"Did you see, Peru's president revokes civil war atrocities amnesty"...

A man can dream though... A man can dream. Image via Wikipedia... Is today's headline?"
Max looked up from his coffee.
 "No." He replied. I noticed that he was reading a print-your-own-headline novelty newspaper. It wasn't really surprising he hadn't seen seen any modern news, he was reading an article on how he, Max, had been elected President of Space.
 "PERU?"
A feeling of dread spread like water across my body, sinking into my clothes and dripping liquidy dread into the carpet. Putting down his newspaper, leaning on his fists as to shake his miniature coffee mug, Mr. Potato pushed his face closer to me. "PERU?" He demanded.
 "No. Poland. You misheard." I yelled. "Please don't start again."
But Mr. Potato was off. He'd met the foreign furniture guys in the dungeon yesterday - still holding, by the way - and had given them a good going-over, until he realised they were Venezuelan. Still, here we go again.
 "Bloody Peruvians!" He yelled. "With their trees! And Llamas! And those hats! Bloody hats. I want to deep-fry them! All of them!"
I sighed. Mr. Potato was really a very angry man. potato. man-potato? He has a little hat, that must count for something...
 Anyway, I'm off to look for a potato peeler. I've left Max in the kitchen, being lectured about how Peruvian water was far more lazy than other water. I could always boil them both. That might work.

Everyone was back...

The French Secret Servicemen, following an anonymous tip-off from me (I put a bag on my head, they had no idea who I was) had gone to Peru to search for Max. Mr Potato had gone with them to shout at the locals. My mother was still gone, and Max - free from pursuit for the moment - was at my place, drinking tea. For a man pursued by Secret chaps in suits, he was remarkably calm, although he refused to tell me what he'd done that had so offended France, and I thought it better not to push the point, as there are some things man is better not knowing.
 The orphan-children were also back, running 'round the place, smashing my many priceless vases I'd foolishly balanced on small tables and the like.
 "What I don't get," I began, "Is where they all came from."
 "Well, I can help you there!" Max said, "You see, over the time we've know each other, I've been secretly replacing your birth control pills with tiny mints!"
I sighed, as one is often compelled to do in Max's company. I considered a long, structured list of the many flaws of this explanation. Instead, I got up and fetched a broom.

Chasing Max from the house, waving the broom manically, I wondered what the neighbours thought of me. At least I was dressed this time. If they were to pull back their curtains, watch and listen, they may have heard Max's parting message:
 "You might not thank me for the kids," he yelled, "But you'll thank me for the fresh breath!"

Mr. Potato

This is Mr. Potato. As you may have guessed, he is a Scot, and something of a nationalist (with a small 'n'). However, if you were to spend too much time with Mr. Potato, you might detect a very small undercurrent of racism, just if the subject of Peruvians was to be raised. Of course, this isn't a common topic of conversation, so the casual observer would probably take a liking to Mr. Potato: after all, he's a kind and caring father, good at taking the bins out, and spends his Sundays caring for the elderly.
 So Mr. Potato seems to be an all-round nice guy, unless you ask him about Peruvians, whereupon he will shout, "Kill them all!". Mr. Potato believes none should be spared: Man, woman, child or Llama, they should all be chopped up and fried.
 So, beneath the cover, this gentle friendly man - who you would trust to babysit your kids or walk your Grandmother - is actually a dangerous lunatic. You have been warned!
 If only Mr. Potato had heard that old saying, "You shouldn't judge a potato by its skin", then applied that saying to Peruvians, the world would be a better place...


I have no idea what any of this was about. All I can say is that it came to me in the shower. Whether that makes it better or worse, I cannot say...