Potato Of The Day Episode 69

kiwanohornedmelonofdeathPsst. Psssst. Hey, over here. No, no, shhhh! Be quiet. It’s not safe to speak right now. I’ll explain everything. Just don’t say anything yet. Not now. I’ll meet you under that arbitrary line of parenthesis. Then we can talk.


Phew! You made it here. I’m glad. You’re safe now. Did you see it? You know, it. Yeah, that thing out there…  that… that monstrosity, that flaming orange ball of Devil horns, that latent bomb of mass destruction, that horseshoe for the final Horseman of the Apocalypse’s horse’s hoof, that stabbing, piercing, blowfish fruit of doom. We call that the Horned Melon. We call that the Hedged Gourd. We call that…  Kiwano.

SHHH! No, don’t repeat the name out loud. You might wake it! No, that’s not something you’d want. Legend says the one who wakes the Kiwano from its silent slumber must endure its rhinoceros wrath. For if woken, the Kiwano demands to be to be taken in, it demands a digestive path to your soul. And what the Kiwano demands, the Kiwano gets, its power the ability to brainwash, to pull you in, to make you consume.

They say it tastes horrific, like hippie blood, a fresh organic mix of cucumber, banana, and lemon zest, the kind of nightmare only thought up in deranged blight by the cotton-mouth stoned. They say it’s all pulp and seed, the most useless bits of fruit, tantalizingly recognizably, brutally succulent, but soul-crushingly unfulfilling. They say its insides are the most unnatural shade of green, alien mucus, luminescent neon, a radioactive ooze of shame. They say it’s edible, but once eaten, never again will you be able to dream.

That monster might tempt you, whispering promises of a place deep inside, a place forever green, growing moist in the light of life. But it doesn’t give life. No. It takes life, rising up from the sand-fields of death, never privy to shadows from the sun, always absorbing heat, unnaturally alive. It tempts those who walk desert paths, feeding seeds of hope, minute grasps of hydration, before turning its back, rotting away back into the sands of time, a decaying corpse laughing at the needs of the soul. Yes, you see now, don’t you? The Kiwano is a killer, a demon beast, a HELLSPAWN!

Oh, oh no… I’ve done it now! I’ve raised my voice! I’VE AWOKEN THE BEAST! You must run now! GO! Don’t EVER look back! WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T LOOK INTO THE EYES OF THE KIWANO – FOR IT MEANS CERTAIN ARGHGHHHHHHHHH……….


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