you say “potato”…

the king o’ the tuberpoli laughed with derision as he heard his people read to him the file the inspector had on him — or as they called him, “big papa”. as much as he realized it benefited him, he couldn’t help a feeling o’ frustration @ just how out-o’-this-world the inspector’s interpretation o’ the tuberpoli was, mixing them up with their kind o’ mafia, as if they were interested in their useless green paper.

seeing this mismatch o’ emotions themselves, the tuberpoli assured the king that their campaign was working wonderfully. their roots were spreading all ’cross the uppercrust & they were already spreading their population ’long the barren fields.


reality, potato, property