Project Nightshade:
The Potato Conspiracy

Day Six: The Shift.

From: MetaKnight4 | Posted: 1/29/2003 2:43:20 PM
where is he?! uh-oh . . . this cant be good . . .
From: The Swordfetus | Posted: 1/29/2003 2:50:29 PM
sounds like this could make a good book or moive or better yet BOTH! :D
From: Tyyppi | Posted: 1/29/2003 3:34:51 PM
But how is it possible to take someone's mouth? Try it, take a knife and try to take off your mouth, you'll soon discover that there'll be a bigger hole...
From: gothor | Posted: 1/29/2003 8:28:46 PM
Message #14. Gothor here. The mad scientist (and bad driver) had just told me something so crazy that a week ago, I would have laughed: Potatoes were really aliens. "Woah," I said. "Heavy." "Heavy indeed, young master Gothor. And here you are, with the weight of the world on your shoulders. They are killing us from within, one french fry at a time. Potato chips and fries are rich in asparagine, a naturally occurring amino acid that when heated with certain sugars, forms acrylamide. A carcinogen. Yet the government refuses to regulate potato-based snack foods as a drug, even though they're highly addictive." "Addictive?" I asked. Even after everything I had seen, I was skeptical. "Bet you can't eat just one, Gothor! BET YOU CAN'T EAT JUST ONE!" At the height of his outburst, his features seemed to melt. Lightning flashed again, and I caught a glimpse of something within, as if this elderly scientist were only a mask. I screamed and tried to open the door, knowing that if I bailed at this speed I probably wouldn't make it. Then his icy hand gripped my arm and he said, "Wait!" He smiled, awkwardly, as if the concept were new to him. "You are not alone. You have... friends." It sorta reminded me of that scene where Frankenstein hugs a little girl and slurs, "Friiiiiend." Only without the neck-bolts. "So, what's this all about? The government endorses cancerous, alien snack foods as what... a form of population control? Like cigarettes?" He laughed, a sound like a sucking chest wound. "If only it were that simple. Yes, the rich get richer and the poor die off, but that's only a side-effect. Their way of securing friends in high places. The real danger lies in the Shift." "The ****?" "No, Shift. They have laid dormant for hundreds of years, content to be eatin until the world climate had changed. Not just political, but weather-wise. They only thrive in temperate climates, and these days, you can get a sun tan in January. Now they are evolving. Awakening. It's the dawn of a new potato. And while former strains merely gave you cancer... or suggested things, terrible things through telepathy... this new breed controls you completely." "Like that thing in the can of Pork & Beans?" "Exactly. Once it worms its way into your gut, it takes root. Then you have a few hours before its tentacles reach your brain." "Doc, seriously; that's gross. So... can't we just stop eating potatoes?" He shook his head sadly. "A few years ago a boy like you could have thwarted their scheme with information alone. But technology has a way of mucking things up even worse than the Spanish did. There's a new danger --" Suddenly he looked at the roof of the SUV, as if he could see through it. "Solanin! They've found us." "Dude! Watch the road!" "I'm sorry, young master Gothor. You must leave. Now. It is no longer safe. Take this," he said, and reached inside his lab coat. It was a metallic box, the kind you'd keep a ring in. "Gee," I said dryly, "I didn't know you cared." He tilted his head, obviously not getting the joke. "Of course we care. It's all our fault. Open the box only when things look their most dire." Then he reached past me, opened the door. Outside, the midnight world rushed past us. "You must make your way to Blackfoot, Idaho. Don't stop for anything. And above all -- don't eat the potato!" Then, before I could react, he pushed me outside. Gothor out.

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- Gothor out.

More stuff by J.R. Antrim.