Forwards I'm something to sit on .......backwards robbing in groups they pile on..

Swim in the soup where the carrots float, Like a big-headed monster or a metal boat. It's a giant spoon with a broken spine, Dumping chili on your shirt, or mine.

The old man's major award: a glowing fishnet leg in the window. Fragile, too.

I sleep beneath the soil where nobody can see Growing in darkness quite happily I start out small but can feed a crowd And when I am cooked I make people proud I can be baked until my skin turns crisp Or mashed up soft with a buttery twist Drop me in oil and I become a fry Cut me into pieces and watch them disappear nearby I wear a rough little coat of brown But peel it away and there is gold underneath I may look plain and humble at first Yet kitchens around the world know my worth

When you are asked to do this, you either pull up a pistol from your pocket, or take your pencil or brush and a piece of paper. No subject? Then let your imagination sky-rocket.