The Finest Potato Stories

Potato soup

There was once a potato named Harold. Harold was unlike other potatoes. This was because he enjoyed climbing trees. Most potatoes didn't climb trees. Harold was strange.

One day a random human saw Harold swinging through the branches and screamed. "AHH, a potato! I must kill it!"

Harold heard the human screaming and froze. He dropped to the ground in fear, getting some painful stabs from the branches. The human saw him and took him to his house.

The human had some other potatoes. They were all shoved together in a basket that was in a dark room. Harold had fun talking to them for a few days. They all had very interesting stories about dirt, water and the sun.

Not too long later, the human came back. He grabbed Harold and two others ((known as Garbage and Dirtface)). Then he put them under water, which Harold found quite relaxing. His skin was washed from all the clingy dirt.

Harold looked up to see the human dangling a sharp cutting tool over him. It was a potato peeler! Harold had heard the stories of pain and death from his friends, but never expected this kindly human to do anything.

The human picked him up in his rough hand.

Harold screamed exuberantly as the peeler came towards him. As the blades sliced into his skin, he felt the rapid pain of his skin being peeled violently off his body.

How would you feel if I did this to you? Harold thought hopelessly, directing it at the human. Probably not very good.

He saw his skin on the bottom of the sink just as his eye was peeled off. Everything was darkness, and quiet, and pretty much nothing.

Harold didn't like this feeling. He felt the screams vibrating through his body, along with the others. He was set in a bowl and he felt Dirtface dropped beside him a few moments later.

In what felt like forever, Harold was starting to think this pain would stay forever. (Probably because it was.)

The human picked them up again. He put them on a flat surface and started chopping heartily at Harold. It hurt even worse than being peeled. His individual pieces were thrown into an already hot pot of water and . . . was that meat?

I'm sorry whoever else was sacrificed to make this soup. Harold sighed internally. Let's pray that we at least taste good. I don't want to have died for nothing.