The day that my potato exploded in the microwave was an eye opener.  It was a sign…an omen.  A message from the powers that be.  Maybe I’d nuked that fucker for too long, or maybe I just didn’t give a shit.  Either way, that little vegetable bastard decided to commit culinary suicide and blew itself spud first all over the confines of the microwave with a mere five seconds left.  I mean, c’mon…it couldn’t have kept its composure for a measly five more seconds?  Suck it up, god damn it!  I had no money left, I had no lunch, and I was hungry enough to eat the scum out of the bottom of a homeless man’s shoes.
  It was definitely a sign…an omen…a message from the powers that be.