Jerry, would ya wake up to reality? It’s a military thing – Cosmo Kramer.
Plot: “Seinfeld’s” Kramer says he’s seen a part-pig, part-man creature — what he calls a scheme to create “a whole army of pigman warriors.”
Remember when conspiracy theories were fun? As opposed to, say, ones concocted to obliterate democracy?
Social media being what they are, our nation is flush with conspiracies. But face it. Shadowy forces would only create pigmen if the pig-human industry could profit.
So, let’s get serious . . .
Michael Cohen, Donald Trump’s former attorney, writes of Trump gaming a 2014 CNBC poll seeking to identify the 25 most influential business people.
When the poll began, Trump was 187 out of 200 contenders, and furious about it.
He hired a techie skilled with internet bots to vote repeatedly and drive him up to No. 9. (Cohen said the ploy was designed for a top-10 position, not No. 1, which would raise suspicions of cheating.)
Well, that connivery came to mind the other day when I heard – bear with me – results of a national ranking of the most popular Thanksgiving side dishes.
The results of that poll told me one thing: The system was rigged by the forces of fakery.
Why? While No. 1 and No. 2 made ample sense – stuffing and mashed potatoes, respectively — No. 3 surely was the result of a con: sweet potatoes.
(Notice that sweet potatoes managed to attain third place, a la Trump, so as not to raise the suspicion this dubious ranking merits.)
Never has clearer evidence been presented of the vast side-dish conspiracy against which I have campaigned most of my commentating life.
This is based on an undeniable fact: Sweet potatoes are not edible. I ate sweet potatoes once. Once.
As with all such subterfuge, this insidious development is driven by the quest for power and profit.
Only a global conspiracy could have elevated sweet potatoes from a perfectly good starchy matter for cattle feed, plastics, ink and rouge to a dinner-table presence whose repute is anything but “yuck.”
I am well aware of the power and influence of the sweet potato industrial complex, aka Big Tuber.
Years ago, as I carried on my lonely truth campaign, I got a subtly menacing letter from the president of the U.S. Sweet Potato Council. Sound ominous? You decide.
The letter sought to convince me that sweet potatoes are a force for good, that they are tasty and full of vitamins and minerals. Had it been on a debate stage, I would have responded that tree bark meets latter criteria.
As for taste, I would refer to history – the conspiracy by which Mr. Sweet Potato Executive’s product joined with its partner in crime: marshmallows
Back at the turn of the previous century, Cracker Jack devised a strategy to boost the sale of its Angelus brand of marshmallows: a sweet potato recipe with ‘mallows on top.
“While it may have been a marketing ploy,” reads an account of the nightmare pairing, “Americans grabbed onto the idea and never let go.”
A ploy is right – a conspiracy to boost sales of two peculiarly pointless foodstuffs.
Except for the Moon Pie, no reasonable explanation exists for marshmallows. Unlike sweet potatoes, they don’t even serve as good weapons.
Back to the whole sweet potatoes-as-food hoax: As with other sinister conspiracies, social media contribute mightily.
Exhibit A: The recipe for “Bourbon Pecan Sweet Potato Casserole” landed in my inbox this week.
Ingredients: booze, nuts, corn flakes, vanilla, sugar. Hiding in there somewhere are four sweet potatoes.
I say to those starchy objects: The jig is up. A side dish you are not. Present yourself for more constructive things, like meeting a nation’s dire need for ethanol.
Stop trying to tear the country apart. Don’t pretend to be what you are not. We all know you are no green bean casserole.
Longtime newspaperman John Young lives in Colorado. Email: firstname.lastname@example.org.