Sunday, April 29, 2007

potato gun

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.


Mr. Head said...

*roars laughter till smoke comes out ears*

Mr. Head said...

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...