A Conversation With The Edibles [FICTOID]

“Beware the color violet.”

“Shouldn’t that be the ides of March?”

“What are you, Caesar?”

“Fine talk, coming from a sweet potato.”

“Oh?  And have you got a thing against the Irish?”

“Sweet potatoes aren’t associated with Ireland.  And how can you talk?  I’ve heard of potatoes having eyes but not mouths.”

“What, you’ve never seen Toy Story?  You don’t know who Mr. Potato Head is?”

“Mr. Potato Head is a cubernetic organism.  You are no Mr. Potato Head.”

“I could be.”

“Let’s stop dealing in hypotheticals.  Why should I be wary of the color violet?”

“It’s a sneaky color, not all the way there the way purple and indigo are.”

“Po-TAY-to, po-TAH-to.”

“You making fun of me?  Swear to God, I’ll cut you!”

“With what?  You haven’t got any arms.”

“I’ll still cut you!”

“How?”

“…maybe…maybe I’ve got a razor blade hidden in me like apples do on Halloween.”

“Hey!  That’s a base calumny -- “

“Shut up, golden delicious!  This doesn’t involve you!”

“Know what I think?”

“Nobody cares what you think, pink boy.”

“I care -- “

“Shut up, golden delicious!”

“Oh, I’ll tell you what I think, regardless of whether you want to hear it or not.  I think you’re jealous of purple yams but don’t want to look like you’re ragging on one of your fellow tubers so you try to stir up animosity against the color violet, hoping it bleeds over into purple and in that, against yams.”

“You can’t trust yams.”

“You can trust Popeye, can’t you?  ‘I yam what I yam’.”

“Somebody need me?”

“No, spinach, it’s cool.”

“I’ll still cut you, pink boy.  Remember I can be packing a razor blade in me.  Try me and see if I don’t.”

“Oh, I will…mashed.”

© Buzz Dixon