The potato amalgamation now smelts and boils inside its mash shell, a transformation that hopefully with reward you with a sneak peek at what your max potential years from now will be. You won't lie though, your cousin calling it "gross" doesn't begin to sum up how you feel seeing it happen.
The Manifestation slithers out of its potato cage, held together by wraps like a uncooked tamale in a shell.
Geezer: Send it back.
Charon: It's almost done.
Geezer: It's starting to get bigger than both of us, send it back.
Charon: It'll be fine.
Geezer: Tell yourself that, I'm gonna kill it.
Charon: You can't kill it, it's a ghost!
The potato homunculi makes a vague vocalization. It now has something almost resembling a face.
Geezer: Look at that! If it speaks words it's done. I'm done.
Charon: It'll be faster if we do this right, don't pick a fight.
Geezer: I don't trust anything that covers its eyes.
It finishes warping, now mostly coherent.
The Homunculi: He's actually right! You got a few more steps before you can ask for a proper dismissal you know? I gotta say though, you really should love yourself more than you do. That potato had a tribute for mice. A stick of cheese? I'm missing so hard I got a hole in my chest. You gotta throw in some meat. I get grandma doesn't want you wasting the good food on experiments and, well, I'm partially you so I know you're a good kid and all but still throw me something better? Please? You got a snack bowl right there, feed me garbage or something. Do it and I'll throw you a reading for free.