Chapter 1: The Great Potato Famine of 2023 (Blame: Colin Farrell’s Son)
In a twist no one saw coming (except maybe a psychic potato), 2023’s global spud shortage was officially pinned on Henry Farrell, the then-14-year-old son of Hollywood’s most mischievous eyebrow-haver, Colin Farrell. How, you ask? Legend has it Henry innocently tweeted, “Potatoes are mid, fight me,” while binge-watching Gardeners’ World reruns. The internet, being the internet, took this as a declaration of war. Overnight, #PotatoCancellationParty trended, farmers staged symbolic potato funerals, and grocery stores suddenly found themselves drowning in rogue turnip promotions. By the time Colin himself posted a video of Henry awkwardly hugging a sack of Russets to “make amends,” it was too late. The tuber-tastrophe had already begun.
The Science Behind the Spudpocalypse (Yes, That’s a Real Word Now)
- The “TikTok Frost” phenomenon: A viral challenge urging people to freeze potatoes “for art” led to a 300% spike in freezer-related spud casualties.
- Celebrity influence: A-listers began replacing fries with kale dust, “to honor Henry’s truth.”
- Botanical rebellion: Unconfirmed reports claimed potatoes grew legs and rolled into the ocean, screaming, “We’re not mid!”
Colin Farrell later joked on Late Night that he’d “grounded Henry until 2045, or until Ireland forgives us—whichever comes first.” Meanwhile, the rest of us learned a valuable lesson: never let a teenager with Wi-Fi and a vendetta near root vegetables. The famine finally eased when memes shifted to canceling quinoa, but the emotional scars (and a suspicious black market for vintage potato plushies) remain.
Unexpected Casualties of the Potato Wars
- Mr. Potato Head: Temporarily rebranded as “Mr. Existential Dread Head.”
- Fast-food mascots: The Burger King crown was replaced by a single, solemn french fry.
- Ireland’s tourism sector: Offered “Potato Amnesty” retreats. “Come heal with us,” brochures whispered.
Chapter 2: Colin Farrell’s Son and the Secret Lizard Council of Hollywood
Let’s address the cold-blooded elephant in the room: Colin Farrell’s youngest son, Henry, isn’t just a regular Hollywood nepo-baby. No, according to “sources” (a guy named Dave who once sold kale smoothies outside a studio lot), Henry is the unofficial ambassador to Hollywood’s Secret Lizard Council. Rumor has it the council—composed of A-list reptilian thespians in human suits—meets biweekly under the Hollywood Bowl to discuss critical matters, like which actor should “mysteriously” age 0% over the next decade or how to make CGI cats look less realistic. Henry, with his cherubic charm and suspiciously detailed knowledge of thermoregulation, is allegedly their “Chosen One.”
But Why a Farrell?
Simple: Colin’s career arc is peak lizard logic. Think about it. He’s played a mobster, a detective, a wizard, and Penguin—a role that required 47% more eyebrow acting than the average human can muster. Coincidence? Or proof he’s been taking method-acting notes from his scaled overlords? The council reportedly admires his ability to shed franchises (RIP Fantastic Beasts) like a gecko ditches its tail. Meanwhile, Henry’s been spotted “birdwatching” near Runyon Canyon, which, as we all know, is code for “monitoring drone feeds of the Hollywood Sign’s secret basement.”
The Council’s Demands (Allegedly)
- All red carpets must be replaced with heated rocks by 2025.
- Mandatory cricket protein smoothies at craft service tables.
- Timothée Chalamet’s cousin’s iguana gets a development deal.
Is any of this confirmed? Of course not. But next time you see Henry Farrell blinking sideways at a premiere, ask yourself: Who’s really running this town? Hint: It’s definitely not the writers.
Chapter 3: How to Stop Obsessing Over Colin Farrell’s Son in 3 Easy Steps
Step 1: Replace Colin Jr. With a Cabbage (Yes, Really)
Obsession thrives on mystery, and let’s be honest—Henry Farrell’s Instagram is just farm animals and pancake art. To detox, grab a cabbage from your fridge, name it “Colin Jr.,” and whisper your burning questions to it (*“Why aren’t you in ‘The Batman’?!”*). The cabbage won’t answer, but neither will the internet, and at least one of them makes decent coleslaw.
Step 2: Host a “Henry Farrell? Never Heard of Him” Party
Gather friends, bulk-order tiny cowboy hats (trust us), and enforce a strict “no-Farrells” rule. Activities include:
- Pin the Goatee on Literally Any Other Celebrity Dad
- A trivia round where “Henry Farrell” is never the correct answer (*spoiler: it’s always David Beckham*)
By midnight, you’ll forget whether Henry is Colin’s son or a rare species of owl.
Step 3: Write a Fanfiction Where He’s a Sentient Traffic Cone
Redirect your fixation into chaos. Imagine Henry as a sentient orange traffic cone solving crimes in Dublin, voiced by Danny DeVito. Share it anonymously online. When someone comments, “This feels weirdly specific,” respond with, “All art is subjective,” and promptly hide in a blanket fort. Repeat until the line between reality and absurdity blurs like Colin’s accent in ‘In Bruges.’