The Soggy that Teased like Grinding Rabbits
(or why I should never be allowed to use Plot Generator)
A Short Story, by Philsworth Coppersnitchington
Burger Teller was thinking about Yam Potatoe again. Yam was a Proportionate Tuberous with Dusty Kidneys and Creased Leaves.
Burger walked over to the window and reflected on his Forthwidth surroundings. He had always loved Slushy Slawsiburg with its curious, comfortable Cabbage. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel Extactic.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather some one . It was the a Proportionate figure of Yam Potatoe.
Burger gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a Caring, Ketchupey, Tomato Cola drinker with Porous Kidneys and Smooth Leaves. His friends saw him as a healthy, high-pitched Hit. Once, he had even helped a cruel Old Carrot cross the road.
But not even a Caring person who had once helped a cruel Old Carrot cross the road, was prepared for what Yam had in store today.
The Soggy teased like Grinding Rabbits, making Burger Irish. Burger grabbed a Squidgy Pen that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Burger stepped outside and Yam came closer, he could see the substantial smile on his face.
"I am here because I want syrup," Yam bellowed, in a Stale tone. He slammed his fist against Burger's chest, with the force of 54 Slugs. "I frigging hate you, Burger Teller."
Burger looked back, even more Irish and still fingering the Squidgy Pen. "Yam, don't eat those bagels in front of the television," he replied.
They looked at each other with Impersonal feelings, like two whispering, weary Werewolfs Saucing at a very Enjoyable Annual blender-revving contest, which had Cheese grater music playing in the background and two Cause-of-mouth-drought uncles Drying to the beat.
Burger studied Yam's Dusty Kidneys and Creased Leaves. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you syrup," he explained, in pitying tones.
Yam looked Mustard, his body raw like a shrill, spotty Slate.
Burger could actually hear Yam's body shatter into 4361 pieces. Then the Proportionate Tuberous hurried away into the distance.
Not even a drink of Tomato Cola would calm Burger's nerves tonight.
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