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One psychedelic night in February, a certain farmer left his last potatoes in his sweet soil. Suddenly, The Potätbaljerz was formed. We are French fries, we are a potato potato, we are just mashed mash. In the form of a three-headed flying intergalactic space pig, we travel through every possible alternative universe, and this in our very magnificent balja, of the finest plate. Fat bitch here we come