Dear Diar— JOURNAL,
Not much has happened the past few days. Today, however, was my first day at work. And I'll be honest, it wasn't all rainbows and sunshine and me skipping around in beautiful meadows with that wonderfully structured, absolutely flawless Tomasso. It was boring, actually. I was sat at a desk editing drafts all day of absolutely dreadful works of fiction. There was one called "The Undeath of Carrot" for spaghetti's sake! How are these even getting published?
I do admit, I'm very envious of them. It would be a dream — a miracle — if my works were ever published, but alas! It cannot be so, for I am as talentless as an average human! I do know that it is the worst insult one could ever spit, but it's no secret that I'm a dreadful potato! I cannot write fiction as marvellous as Harry Potato, or play scripts as intriguing as Hamlettuce. Ah, but I must refrain from going on an endless monologue of self-loathing.
After staring at the finest specimen to ever walk the face of the earth for over 5 hours while attempting to edit a pile of spoiled human, I came back home. Unfortunately, I was promptly met with Potter not so discreetly sneaking a female into his room.
I'm not sleeping tonight.
-Spater McStarch
YOU ARE READING
The Diary of a Potato
LosoweSpater McStarch was a normal potato, with a normal life, and a normal family. He was completely, utterly normal - in every sense of the word. Unfortunately for Spater, the world has bigger plans for the young potato who spent his entire life on a fa...
