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.