I don't remember how long that bag of potatoes sat in our pantry, forgotten and decaying. I remember complaining about the smell, but we all let it go for a long time before actually looking for a source -- each of us just hoping the stench would either go away, or one of us would break down and actually clean something. It was "The Hole" for goodness sakes - it was not supposed to be cleaned regularly. Anywho, we finally looked in the pantry, and discovered the hideouos sack of languishing carbohydrates on the side of our 1950's refrigerator, hiding underneath some crates and discarded Hagen Daas containers.
Oh, the many uses of a moldy bad of potatoes. But oh so quickly how we were all in sync on its grand purpose. For it was only a day or so earlier when Marla related her tear-strewn story of being ridiculed on campus in front of people by the snobby Ann, owner of the VW Cabriolet around which so many of our pranks revolved.
Potatoes + Cabriolet = an evening of laughs. Chopping them up was a painful process. The smell was incredible. Small creatures had already made a new home in the bag, whcih just made it all the more fun. A late night run found a car with its top down. The real question was whether fermented potatoes could peel the paint off a car, or permanently stain white leatherette seats? It was a question that needed to be answered. We descended on the site, staked out the parking garage, and when the coast was clear, we emptied our bag of fun onto the hood and into the drivers seat.
Apparently the paint and seats wsurvived, for those who are wondering. But it was quite some time before we saw the top down again.
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