The Orange Potato

The night crept up on us like a box of cracker jacks. I had placed my key in the ignition, and thankfully, my whip agreed with my request to awake from her slumber. I patiently waited until she had suffienciently acquired the desired amount of internal liquids, and head out to my destination. The moon kept an eye on me and my ride; the orange glow from it reminded me of pumpkins. Fields and fields and fields of glorious pumpkins. I remember when I was a kid, every year my parents had the great idea of signing me up for the pumpkin growing contest. Each year I was disqualified for displaying, as my pumpkin, an orange spray-painted potato. This would go on for several years until they official banned my likeness from any pumpkin growing contest in the county. Just then I had remembered that I was, in fact, in the process of driving. My ride reered to the left and to the right, as if not to agree with my commands. "Calm down, baby. Daddy has you," I said to the vehicle in the middle of the night. She was obviously not listening, as I had lost all control and sped off the road, ultimately crashing into a large cherry tree. Ten minutes passed before the authorities finally came. It was at that time when I could always say I had something in common with George Washington. When the officer on the scene asked me, "Can you tell me what happened here?" I quickly replied. "I cannot tell a lie. I chopped down the cherry tree." This did not please the officer, as he quickly cuffed me and threw me agaisnt the hood of his police-grade Chevrolet Impala. "Tough night, eh?" I said to him with a whimper. He looked me directly in the face and said ,"I will now search your car." Fine! I have nothing to hide, I thought to myself. After quickly searching what remained of my poor, sweet Sally Sue (my vehicle's pet name) the officer approached me and said, "I'm taking you in under suspiscion of drug possesion." I had no drugs in my car at this time. "Drug possesion? What in the name of Sally Sue are you talking about?" The officer grew irate. "Sally Sue? You MUST be on drugs!" He showed me a malformed kernal of a Cracker Jack. "That, my dear officer, sir, is a malformed cracker jack!" He told me the sullen words. "I must take you into the station, just in case." The night was not supposed to turn out like this. But for me and my dear Sally Sue, the night crept up on us like a box of cracker jacks.