping your body ever rounder. Your skin hue will begin to shift, pigmentation fading away, racial identity giving in to cellular restructuring. You’ll become one with the blue. Round. Docile. Berryified. Then suddenly, without warning, you enter the final stage. Your bodily mass will deflate away, sucked, along with your internal consciousness, into the realm of nothingness, leaving just your fruited husk, a small, shriveled zomberry. Neither alive. Nor dead. Yet still so tempting to eat.

At least until the next hungry fool comes along.