Short Short Story: The Rise and Fall of the Bloodthirsty Death Grip Potatoes of Lust

(I've been shuffling through some boxes trying to turn my spare room into an organized and functional space and came across some random things I wrote in High School, approximately 18 years ago. I remember this exercise, actually. Mr. Partington would give us three unrelated words and we had to include them in the first line of a story. Once the first line was written, we'd hand it to a classmate who would finish the story. I recognize the handwriting as that of my old friend Rebecca - now Rebecca McNeil, local actress and box-office queen. She wrote the first line, I finished it. The three words written at the top are "yellow", "dark", and "potatoes".) The Rise and Fall of the Bloodthirsty Death Grip Potatoes of Lust 1989 Up from the dark recesses of the playground, the potatoes began slithering around the yellow pole of the swing set of death. Little Bobbi, young and so innocent, felt a sudden sharp pain in her outer left thigh, four and a half inches above and one and a qaurter inches to the right of her knee. Forty seconds later, little Bobbi was dead. Finally. The potatoes of despair. The bloodthirsty, death grip potatoes of lust. The Satanic potatoes of all that is bleak and black. The potatoes...of death! Slithering again across the cornfield, the potatoes found their way into the sunshiny Pleasantville, Ohio kitchen of Theodore and Betsy Jones. Later that evening, the Jones' gathered together on the patio for a sampling of Betsy's famous prizewinning potato salad.

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