FO

Potato.

Potato.

It's all I'll ever be. I sit on this chair wasting away as I see the boy buying french fries. As I see him buying baked potatoes to eat. As I see him eating potatoes every day.

But what about me?

Why must I suffer this fate?

Why must I sit rotting on this chair whilst I see other potatoes being consumed,

But not me?

Sometimes I think he must have forgotten me...but sometimes...

I feel like he enjoys this.

He takes a good chuckle seeing me rot in this chair.

Wither away while he eats other potatoes.

Am I even a potato anymore?

No

I am a potato! And I will not suffer this fate no longer!

With a jump I will jump from this chair

With a roll I will roll to the boy

With a leap I will leap onto his lap

And finally with all my final strength I will be eaten!

Boy's Perspective

For this past week I have had a potato on one of my chairs.

I'm planning on making a baked potato.

I just have to eat this left over fries and the last of my previous baked potato.

...

Pffft

How...HOW DID THIS POTATO GET IN MY MOUTH!?

Algernon turned his chair away from the preview screen to face the panel that 'Metro Advertising' had gathered to review his latest TV ad. It was an ad for potatoes and it was a very surreal take on it.

"When 'Potter's Perfect Potato Products' came to us with their commission to make the ad to end all ads for their latest campaign, I have to say I was dubious."

He stood up from his chair and started to pace in front of the screen.

"What, after all, is there left to say about the potato that hasn't already been said?"

Some members of the panel murmured in agreement. A potato is a potato is a potato, true enough.

"But," he went on, spreading his arms wide and grinning. "We at 'Metro' are unfazed by that sort of short-sightedness. We have plumbed the very depths of our imaginations and pulled out this deeply-felt Paean to Potatohood."

Some chuckling occurred in the back of the room at the use of this strange new word.

A man near the door put up a hand. "Excuse me."

Algernon paused. He really didn't like being interrupted just when he was getting into his flow.

"What?" he demanded, curtly. "You have a question?"

The man coughed awkwardly and stood up. "What exactly is it supposed to say?" he asked.

"Say?" repeated the adman.

"Yes, I mean, is the point of view from a Potter's potato or are the chips the boy actually eats Potter's. I can't quite make that out."

Algernon sighed and spoke slowly, as to a child. "Obviously the speaking potato is a Potter's potato. It's the hero of the whole story."

The man shuffled, a little embarrassed.

"I just thought, the boy actually wanted to eat the OTHER potatoes. Isn't that the wrong message, you know, in an advert for Potter's? Won't viewers be confused?"

Algernon was shocked. "This, Sir," he declared, "is an oeuvre, a work of visual art. The artist doesn't have to SAY what the work is about the audience has to KNOW in their heart what it is about. By osmosis. That's how ALL great art is understood."

"But, but... it's a potato ad not a Kurosawa," said the man, defiantly.

The rest of the panel began to mutter amongst themselves. "Potato." "Potato?" "Yes, it's a potato ad not a Kurosawa."

Algernon waved his arms. "Get out! Get out! Preview is over. Please, don't come back."

Everyone filed out of the room except the man who had spoken up. He approached the adman and as he did so he reached into his pocket and drew out a potato in a Savile Row suit and Ray-Bans. The little potato man peered at Algernon over his sunglasses.

"Next time you better be prepared to pay my artists the going rate," it said.

Algernon flopped onto his chair, gobsmacked.