Morning. Palinode and Schmutzie in bed, recumbent and lying down (in case the recumbency doesn't do it). Covers all askew. Cats flanking each.
Schmutzie: When I was young there was this kid named Michael across the street. He had a potato gun.
Palinode: I hate potato guns. No matter what you aim at, you always end up hitting a potato.
Schmutzie: No -
Palinode: - Yes.
Schmutzie: No! That's not how potato guns work. They shoot potatoes.
Palinode: Every damn time.
Schmutzie: No! They shoot them out of themselves.
Palinode: ...
Schmutzie: ...
Palinode: They're good for finding hidden potatoes, though.
2 comments:
*roars laughter till smoke comes out ears*
We had these red and black plastic store bought potato guns when we were kids. Grandpa'd been keeping them around till we were old enough. I remember being in the car with my mom and brother, on the way to beach. At the intersection I dared him to shoot the driver next to us, and even with the wind he got the guy right in the forehead. I'd never seen my mom peel out from a stop light before...
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