I saw a comment recently about the singer Sam Smith looking like a potato in a négligée and, indeed, I could see the uncanny resemblance. It did seem Sam was harnessing his inner solanum tuberosum and I wondered what pronoun Sam adopts in his, her, their, its tuber mode.
Following a quick fact-check with BBC Falsify & Verify, it seems Sam’s new identification is Spud; such a cute, sensual moniker to reflect his gorgeous nature and alluring persona. He’s sporting the latest in zip G-strings with a transparent net-curtain wrap-around and such a delicious touch of silver stars delicately hiding his/ her/its/their nipple modesty. Yes, apparently men can have babies and potatoes do have nipples. Spud’s new backing group The Nuns of Perpetual Debauchery are a fun troupe fresh from a tour of libraries and primary schools where young minds are being transformed and transitioned from their previously tedious and dull routine of the 3 R’s to new experiences of universal liberation, possibility and a seemingly endless range of lip gloss.
Schools are running a competition to collaborate with Spud Smith on new lyrics for his forth coming as yet unreleased material. Though not yet perfect, Spud has shared an exclusive for TAP to give us a taste of things to come…
Spud Smith is our muse
His potato curves thrill and amuse
His eloquent poise for all girls and boys
And those out between can just simply choose
Today I’m a vegetable
A potato called Spud
We must stop poor cows chewing the cud
They’ll blow and they’ll blow
From the end that we know
That naughty meat’ll have to go
It’s unholy I know
Of course we don’t rhyme
Least not all the time
Of course potatoes have nipples
And not only that
We even delight when covered in raspberry ripple
Er, yes, as stated, working progress, but how honoured we are to have exclusive access to Spud Smith’s inner workings. There are rumours that some critical voices have commented, that’s crap, but we live in liberated times where ideas and standards are flexible and fluid and one man’s crap is another’s subliminal massage of the egotistical.
Spud Smith is rumoured to have spawned a new potato and some say this may be a sneak glimpse of Spud at feeding time. We hasten to add, the authenticity remains unconfirmed…
Some say this is plain child abuse, but the music industry is far too highbrow to concern itself with mere prejudice, judgement and accusation. Should any of you have been living under a rock and not realise what has left the likes Beethoven, Brahms and List in its wake, I offer you an example of Sam Spud’s supreme talent:
Once upon a time all this would have been the thoughts of warped imagination. Alas today, it’s not far from the truth. Uncle Zebedee, I think it’s time for bed and let’s see if I when I wake up, this was all just a bad dream.