The Fry-Eating Potatoes!
People in Michigan are by far fatter than people in any other state. Don't deny it. It's true and you know it is. Especially people in Detroit are obese. Mr. Potato-Head decided to find out if the POTATOES in Detroit were anything near as fat as the people.
When he crossed the border between states into Michigan the first thing that came out of his plastic lips were the words, "Brr. It's cold in here." Indeed it was cold. 10 degrees Fahrenheit and people were commenting on the warm weather.
He met up with a few Detroit Potatoes and said "Wattup, dawgs?" The Detroit Potatoes (D.P.) stared at him blankly and were like, "Dogs?" "What dogs?" "We're potatoes. DUH"
The D.P.'s were sitting around in an enormous wooden crate marked Crates Incorporated: we make good boxes, playing Euchre. And, indeed they were obnoxiously fat. Fatter than a potato ever should be. They were obese with a capital O.
Mr. Potato-Head was intrigued. Fat Potatoes! Now he'd seen everything! Fascinated, he wondered how they could possibly attain such excessive blubber. "Take me to your leader, earthlings!" he joked. The D. P.'s were not amused. They stared at him in horror. "You mean, as in physically take you there? As in MOVING? As in us get up and walk? What planet are you from!?!" They went back to their Euchre game and ignored Mr. Potato-Head.
"Fine then. I'll find the other potatoes myself," Mr. Potato-Head grumbled. He wandered around aimlessly in circles for a few hours. He kept circling a crate labeled "POTATOES UNITED: OFFICIAL HANGOUT OF POTATOES."I wonder what's in there?" he often thought. Finally he decided to take a look. It turned out to be where all the potatoes were! They really need better signs! I would have never found this place if I hadn't walked in, he thought. He strolled in and was shocked at the number of enormously overweight potatoes. "JEEZ! What in the heck do you guys EAT?" he thought (rather loudly) out loud.
Unsurprisingly, a particularly fat potato nearby heard him. "Lots," he said simply, looking up from his second-breakfast. "Never would have guessed!" replied Mr. Potato-Head.
Another potato, who, although this may seem impossible, was even FATTER than the one talking to Mr. Potato-Head, butted in, "Wait till you taste the pride of Detroit: FRIES!" He handed Mr. Potato-Head a greasy, smushy yellow stick that flopped. Mr. Potato-Head was disgusted. It looked gross, but then again he couldn't smell the seductive odor, because he had lost his nose in that unfortunate incident in Iowa.
Nevertheless, he was a genteel plastic potato, raised to be good mannered. So he braced himself and raised the gunky stick to his mouth, expecting the worse. It hit his plastic lips, leaving grease-smudges on them. That's when he remembered he had a PLASTIC mouth that didn't open and he didn't have a tongue. O well, no loss there, he shrugged.
"So....er....what are these 'fry' things made of?" he asked casually. The enormously gluttonous D.P. (short for Detroit Potato) suddenly squirmed. "Oh....er....you know.....STUFF" he answered lamely. "Uh-huh....." said Mr. Potato-Head, suspiciously.
Just then a cook yelled from the kitchen, "Running low on fry supplies, boys! See any suckers? "
Suddenly Mr. Potato-Head was aware of many pairs of eyeballs watching him. He felt a little apprehensive, but he couldn't think why.
The D.P. was gazing at Mr. Potato-Head with renewed interest. "SO. What kind of potato are you?"
Mr. Potato-Head: "Er....plastic...." He was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. On a whim he screamed "DON"T EAT ME!"
The D.P.'s all viewed him sadly. "Sorry, we must choose the lesser of the weevils...ahem...EVILS. We either eat you or one of us!" "Well, you one of you guys would be tastier, and more filling, cuz no offense but you're fat."
The D.P.'s shrugged. "We'll eat you first, then ourselves later." They got up (an enormous feat) and started to close in on Mr. Potato-Head. Mr. Potato-Head moved towards the door, but it was blocked. The lead D.P. said "Wait for the opportune moment, then STRIKE!"
One of the potatoes jumped from the ring and started to fly towards Mr. Potato-Head in slow motion.
*camera does a Matrix, stops, swerves around to another angle, then the potato continues to fly*
Mr. Potato screamed. "AH"
Fat sumo-wrestler potato flew.
"AH"
*Flying*
"AH"
*FLying*
*SMACK* *SPLAT*
The sumo-potato fell out of the air inches from Mr. Potato-Head and went splat on the ground. The whole room was covered in potato guts. "FOOOD!!!!!!!" Cried the other D.P.'s and rushed to gobble the former sumo- potato up.
Mr. Potato-Head inconspicuously backed away out of the door. He kept backing away until he was outside. Then something orange and triangular hit him on the head "Ow." He panicked for a second and started to run around in little circles screaming "The sky is falling, the sky is falling!" Then he noticed the piece of sky looked very familiar. "MY NOSE!" Somehow the nose that he had lost in Iowa had found him.
He jumped jubilantly in the air.
And fell into a hole. A hole a.k.a. sewer.
CLUNK. SPLASH. Mr. Potato-Head drifted downriver in the murky sewer, suddenly not so glad to have his nose back.
"I hate Detroit," he grumbled.
And Mr. Potato-Head's incredible (incredibly smelly) journey continues on.........
