This here is a Potato of Luck. It is indistinguishable from all other potatoes, except that, upon stringent inspection, it’s undeniably lucky. If you make a habit of cooking with potatoes, you would have undoubtedly held a Potato of Luck, as I am now holding a Potato of Luck. Only you made mash out of it. You peeled it, roasted it, boiled it, jacketed it, made wedges, a Shepherd’s Pie, Gnocchi. Gnocchi! You idiot! But of course, you had no idea what you had. I should feel bad for you. Such an opportunity, such an incredible chance to change the course of your life, the fortunes of your bloodline shifting forever toward wealth and prosperity, and you fucking ate it. Unbelievable. You didn’t even know Potatoes of Luck existed, did you? Never bothered with them, huh? You just thought it’d all work out. Well, look at you now. I don’t feel bad for you at all. If you had a bit of Go about you, a bit of industry, if you’d done your due diligence, you’d know about Potatoes of Luck, and you wouldn’t be in this fucking position. Enjoy your Gnocchi, dickhead.