| I awoke to the sound of Joe's mom. "Wake up, honey! Breakfast is ready!" It couldn't be morning already, could it? I felt like I'd only been sleeping for twenty minutes! But sunlight poured through the drawn curtains, so I stumbled into the kitchen, so groggy I could barely keep my eyes open. A delicious smell filled the room, the smell of breakfast. I collapsed into a chair, picked up a knife and fork and smiled sleepily. "What's for breakfast?" Joe's mom sat down a plate before me. It was stacked with food (no surprise there, Joe's mom is so domestic it's almost spooky, like she walked out of a Nick at Nite rerun). But instead of the usual pancakes, eggs and sausage, the plate was heaped with a mountain of hashbrowns. My guts turned to ice. "Something wrong, honey?" She said. "Not enough hashbrowns?" I had to know for sure. "No," I said. "There's not enough, you ignorant cow. Get off your double-wide butt and bring me more!" I flinched, expecting Joe's dad to reach across the table and beat me senseless. Instead he smiled blandly and began to stuff his face -- literally, his cheeks buldged like a chipmunk's. "Some more for me too, honey," he said, drooling hasbrowns. "I just can't seem to get enough! Every bite is catsup-covered bliss!" I bolted, knocking over the table on the way out. Joe and his father screamed, denied of their foul addiction. It was a gruesome, inhuman wail. It will haunt my dreams until I die. Which, all things considering, could be any minute. I yanked open the front door and stopped dead in my tracks. My mind was assaulted with the impossible. For instead of a sunny, suburban morning, I was faced with blinding white fabric, draped over the house like a circus tent, lit from the other side with spotlights. Those bastards! No wonder it felt like I had twenty minutes sleep, they had set up this elaborate tent to trick me... but why? Of course. They wanted me to eat the potato. I ran around the back of the house, expecting less security on the other side. As I turned the corner, I ran into a couple of men in white contamination suits. They pointed at me without bothering to get up. "STOP HIM!" they cried in unison. "STOP HIM HE MUST NOT TELL MUST NOT TELL CAN NOT TELL OF HE MAN IN THE CHAIR OF THE CAN THE SPECIAL CANS OF PORK AND BEANS MUST NOT --" I left them to their disturbing, repetitive babble and finally got to the end of the tent, ripping it open with the kitchen knife. (Easier than it sounds. I would have given my left, well, you know for a Ginsu.) Freedom! It was raining, that much I could feel, but the spotlights blinded me and I couldn't make out anything. I heard more voices, alarmingly close, talking to each other, mostly weird round-about nonsense. I dashed past the lights, feeling my feet strike pavement. Bullets whizzed past me, sending chunks of sidewalk flying. There was no hope. I was night-blind and armed with a butter knife. I raised my hands in surrender. Out of nowhere, a white SUV tore through the neighbor's bushes, skidding to a halt in front of me. The door flew open and I heard a man's voice say, "Get in!" The guards opened fire, bullets ricochetting off the SUV like it was a tank. It was armored. I wasn't. I got in. Great, I'm out of time. There's a library in the next town. I want to tell you everything I learned during that wreckless drive down the highway. It's vitally important. If you don't hear from me tonight, I didn't make it there on time. If you don't hear from me tomorrow... Gothor out.
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