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NOTE FROM PAD:  After being out of the country for several weeks with limited access, not to mention a few no-shows in the rotation, we’ve got “Potato Moon” back up and running…kinda.  Let’s see where we go from here.

Bela woke up.
She blinked.  Once. Twice. Thrice.  Then, still unsure she wasn’t hallucinating, Bela sat up and looked around the strange room she now found herself in. (more…)

Beyond the fourth wall, the almighty editor PAD stretched his arms and yawned. He’d been sitting at the computer reading this stupid thing for so long that his butt has taken root to his chair. Looking around for a crowbar to pry himself free, he paused to check and see who the next participant was in this farce.

And then he groaned. “Oh no… Not HIM…”

At that same moment, many miles away in Ohio, the next participant began to practice his evil laugh.

“Oh, this is gonna be GOOD…” (more…)

Edwood laughed. “Well, were-velociraptor? Let’s hear you squawk! Belt out this pretty little tune, and our dilemma will be solved!”

Jakob looked even more chagrined.

Solanum, Vlad, and Woeisme looked at him, expectantly.

“Wait!” cried Bela, “We need a test subject!” She reached into her purse, and produced a large Russet potato. Edwood raised an eyebrow. (more…)

“Pants? We don’t need no stinkin’–”

“That will be quite enough of that, Jakob,” Edwood said firmly, his stern tone belied somewhat by the glitter on his skin. Jakob thought fleetingly about all the interesting places that glitter could get to before scowling and pulling on his pants.

Solanum blew a smoke ring in his direction. “So, about that secret–”

Everyone held their breath. (more…)

Silence. There was nothing but silence around the set. Golden silence. Nothing was moved and nothing stirred. If anybody was in the place in that our plucky (and annoying perfect in every way those. Right down to their perfectly brushed and flushed teeth who does that sickeningly shine effect when they use smile and near to some light source) heroes, they couldn’t hear a pin drop. Or the crickets playing their violins or whatever the heck they due when there’s nobody in the room or when somebody said something boring or stupid. Nothing at all. Well expect the sounds of a writer slamming his chubby fingers onto the plastic little marked buttons of his keyboard and swearing up a blue storm, screaming along the lines about “trying to beat the clock” and “he should have written something sooner”. Besides that and most of the cast taking a breather before the next hijinks, everything was quiet. (more…)

Idaho!

The very name conjured up images that paraded like a marching band through Something’s head: images of a state shaped vaguely like a golf club or a platform shoe, some city named Boise that he guessed was the capital, the letters I, D, A, H and O, and, well, potatoes. He was sure there was more to Idaho than that, but the author of this chapter was far too lazy to indulge in actual research.

“And what’s in Idaho?” Something asked. “Besides Boise and potatoes, I mean.”

“That,” Barabbas answered gravely, “shall be explained in another chapter.”

“What a cop-out,” Rhode Island Smith muttered under his breath. (more…)

Before Bela and Woeisme could react, Jakob grabbed each of them by a hand, pulling the ladies towards him until one was on either side of their would be suitor. There were plenty of thoughts going through his mind as he realized the arrangement, but most of them were unprintable in a public forum.

What made the situation less than ideal was the fact that they were also being approached by two different threats. Lou the Ape Man, a frustrated security guard at the local outlet of a major clothing chain was coming at them from one side.

Upon the other approached El Patata, shouting “Santora!” with every step he took.

Jakob looked upon the situation calmly, not daring to think about the fact that he was actually holding the ladies of his life in his arms. Otherwise his newly discovered backbone (or voodoo created lollipop stick equivalent for those keeping track of what passes for continuity in this story) might drift away, if not in another direction, which would cause even more problems considering his current state of (un)dress. But then again, if that happened, maybe then the ladies would stop giggling whenever they looked downward.
And now we come to that portion of the story in which the author always switches scenes in order to build suspense and keep the readers reading, let alone buying, their books.

Or in other words, Meanwhile…

Doctor Argyle Sullen heard a knock at the front door of Sullen Manor, which was unusual since anyone in their right mind would never visit, and those that did usually just barged in anyway, proving both their mental state and lack of manners.

Since he was in between video games anyway, Doctor Sullen went to answer the door, and was surprised to see who was upon his door step.

