There comes a time in one’s life when one simply becomes too much for one’s own self, so one’s self must divide into multiple Ones in order to cope with one’s inner lack of oneness.
And if you’re still reading, then you’re either a) really bored, b) pretending you’re so intelligent and philosophical that the above sentence actually made sense, or c) other: [please specify].
Either which way.
Hello! We are Ham and Potatoes, in case you missed those big letters at the top of this page. You know, the ones that say ”Ham and Potatoes.” Yeah. Those ones. Right there. Uh-huh. Yeah, you got ‘em. And as we are of the opinion that there is no such thing as a good introduction (you know, one that will inspire the masses and cause hundreds and thousands of subscribers to flock to our blog), we have decided just to get it over with.
Have you ever felt like sometimes you’re not just YOU but, rather, a whole bunch of Yous squished into one body, maybe? No? I have. Only with Mes, not Yous. Either way, the Potatoes were born of various segments of my consciousness. They tend to bicker with each other constantly and frequently provide unnecessary commentary on my day-to-day existence, so I thought I would provide them an outlet. (Yay! Blogging!) The plan is to have them take turns writing posts, so I’ve made it possible for you to choose the posts from your favorite Potato from the drop-list on the sidebar entitled “Potatoes (and a little Ham).
Anyway. Let the introductions commence!
I’ll begin. I am Hammlington, the Ham of this blog. I am the public face of the creature that is Me, so if we ever meet outside the Internet, you’re probably speaking to me, Hammlington. I’m the one that nods politely to you in the checkout at Wal-Mart and holds doors open for little old ladies.
And the Potatoes:
First, I must introduce the Viscount. (Literally “must” — he’s disgruntled enough that I didn’t mention him first.) The Viscount Sedgewick Alfonso Tweedle the Sixth of the small principality Maven Bombastion is extremely imperious and supercilious, and rather prone to spasmodic bouts of excessively verbose and magniloquent circumlocutory. (He’s arrogant and uses many big words to say a whole lot of nothing.) The Viscount is my buddy when I write essays or other school-related activities, as he has a gift for making Me sound intelligent.
Similar to the Viscount is Dr. Michael Czerniewski. Don’t pay any mind to anything he says, because if it makes sense, chances are you’re either insane, Enlightened, or in desperate need of some new eye glasses. The Professor, as I like to call him, is the part of Me that doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. Like emotions. And that one state of mind when it’s three o’clock in the morning and you’ve just finished your third liter of Coca-Cola (vanilla being my preference). He also comes in handy when people ask annoying questions. (Such as: “Wow. You’re tall. Do you play basketball?” “By the way, Sally, did you know that getting cut off from the knights’ magic rock also requires a period of exile from their giant glass mushroom?”)
Then there’s Clarissa. She’s basically your typical cliched artist, minus the i’m-so-depressed-and-misunderstood-i’m-gonna-hack-off-my-own-earlobe aspect and added an unhealthy dose of sickening optimism. She’s a dreamer, is easily distracted, and tends to sketch and write poetry in her time that may or may not be free. Clarissa also has a rather unsettling obsession with the sky. Clarissa is the one that really impresses everyone. She draws, writes poetry, plays the piano… The only problem is, the rest of Me doesn’t know how she does it. She’s such an airhead.
There are seven of us, hence, why one of us is named Seven. (It makes sense. No, really.) Seven disregards human’s frail attachment to identifying labels (otherwise known as names) as childish and not conducive to an actively productive environment. The rest of us usually ignore Seven. Seven is my problem-solver. Without Seven, I wouldn’t understand a lick of math, nor would I be able to ace a single test. Seven is a certified genius, I swear. A cold, cruel, logical genius.
And as a disclaimer, I’m pretty sure there’s some sort of scientific study proving that every single sentient being on Earth has an inner Fable. There’s no other explanation, because the rest of Me is completely normal. Fable’s just a little…different. And obsessive. But she’s a sweetheart, deep down. Honest. Obsessive. Fangirl-y. Reads too many books. Watches too many movies. It’s a darn good thing I don’t have television, or I’m pretty sure Fable would take over my life.
And the final Potato to be brought to center stage is J. Watson. J. Watson is just a tad bit reclusive, and maybe a lot antisocial, though he/she/it prefers to think of it as “mysterious anonymity”. J. Watson is a writer. Enough said. Really. Enough said. J. Watson writes stories. His/her/its current project is a novel about a girl who messes up a love spell and falls in love with a toaster. It’s a whole lot weirder than it sounds.
Anyhow. We are delighted to have you on board for this adventure called blogging! We aren’t entirely certain what we’ll be blogging, nor how often we’ll post, but you can be guaranteed it will probably maybe be interesting, and is more than likely to be humorous.
TL;DR: Ham and Potatoes takes “talking to myself” to a whole new level.
Considering we have no planned schedule for posts, we are likely to spew out whatever comes to mind at the time. However, if any of our beloved stalkers (who may or may not exist, depending) can think of any particular subjects they’d rather like to read the Potatoes squabble over, you’re more than welcome to leave a suggestion in the comments box below or email them to email@example.com. There’s no guarantee the Potatoes will be interested, but we’d be more than happy to hear from you (if only to confirm you do, in fact, exist).