Saturday, June 6, 2015
The Tragic Potato
Once there was a potato that no one remembered to cook. Over time, as it sat neglected in a bowl on the counter, it evolved into a sentient being with huge, human eyes.
Sadly, consciousness itself was a crushing burden to the potato. Perhaps it had a mood disorder, or simply could not entertain the comforting illusions that make life bearable. The day-to-day activities of the household -- microwaving, watching TV, joking around -- made the potato spiritually sick. The happiness -- or "happiness" -- of the idiot family it lived among was a constant torment to one so sensitive to all the ugliness and injustice in the world.
On the day the potato's back began turning to human flesh, it knew it had reached its limit. Somehow it must grow legs and crawl away to a place where it would be, mercifully, cooked and eaten.
The next morning, the potato was simply . . . gone. Some say it dove into the hot grease of a McDonald's french fry basket. Others claim to have seen it slipping into the salty broth of a beef stew, where its tears added a certain je ne sais quois, to the chef's credit.
Back in the bowl, the onion remarked that it "never understood that guy." The garlic spat with the small mouth it had evolved over months of non-use and said: "Yeah. Me neither."