“Good evening,” said a distinguished gentleman. He was well dressed and looked like a proper British gentleman from the Victorian Era, if not an old television program fondly remembered by long time fans. “Doctor Sullen I presume?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Barabbas Cullins. My associate and I,” he said, indicating the man next to him, “have arrived to help you with your current potato and potatoe problems to see if we could wrap up some of the situations by Chapter 100.” (more…)

Edwood’s eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly, but everyone happened to be blinking at that precise moment, so his act was, in all actuality, imperceived.  He stabbed at his potato (or was it potatoe?)-made voodoo doll of Jakob.  He had done many things to the spud… effigy… spudigy thing that he had secretly kept in his pants since chapter fourteen.  Over the course of the past few days, he had molded it into many shapes, including his favorite failed politicians, Michael Dukakis and Dan Quayle, and a potato bug.  And have you ever seen a potato bug?  Those things are disgusting.  My sister once found one in her shoe when we were kids.  I think it scarred her for life.  Anyway, Edwood even molded the spud into a snaggle-toothed Shark Boy at one point.  But for now, since no one in the Gap seemed to be fawning over his perfectly-coiffed beauty, or even approached him to see if he needed assistance, he was content to jab a perfectly-formed finger into the eye of what now looked like normal old Jakob. (more…)

An orange Ford Mustang GT skid to an abrupt stop before the building entrance, then impatiently revved its engine. To be clear, it wasn’t Stan, the kid in the driver’s seat, who was impatient, it was the car. Stan had his palms clutched against his ears but even the radio blaring ’N Sync could not drown out the incessant exposition emanating from the backseat.

“Then Edwood tried to get away from me,” Bela continued ceaselessly, “but I followed him across the country—”

“We’re here,” Stan interrupted with what Bela detected was a sharp tone.

“But I haven’t even gotten all the way through Book Two yet,” she said, pushing the front seat forward so she could squeeze out. (more…)

Bela tried to keep up with the strange little man, but she felt way too out of her element here. For all of the strange characters that she had come across in the last few days, this was the first time she truly felt like she had to *think* about what was going on.

And she didn’t like it.

Plus, there was far too much going on; she could already feel the narrative drifting away from her. (more…)

Bela woke suddenly, finding herself abandoned in the hall, and miffed that everyone who should have been standing around adoring her had, in fact, abandoned her instead of adoring her.

“Well that’s just great,” she huffed in a huff. “How will I pitch the rest of this story if everyone leaves me and I don’t know what’s going on?” she whined in her whiny voice.

She was so distressed by this turn of events, the hairs on her arms and legs (she hadn’t seen a leg-razor since the story started) began to stand on end. Then the hair on top of her head began to spike outward. She became aware of a taste in her mouth, like touching her tongue to a 9-volt battery. She pulled a 9-volt battery from her pocket and touched it to her tongue, and decided that that was indeed the taste.

The air began to crackle with blue electrical discharges. There was a bright blue flash as a ball of blue energy popped into being, then shattered into tiny blue fragments, which shattered again when they hit the floor into tiny blue powder. Where the ball had momentarily been, there was now a man. He was wearing a dark brown trench-coat, a dark brown short-brimmed fedora, and a potato-hued mask with many brown spots covered his face. There seemed to be no pattern to the spots. In fact, as she stared at them , she realized that they were moving across the surface of the mask.

The man seemed to look at her (she couldn’t be sure because she couldn’t see his eyes through the mask but she was there so what else could he want to look at), then turned his head as if to survey his surroundings. “Hrm,” he muttered. Bela began to ask him who he was and if he wanted to adore her too, when the man began speaking aloud to himself. (more…)

Jakob the Potato Beetle scuttled towards the fried forms of his other selves (which had been carelessly left behind by a certain time traveler whom we can’t name for various legal reasons,) and proceeded to devour them, with ketchup.
—
Meanwhile in the hall where she had been left by fate (or a certain contributor whom we can’t name for various legal reasons,) Bela dreamed. (more…)

Irony shook his head, politely declining Bela’s offer, and stepped into the brightly lit room. The fluorescent lights set into the ceiling shone brightly, and the phospherescent photons they emitted lit lightly upon Edwood, Bela and Something’s delicate features. And Jakob’s, too. Probably.

Irony stared for a long time at Bela’s checker-proffering form and glared meaningfully at Something in a way only an abstract entity can. (more…)

NOTE FROM PAD: Sorry for the delay, Potato Tots (my freshly coined name for fans of the story, since “Potato Moonies” has unfortunate connotations.) It was entirely on my end; Alison turned in her contribution right on time. I’ve been pretty brain fried because of Comicon. I’ll tell you all about it shortly.

