DRESSED TO KILL
                c. The Potato of Terror, 12/10/98
                (15 minutes before the end of my birthday).
                -------------------------------------------------------------

                Walking out on the town
                with my funkadevious feet;
                people look me up and down
                some run, some smile and greet,
                some run in front of cars
                to get out of my way,
                'cause potatoes don't wear bras
                and they don't know what to say
                (at least not bras with spikes
                in tight black PVC),
                cyclists fall off their bikes,
                dogs bare their teeth at me,
                but I wear with pride
                my mental disarray,
                my boots of shiny hide
                and tutu so bright and gay,
                Let them laugh and let them grin!
                Let them scorn me all they will!
                And I will play to win,
                dressed, defiantly, to kill.
                -- 
!!!!!!!!!It's the Potato... OF TERROR!!!!!!!!!

               

                   Dear P.O.T.

                I read your poem
                (see above)
                it stirred my root
                because you are
                a hero and
                a Tuber Star!

                You see, I come
                from a small town
                where greens like me
                are just put down

                and we need icons
                to appear in
                freaky dresses
                without fear.

                So P.O.T (my babe?)
                I`m hot for you
                in everything
                you try to do.

                Metal bra & PVC
                with nibbly spike?
                Come fry with me!

                Love, Carrot Ike :)     (c. John Holt)

                            So, You Want to Be A Potato Terrorist
                            c. ~ THE POTATO OF TERROR! ~ 18/10/98
                            ----------------------------------------------------------------

                            You are young and far
                            ahead of your day
                            but you must learn
                            The Potato Way.
  
                            with all the frills
                            of fine dress sense
                            and fearful fear
                            and self-defence,

                            the way is hard,
                            the path is grey -
                            but child, it is
                            the Potato Way.

                            So sit cross-legged
                            to reflect on fate
                            it will not come
                            to you on a plate
  
                            Take up your Lacrouix
                            and walk my way
                            with hand on hip
                            thigh-boots, hairspray

                            and when you learn
                            the recipe
                            The Potato Way
                            shall set you free.

                            ~P.O.T.~

                              

              LOL

             Casual Tee

                          Oh crispy jacket,
                          Wond`rous snackit,
                          Heaven in boots
                          and thighs of size
                          in buttered packet.
                               
                          Carrot Ike (c. John Holt)

              Oh wandering bard
              I am but lard
              gone buttery
              with flattery

              ~P.O.T.~

                               Oh P.O.T.!
                                Oh dear,
                                I`m near
                                to fainting.
                                I only knew
                                you by the
                                painting
                                that I saw
                                In "Tater Weekly"
                                and I believed
                                it (rather meekly).
                                It made you
                                look so
                                scrumptious, see?
                                If you are Lard
                                then Woe is me!!  (c. John Holt)

              Needs must I drive
              My flavored self
              To conquer all
              With veggie stealth.

              I am a flight
              of fancy night
              who might appeal
              to the surreal

              ~P.O.T.~

                     What are you then?
                     -a sort of moth?
                     -or flying flannel
                     with a cough?
                     Come clean with me
                     or I`ll shove off!

                            Ah! Mistress/Master/
                            Neuter-thing,
                            Your mantra
                            has a chiming ring
                            and I would tread
                            The Tater Stair           (c. John Holt)

           Oh no, it is not proper there
           without being first dragged by the hair
           by the Dwarf of Many Chins
           and pummeled with wet kipper fins.

          ~P.O.T.~

                               Look P.O.T -
                               I`m only 4 feet 3
                               so I can change!
                               (do please trust me)
                               ...and with my chins
                               provide a range
                               of earthy sins.
                               (ok - I`ll drag you
                               by the hair -
                               but I must stand
                               upon a chair!)    (c. John Holt)

                         to bond with you
                         in fervent hope
                         I may soon kick
                         KayEfCee dope.

                        I want to camp
                        outside your door
                        with bangled beads
                         and, what is more,
                        serve all your needs
                        then shout "Encore!" :)

                        Send out your call
                        I am in thrall.
                        My orange root
                        awaits your toot 

                        ~Carrot Ike (and his flute) (c. John Holt)

 
           I am a tuber of Desiree
           I walk the wibbly wobbly way
           I live to be esteemed in fear
          and to drink large quantities of beer.

                         ~P.O.T.~

                         

                                        You may be called
                                        P.O.T. Desiree
                                        but I can`t wait
                                        I`m in  hurry -
                                        and if you play
                                        so hard to get
                                        I`ll sleep with that
                                        damned turnip yet!!     

                                         ~~Carrot Ike (must win his bet)  (c. John Holt)


                    


Return to Main Page of Potato Terrorism
Mail me!
Mail Carrot Ike!