Just imagine, you sit down at your table, ready for a home-cooked meal. Maybe you're a starving college student who is getting your first hot meal in months. Maybe you're homeless and a nice family has taken you in for Thanksgiving, wanting to aid your empty tummy.

You glance towards the kitchen, and out walks your host, holding a pan of mashed potatoes. The saliva in your mouth starts to flow as you stare towards that delicious mount of goldeny goodness. They sit the pan at the table, and it's passed around to each person. You recognize the desire in their eyes and hope there is some left for you.

Finally, the pot is passed to you. What joy! You enthusiastically spoon a small mountain of creamy potato wonder onto your plate, eager to dig in. Your mouth salivating out of control, your stomach protesting louder than a liberal arts student. Yet, something is missing. You look to your left. You look to your right. The dread starts to set in as you realize the crucial oversight that has been made.

There is no gravy.

What once seemed like an angel's hymn on your plate has turned into a dry, desolate wasteland that seems to have risen from hell itself. How are you supposed to eat these potatoes, the food that should be your comforting escape from this godforsaken world? What looks back at you now is a reminder of just how dark and grim and unfair that life can be.

I say to you, friends, stop this madness. Stop subjecting yourself to torture when you should be forgetting your troubles with a delicious oasis of potato.

Rename Grayson to Gravyson. Take back your livelihood. Take back your honor. Take back your potatoes.