A Halloween Horror Story For Vegans and Vegetarians – Oh My Potato! An Original Essay by Tony Rollo

Oh, potato, my potato. What is the desire to your fate?

I dug you from the ground in our garden just today. It has been a season after my wife once inserted you into the ground last year as a simple plug.

And now – here you are, still alive – Taken from your roots. Sitting naked upon my kitchen table on a slab of wood.

You gave your all, noble potato – to abound and grow as large as you could in the rich earth.

You are like a rock upon my kitchen table. Hard, raw, brown and insignificant. Dirty with the soil you were planted in.

Yet – I can scrub your soiled skin under running water as I sanctify your purpose on this Earth.

A cleansing ritual to prepare you for an anticipation of thought.

That tedious preparation in order to make the final decision. I can now contemplate the many ways of your destined demise.

I can peel away your skin with a sharpened steel kitchen implement and drop you into a pot of boiling water on my stove.

I can be modern and shoot microwaves through you. Then after such a technological torture, wrap you up in aluminum foil to further cook you in your own induced heating?.

I could place you in a hot oven brushed with virgin oil and dust you with rock salt to give you a nice tan and texture to your skin. I would delight from the sounds emanating from the oven in hearing the hissing of steam escaping your skin as the moisture inside your flesh turned into gas and began racing to escape your body.

I could wrap you in metal foil and drop you into the embers of a camp fire.

I could slice you into long strands like small logs and drop you into boiling oil.

I could flay you in a food processor into fine strands and then shape rounds of thin layers of you in a cast iron skillet with a few beads of oil to make your crust golden brown and crunchy.

Maybe introduce some spices and chopped onions while I turn you into a thin cake of golden brown deliciousness?

In any way that I bring you into the heat, I will show no mercy.

If I so choose – Once you were boiled I could smash you into a near liquid, and mix you among strangers consisting of butter and sour cream.

Or – I could slice you up into larger chunks to be married with some greens and bacon in a boiling pot. Your boiling perfume would waft through the house tempting eager nostrils.

I could mash you while introducing some good, clean water into a dank soup consistency and then mix you into a chowder to add some thickness.

If I choose to bake you in some diabolical fashion – I would then spit you open and introduce into your innards to a variety of substances. Butter, cheese, sour cream and chives. Maybe a few bacon bits and whatever else comes to mind. Much to your personal agony.

I would take a knife to you as well as a fork and dissect you. Then insert you into my mouth piece by piece and enjoy your flavor as my enamel cutting blades smash you into oblivion.

You would then be swallowed into the hungry grotto of my hungry tummy !

As you now sit on my cold carving board on my kitchen table raw and naked to the world, my mind wanders in my thoughts of the so many options that await you. So many diabolical methods I could use. So many ways I can utilize to make your hard inner flesh become so soft and fluffy.

What crime did you commit to deserve such a sentence of process?

The crime is simple – you are guilty of being tasty.

My tongue longs for your texture and flavor dancing around in my mouth. My belly is anticipating how you can be so filling. Dripping with savory butter. A blob of sour creme! Cheese and Bacon with a sprinkling of a few chives dancing across the upturned puffy, cloud-like innards of your delicious flesh !!!

There is only one way to save yourself.

Your bad eyes.

Large eyes that blacken spots on your skin. Those new sprouts from those eyes – toxic to use who dream of consuming you.

It just takes the cuts from a knife in skilled hands to remove those bad spots of toxins and bring you to to a point where you cannot offer any defense.

Your bad eyes would then be best to be chopped up into pieces to return to the earth and continue to grow, producing many more offspring. Thus offering up the same questions next year with your offspring sitting on my kitchen table. Shall we set that future date now?

What is your fate? What is the choice of your demise?

Oh, my potato – my innocent potato awaiting my decision. What fate would be your desire?

Category: Tony Rollo Articles and Essays, Tony Rollo Blog