A tangy twist of fate for the castle’s most hapless baked potato.
The halls of Castle Droughmoore had never smelled quite so… tangy.
SadSpud shuffled nervously through the candlelit corridor, his embroidered napkin cape dragging behind him, butter pat wobbling dangerously on top of his head. He had been invited to a special ceremony—one that could define his entire baked-potato destiny.
He thought it would be the Cult of Butterworth, a revered order of buttery aristocracy, known for their refined sheen and flawless golden glow. “A hug from the cult master? Finally, my destiny!” SadSpud whispered.
Alas. Fate had a sense of humor.
SadSpud, distracted by a stray Mashed Horde member tripping over a rolling gravy cart, took a wrong turn. Instead of buttery grandeur, he found sour, tangy banners fluttering on the walls and a circle of small, stern, highly opinionated dairy pots chanting “FERMENT! FERMENT! FERMENT!”
“Oh,” SadSpud whispered. “I… I think I’m in the wrong—”
But it was too late. Before he could retreat, the Cult of Sourcream had enfolded him in their velvety, slightly acidic embrace.
And somewhere, in the buttery corridors he had not entered, Butterworth was fuming.
“HOW DARE HE!” Butterworth exclaimed, shaking his golden pats in fury. “I raised him, polished him, kept his butter pat perfectly square! And this is the thanks I get? Tangy, spoiled betrayal!”
Back in the cult circle, SadSpud looked around at his new followers, who were happily smearing him with their fermented blessings. “Is… this… okay?” he asked timidly.
“Oh, it’s perfect,” cooed the high sourcream priestess, “You have just been initiated… and your butter pat will never be the same again.”
SadSpud tried to protest, but a spoonful of sourcream plopped gently onto his head. The butter pat began to slide. He squeaked in indignation, but inside, he had to admit—there was a strange thrill in this tangy rebellion.
Meanwhile, Butterworth plotted. The buttery crusade would come. The reckoning would be golden. But for now, SadSpud’s napkin cape fluttered heroically (and messily) among his new cult.
Read More Awesome Stuff
- Remember Clippy? He’s Back — and Now He’s an AI Assistant That Might Write Your Novel or Destroy Your Office
- Ethical Marketing for Freelance Writers: Promote Yourself Honestly Without Hype
- Learn Why Erotica Is a Hot Genre, and It Isn't Always Because of the Sex Scenes.
- Unveiling the Artistry: Exploring Advanced Literary Devices and Techniques for Masterful Writing
- The Pros and Cons of Using a Hybrid Approach (AI + Human Content) to Write Your Online Content