People in Michigan are by far fatter than people in any other state. Don't deny it. It's true and you know it is. Especially people in Detroit are obese. Mr. Potato-Head decided to find out if the POTATOES in Detroit were anything near as fat as the people.
When he crossed the border between states into Michigan the first thing that came out of his plastic lips were the words, "Brr. It's cold in here." Indeed it was cold. 10 degrees Fahrenheit and people were commenting on the warm weather.
He met up with a few Detroit Potatoes and said "Wattup, dawgs?" The Detroit Potatoes (D.P.) stared at him blankly and were like, "Dogs?" "What dogs?" "We're potatoes. DUH"
The D.P.'s were sitting around in an enormous wooden crate marked Crates Incorporated: we make good boxes, playing Euchre. And, indeed they were obnoxiously fat. Fatter than a potato ever should be. They were obese with a capital O.
Mr. Potato-Head was intrigued. Fat Potatoes! Now he'd seen everything! Fascinated, he wondered how they could possibly attain such excessive blubber. "Take me to your leader, earthlings!" he joked. The D. P.'s were not amused. They stared at him in horror. "You mean, as in physically take you there? As in MOVING? As in us get up and walk? What planet are you from!?!" They went back to their Euchre game and ignored Mr. Potato-Head.
"Fine then. I'll find the other potatoes myself," Mr. Potato-Head grumbled. He wandered around aimlessly in circles for a few hours. He kept circling a crate labeled "POTATOES UNITED: OFFICIAL HANGOUT OF POTATOES."I wonder what's in there?" he often thought. Finally he decided to take a look. It turned out to be where all the potatoes were! They really need better signs! I would have never found this place if I hadn't walked in, he thought. He strolled in and was shocked at the number of enormously overweight potatoes. "JEEZ! What in the heck do you guys EAT?" he thought (rather loudly) out loud.
Unsurprisingly, a particularly fat potato nearby heard him. "Lots," he said simply, looking up from his second-breakfast. "Never would have guessed!" replied Mr. Potato-Head.
Another potato, who, although this may seem impossible, was even FATTER than the one talking to Mr. Potato-Head, butted in, "Wait till you taste the pride of Detroit: FRIES!" He handed Mr. Potato-Head a greasy, smushy yellow stick that flopped. Mr. Potato-Head was disgusted. It looked gross, but then again he couldn't smell the seductive odor, because he had lost his nose in that unfortunate incident in Iowa.
Nevertheless, he was a genteel plastic potato, raised to be good mannered. So he braced himself and raised the gunky stick to his mouth, expecting the worse. It hit his plastic lips, leaving grease-smudges on them. That's when he remembered he had a PLASTIC mouth that didn't open and he didn't have a tongue. O well, no loss there, he shrugged.
"So....er....what are these 'fry' things made of?" he asked casually. The enormously gluttonous D.P. (short for Detroit Potato) suddenly squirmed. "Oh....er....you know.....STUFF" he answered lamely. "Uh-huh....." said Mr. Potato-Head, suspiciously.
Just then a cook yelled from the kitchen, "Running low on fry supplies, boys! See any suckers? "
Suddenly Mr. Potato-Head was aware of many pairs of eyeballs watching him. He felt a little apprehensive, but he couldn't think why.
The D.P. was gazing at Mr. Potato-Head with renewed interest. "SO. What kind of potato are you?"
Mr. Potato-Head: "Er....plastic...." He was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. On a whim he screamed "DON"T EAT ME!"
The D.P.'s all viewed him sadly. "Sorry, we must choose the lesser of the weevils...ahem...EVILS. We either eat you or one of us!" "Well, you one of you guys would be tastier, and more filling, cuz no offense but you're fat."
The D.P.'s shrugged. "We'll eat you first, then ourselves later." They got up (an enormous feat) and started to close in on Mr. Potato-Head. Mr. Potato-Head moved towards the door, but it was blocked. The lead D.P. said "Wait for the opportune moment, then STRIKE!"
One of the potatoes jumped from the ring and started to fly towards Mr. Potato-Head in slow motion.
*camera does a Matrix, stops, swerves around to another angle, then the potato continues to fly*
Mr. Potato screamed. "AH"
Fat sumo-wrestler potato flew.
"AH"
*Flying*
"AH"
*FLying*
*SMACK* *SPLAT*
The sumo-potato fell out of the air inches from Mr. Potato-Head and went splat on the ground. The whole room was covered in potato guts. "FOOOD!!!!!!!" Cried the other D.P.'s and rushed to gobble the former sumo- potato up.
Mr. Potato-Head inconspicuously backed away out of the door. He kept backing away until he was outside. Then something orange and triangular hit him on the head "Ow." He panicked for a second and started to run around in little circles screaming "The sky is falling, the sky is falling!" Then he noticed the piece of sky looked very familiar. "MY NOSE!" Somehow the nose that he had lost in Iowa had found him.
He jumped jubilantly in the air.
And fell into a hole. A hole a.k.a. sewer.
CLUNK. SPLASH. Mr. Potato-Head drifted downriver in the murky sewer, suddenly not so glad to have his nose back.
"I hate Detroit," he grumbled.
And Mr. Potato-Head's incredible (incredibly smelly) journey continues on.........