Angry spud angers all over. Now I need to go shovel. Will rope teenie boppers into helping or they don’t get lunch. And yes I agree, would be nicer if I didn’t have to ask. I live in hope.

Text:

The potato suddenly sprouted six white plastic arms with bulbous fingers. They looked like a children’s toy Crack had seen in a commercial. Google eyes manifested near the middle of the potato, and rolled balefully up above the water line as the potato lifted up on its middle two limbs. The first set of arms rose menacingly above the body and the last set pushed down, levering the potato higher. Lionel smirked and jumped down, disappearing into the mist. Crack let his umbrella dissolve and willed himself to do the same, afraid to move and draw the beast’s (plant’s? tuber’s?) attention. An involuntary shiver drew a small ripple in the folds of matter around his feet. The potato’s eyes tracked the sound and landed on Crack like a blanket of menace dropped thickly on his shoulders. He was momentarily distracted by the inanity of his own metaphor, then the pupils glowed red as they fixed on his face. He didn’t remember that from the commercial.

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