“You what?” Jakob asked from the floor. “But aren’t they me? You baked me?”

“Well you were half-baked already,” Bela said unsympathetically,
walking over to where the doctor was looking awkwardly into his Oven.
Edwood followed. (more…)

“The wot, milady?” asked the confused vole.

“Never mind!” snapped the Potato Goddess. “Which direction did they go?”

“Well… that is… I don’t rightly know.” The vole quavered as he shut his eyes, certain that something unpleasant was about to befall him, probably involving chives.

Fortunately, they were interrupted by a new, unfamiliar voice. The voice said this: “I can take you to them.”

The vole opened his eyes to behold a waspish figure dressed in a three-piece, pin-striped suit and a brown duster.

“And who are you?!” demanded the Potato Goddess.

“Dr. John Smith,” was the figure’s reply. “Weight loss consultant to the stars.” (more…)

NOTE FROM PAD:  For those of you who are wondering where you are on the queue, be aware that we have JUST gotten to the people who sent their “Count me in” emails on day 2 of the initial announcement.  That’s how many people volunteered on day 1.  (Even more, actually, since nearly a dozen people did not get in contributions for varying reasons.)  Fortunately the vast bulk of emails came in on day one, so we should be moving through the queue a little faster now.

The broken glass encrusted, sequin bedecked, beadazzled, and overall glittery Sparklepire leapt through the air, and teenage girls swooned like overcooked au gratin potatoes, leaving memories that became legend. Legend becomes myth and even myth was long forgotten in the 1.77245385 minutes it took for a new teenage fad to take its place. In the gravity defying minutes as Edwood flew through the air and the author grew tired of this literary allusion, a sputtering breeze blew some of the broken glass from Edwood’s tousled bronze curls into the eyes of a nearly forgotten character. (more…)

As he drove up to the school, Edwood’s attention, which was normally drifting about with a steady level of disinterest except when it caught something reflecting his own image back into his piercing eyes with that striking thing he does with his brow and the firmly set lips and … Anyway, his attention was drawn to a swam of crashed vehicles near one end of the parking lot where all of the occupants were fighting one another to make their way to the head of a crowd. This certainly was odd behavior for the teenagers who were supposed to be looking at nothing but him, so Edwood quietly tucked his vehicle off to the side, just enough so its foreign make and expensive model would drive jealousy into everyone still entering the lot, and used his powers of exaggerated leaping to spring from tree to tree until he was able to peer over the crowd to the center of their attention.
 
His eyes, straining against the half-opened pensive appearance they’d become accustomed to, actually widened. They widened so much, in fact, that beads of blood drew from the cracks forming in skin that had met the limit of its developed stretching abilities. He never noticed because all he saw at that point was Bella. She had become … different. (more…)

Woeisme stared at Bela; stared at her with the burning angst of a million suns and a couple smaller dwarf-suns.  Bela stood there smiling like a nincompoop who was enthralled by something shiny, like ball of aluminum foil or a pile of glitter. Worst of all, everyone had the exact same stupid look on their faces. The exact same stupid way they looked at her because she was an awesome 16-year-old 4-year-old.

“How could I have been so stupid?” Vlad asked himself, “Clearly, Bela should have had the One Onion Ring from the start.”

“Bela, have I ever told you how much I adore you for no good reason?” Fig asked, as Woeisme continuously kicked him in the shin with no reaction whatsoever. (more…)

“Do I have to transform into a food?” Bela asked

“You will transform into your innermost desire,” the woman replied wispily. “Forged in the fires of transmutation, as the onion and the potato are plunged into the vat of oil and emerge, tempered and strong, golden and delicious.”

”You mean they turn into apples?” Bela was confused now.  She was worried that the woman would seize on her first stray thought and turn her into that, so she was trying to keep her thoughts blank lest she turn into the Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man.  Naturally, she now couldn’t think of anything else. (more…)

The bright glow from the mystic Onion Ring shone brightly in the room. Vlad cried his protests as Bela faded from everybody’s sight. Fig attempted to shield his eyes as Woeisme dashed forward to try and join her increasingly translucent mother.

“What have you done?” hissed Jakob as he hefted the Impeeler to eye level. He demanded that the spud tell him what happened to Bela.

Vlad clawed at Jakob’s hands demanding to be released. “Release me,” he demanded, “and I will tell you all I know.” (more…)