There will be a time in the future that an astronaut or alien will be floating around in space, working on something, when a potato goes whizzing past their head. The potato would have been in orbit for decades, passing every planet in the solar system, making it to the far edges of the Milky Way approaching the speed of light in some parts of its journey before turning and heading back towards Earth. How do I know this? I was there when it launched.
In the early 90’s there was a craze that swept many rural communities. The Potato Gun became synonymous with backwoods Friday evening fun. I wish I knew how the idea for this contraption came up. I like to think that a bunch of plumbers were hanging out in their workshop with a bunch of old PVC pipe and an angel appeared to them. It said, “Plumbers, listen to me. Go forth to the grocery store and buy a bag of potatoes and a few cans of hair spray. When you have done this, ram a potato down one of these old PVC pipes and fill the other end with hairspray and light it up with your cigarette. Then you shall see the power and glory of Heaven”.
I would like to think divine intervention came up with a lot of things but more than likely it was a bunch of drunk guys with some rotten produce and too much time on their hands. I don’t even know if there is an actual plan for a potato gun it’s really just loose guidelines. You need a pipe, a propellant, a potato, and an igniter. Put those all together and you have something that can launch a spud half a football field or more.
Then my Dad comes into the picture. He couldn’t just construct anything normal. It had to be over the top. If he was going to make a gun he was going to make sure it did what a gun is supposed to do, maim, or kill. This is how the “Tater Tosser 3000” was born.
This lethal device was about five and half feet long. There was a three-foot pipe on the front that connected to a wider two-foot-long combustion chamber in the back. On the sides were two tubes. One was an electric igniter ripped out of a gas grill. The other had a pressure gauge on it and was to be connected to a propane tank. Yes. That is correct. A propane tank.
I was there for the maiden launch of the first potato. We nestled it in some cinder blocks and extended the igniter cord a good hundred feet in case it were to explode. The target was a playhouse in the backyard. A sturdy little building constructed with pressure-treated lumber. When that thing went off it rattled windows half a mile away. The potato shot out so quickly that we never even saw it, but we sure did hear it.
A few minutes later when we were sure there was no gas leak we went to inspect the damage. All that was left were split two-by-fours covered in mashed potatoes. The power was incredible and it was only a matter of hours before every single potato in my hometown was purchased and riding in my Dad’s big red van to be stored in our pantry, aka the armory.
The next couple of months we experimented every evening to see what would be the best combination of potato species and propane pressure. The goal was to launch to the railroad tracks about three acres away from the house. Dad would launch them and us kids would go running to mark where the potato would land and warn pedestrians of incoming mortars. Then one day it happened. We picked the fattest, roundest potato we could. Dad cranked up the pressure, and, “Whoom!” the potato went straight up and never came back down. That is how I know sometime in the early 90’s a perfectly round Yukon Gold Potato left this earthly plane and began its journey to deep space.
I don’t know whatever happened to the “Tater Tosser 3000” and custom accessories, including a ramrod and silencer. I do know that my father loved that thing so much the idea was floated to shoot his ashes out of it after he died. And as much as I like awkward situations, I’m really glad that didn’t happen. I do hope though, that I am still around when the news report comes in that an astronaut got hit by a Yukon Gold from deep space.