The old man loves onions. My grandma told me she once found my dad eating an onion like an apple under their kitchen table, crying, but having a great time. He was two. Anyway, Happy Vidalia Onion Season to those who celebrate.
by ScalpOfLily
6 Comments
nopenonotatall
this is so so funny
TomboAhi
“Happy Vidalia onion season.” my father says to me with a smile. I smile back and say “Thanks, Dad.” But then the light behind his eyes fades and he takes on a troubled expression. “What’s wrong, Dad?” I ask. He doesn’t answer. He is now staring forward, not at me, but seemingly past me. I turn my head to look behind me, then back at him. His pupils are now large, his lips trembling. His face is expressionless. I’ve never seen him like this before, and I’m frightened. “Dad?” I reach out and touch his shoulder. It feels like he’s shivering. That’s when I notice a deep rumble. A noise I now realize has always been there. His mouth opens wide. The rumble is now a cacophony of mechanical noise — clanking, banging, whirring. A red light shoots out of his mouth. I take several steps back. Then, from this chaos, a robotic voice bellows, “PLU 4159”. A single large onion falls out of my father’s now gaping maw. I pick it up and take a bite. Daylight turns into darkness. I wake up and it is now the year 4159. My brain is in a jar, surrounded by other jars, all filled with pickled onions, as far as the eye can see. This is what I wanted, I tell myself. We can no longer grow onions in the soil, but I still have an onion kingdom. And I am the onion king.
Framphopolis
I live in Vidalia and the onion festival is going on right now.
6 Comments
this is so so funny
“Happy Vidalia onion season.” my father says to me with a smile. I smile back and say “Thanks, Dad.” But then the light behind his eyes fades and he takes on a troubled expression. “What’s wrong, Dad?” I ask. He doesn’t answer. He is now staring forward, not at me, but seemingly past me. I turn my head to look behind me, then back at him. His pupils are now large, his lips trembling. His face is expressionless. I’ve never seen him like this before, and I’m frightened. “Dad?” I reach out and touch his shoulder. It feels like he’s shivering. That’s when I notice a deep rumble. A noise I now realize has always been there. His mouth opens wide. The rumble is now a cacophony of mechanical noise — clanking, banging, whirring. A red light shoots out of his mouth. I take several steps back. Then, from this chaos, a robotic voice bellows, “PLU 4159”. A single large onion falls out of my father’s now gaping maw. I pick it up and take a bite. Daylight turns into darkness. I wake up and it is now the year 4159. My brain is in a jar, surrounded by other jars, all filled with pickled onions, as far as the eye can see. This is what I wanted, I tell myself. We can no longer grow onions in the soil, but I still have an onion kingdom. And I am the onion king.
I live in Vidalia and the onion festival is going on right now.
the plu hahaha
Too adorable!
Vidalia is 4166????