The source of this line, used in the track "B-Boys Making With the Freak Freak" on the Beastie Boys' album Ill Communication, was often pondered by Beastie Boys fans until in 2007, a fan finally asked one of the band members, Adam Horovitz, who immediately solved the mystery.

The full line, "Shit, if this is gonna be that kind of party, I'm gonna stick my dick in the mashed potatoes", is sampled from a comedy album recorded by the comedian Mantan Moreland on his album That Ain't My Finger.

Moreland performed in films and onstage, while also doing comedy in vaudeville from the 1920s to the 60s.

What sort of party would I find myself sticking my dick in the potatoes? Why, the one where a belly button is needed in the mashed potato man.


yes, this wu is node ID #2,000,000

The line also crops up in MC Hawking's "Fuck the Creationists." The exact wording involved is "If them superstitious motherfuckers want to have that kind of party, I'm going to put my dick in the mashed potatoes."

Screams....Oh Dear God The Screams....

I was at a party, one of those weeelll-there's-twelve-of-us-here-already-and-the-music-is-getting-louder, so what the hell? Lets get some more!! Share the wealth and all that....

Somebody, somewhere, had turned up with some amplifiers, and the accumulated volume got louder, and I mean loud - a reliable source tells me that the neighbour stormed up the drive and demanded access to the fuse box. As the host lived on one of those english estates where being able to see your neighbours, even with the aid of a telescope, is considered to infer that you are poor (shudder at the very thought!), this gives you some idea of the damage it was doing to the ears of the neighbourhood.

I was lying on the patio, watching the trails of cigarette smoke writhe round and finally cover the stars, I had reached the plateau of absolute peace with your surroundings, when you are too tired to go on, but can't bear the thought of bidding your final farewells to the evening. So you compromise, and just lie there, on the boundary of sleep and awake.

Picking out the different bits of conversations that were going on above me and making my own - 'you say that you'd love to buy a tawny owl so big you could ride on it? Lovely dahling' - when a scream rent the air(hackneyed but true).

I swear it actually took on physical form, breaking apart the plumes of cigarette smoke. It certainly broke apart the conversations.

Hand came out of nowhere, hauled me up - 'He's your friend, go rescue the silly fucker'. Made my way, unsteadily, very unsteadily to the kitchen, where I found a good friend of mine, tears streaming down his bright red face, frantically scrubbing at his, uh, member in the sink.

'Someone dared me it wasn't my idea they made me do it oh God my willy is corroding it's going to fall off oh God help meee' he screamed in panic.

I took a look. Not pretty. It had turned out that, whilst admiring the vast spice rack adorning one of the walls, someone had bet him a can of beer that he wouldn't put chilli powder on his, uh, member. So, like the fully-paid-up Mensa member that he is....

I'd be willing to bet he wished he'd stuck his dick in the mashed potatoes...

And I happen to know that he certainly didn't wash the sink out afterwards. Urgh.

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