POTATO MOON, Part 61: “Follow the Gin-gold Brick Road” by Ellen Fleischer

And seize them the guards did. The companions were boldly seized as no man–no woman–and no small furry creature from Alpha Centauri–had ever been seized before. Then they were marched down a dark desert highway.

The cool wind was in their hair as the warm smell of colitas rose up through the air. Up ahead in the distance, they saw a shimmering light. The guards herded them toward it.
It was a decidedly sparkly shimmer. As they drew closer, Woeisme exclaimed, “Why it’s an Opal city!”

One of the voles smirked and pointed to the dark desert highway along which they were marching. “Naturally,” he said. “Where else would you think that the Gin-gold brick road would lead?”

POTATO MOON, Chapter 60: “A Vole New World” by MIchael Pullman

“Cor,” said the pseudo-British Vole. “You ain’t half baked, Guv.” He nibbled again at the Potato Goddess’s feet, which greatly annoyed her while also slightly turning her on.

“Stop that!” she shouted. “I did not construct a flaky, tender mortal form, swathed in butter, sour cream, and just a little bit of chives, so that you mortals could consume it!”

“You’re covered in butter?” said Jakob, who was also now a little turned on, which was a new and troubling sensation for him, given that his new object of fascination was above the legal age of consent.

POTATO MOON, Part 59 by Andy Bolt

But Woeisme failed to notice her, already caught up in selecting her new true love.  For Fig had been dead for nearly thirty seconds.  Her heart and an attention span more in line with small insects or large rocks were insisting that she heroically find the strength to move on, like in one of those Beyonce songs where she sings as that tuff lady.  Callie Savage?  Miami Vicious?

“Ahem!” The Potato Goddess shouted, in a mysterious potato language that was phonetically and alphanumerically identical to English.

“Let’s see,” said Woeisme, counting on her fingers.  “There’s that Jarhead guy back in Rainydale, that kid who fixes my cable, and that man from prison who keeps sending me letters and pictures of dead cats he found.”

Pretty Fly For a Black Guy (or, Barack Obama Gets Some Buzz)

I feel frustrated because I haven’t had the chance to post my thoughts on Barack Obama going Mr. Miyagi on a White House fly during a TV interview.

The first thing that occurred to me is, Wow.  Great reflexes.

The second thing was, What a tragedy that SNL is done for the season.  What the world needs is Will Ferrell as GWB doing an interview and a fly buzzes in and lands on his head, and he knocks himself unconscious.

The third thing was, I can’t wait for PETA and Jeff Goldblum to weigh in on this.    I wish I posted it yesterday, because then I’d look psychic, because PETA bìŧçhëd about it this morning and Goldblum showed up on Colbert this evening.

Ah well.  Maybe the Ferrell thing will happen somewhere.

PAD

POTATO MOON, Part 58: “Righteous Buttery Justice Will Rain Down Upon Us All,” by Emily S. Whitten

potato_moon“It all makes sense now!” Woeisme exclaimed. “I wondered why the kids in the Rainydale comics I loved as a six-year-old (two whole weeks ago) never changed, and now I understand! They’re based on you, and you’re all sparklepires. Wow. I feel right at home!”

“Great,” grinned Artie.  He ran a hand through his hair, which flopped back to either side like a freshly split baked potato.  “We like it when people show up unexpectedly and declare that they feel right at home. D’you want to come to chemistry classes with us? They’re ripping good fun! And there’s a potato bake after school!”

“Actually,” Jakob said, “We just need to know–”

“Jaaaakob,” Woeisme interrupted. “I can fulfill my quest all by myself, thankyouverymuch!”