I just wrote this because
1) I like Baby John
2) This happened to me, and it was disgusting.
Really. Really. Disgusting.
And if I owned West Side Story, I wouldn't be writing this.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
He frowned, looking into the bowl with a mix of confusion and horror on his face.
What was it?
A small, brown, oval-shaped object sitting amongst the remains of his dinner, mashed potatoes.
Baby John shuddered as he remembered happily putting a forkful of the potatoes into his mouth, and tasting that hard... thing, whatever it was.
Just staring at it made him feel sick, for it mocked him.
You almost ate me, you almost ate me... it said in a high, sing-song voice.
With an unusual grin, the Jet took the fork and stabbed into it, dissecting; killing... it had ruined his potatoes! It deserved to die.
It was only when this thought struck him that he stopped, and looked down at his bowl.
There it was, the brown, oval-shaped object, still intact, still mocking him. It sat amongst the remains of his mashed potato dinner...
and laughed.