The disingenuous parfum of the "freshly" fried batch of wonder spuds only serves to belie the pure, concentrated disappointment to come. You eagerly take your hand to retrieve but a single fry, your fingers resembling that of an owl's talons while swooping down in silent flight to catch its prey, but before you can even fathom to put it in your gaping maw -- upon touching it, you immediately become aware of its flimsy, soft texture. It is not like that of the fries from tales of ages golden, no... Even still, the worst is yet to come. You shrug dismissively, pondering: "maybe it will taste better than it feels." not knowing the displeasure you are to welcome a sojourn on your taste buds. You take a bite into the golden, yet pale flesh of the fried wonder spud. It is void of any semblance of crunch or crisp... No... Rather it is as though you had bitten a mealy apple that quickly turned to mush. The insipid taste paired horrifyingly well with the appearance, as though it were forthcoming. You are starved in your desire, so you pitifully and futilely clutch several fries in a desperate attempt at sating your monkey brain, not knowing that each fry only serves to further your disappointment till journey's end... With fate sealed, you commit to seeing the fruits of your labor. Disgustingly putting an end to the box with reckless abandon, devolving into a creature with no form of table etiquette -- such that it would make a cackle of Hyenas more welcome at a dinner party than yourself. A loud and thunderous belch lets out deep from the abysmal depths that is your stomach. Accomplishment is furthest from the last thing you feel. Instead, a sense of, "what did I just do?" promptly greats you just as the bland taste of the fries tip toes back on your tongue thanks to the previous audible expulsion of air from your mouth. You take a deep breath and release it with a sigh.