What do you suggest we do, Gertrude? What’s done is done, right? What? No, no… that’s not an option. Besides… he’s too old to be any good in a stew. Bound to be stringy as hell.
Oh, hi, friends (or as John McCain might say, “my friends”). Sorry… I was just on the phone with someone at our label, that vice president of marketing and coercion person. She’s all bent out of shape. So are we all, frankly. Yes, that’s a metaphor. Though in the case of Marvin (my personal robot assistant), being bent out of shape is a serious matter and one that has been plaguing him since his invention by 
Mitch Macaphee some few years ago. (Marvin is bent just slightly out of shape, as perhaps you can tell from his photos.) I have to say, I don’t like it when people yell at me over the phone. I kind of worry they’ll hurt their throats and have to talk like Miles Davis for the rest of their natural lives. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that….)
Okay… so what was all the yelling and shouting and rending of garments about? Well… it seems out very own man-sized tuber has been a little bit indiscreet. Okay… I’ll be honest… extremely indiscreet. Where do I begin? Well… it seems at some point he got ahold of one of those vacation guides touting the great north country. So he decided one night to wheel off with some fellow tubers and go on a little trip up along the Moose River. (You know…. Moose River! Wider than the Nile! I’ll cross you single file some daaaaay!!!) Not a big deal, right? Shouldn’t be a problem for any normal root vegetable. I mean, you’d think he could keep a lid on his little bender… but no. The very next morning, laying across my breakfast table (right on top of my day-old toast), was a big freaking headline about none other than the tuber himself.
Okay, that was bad enough – to have his name plastered across my morning paper. But the fact that he managed to get his name plastered across Gertrude Al-Kabar’s morning paper was just about intolerable. (Sure, she gets the same paper 
I do… but what are the chances both would have the same front page?) Now the label is all pissed off. They’re nervous about terrestrial record sales, of course. I keep telling them that any publicity is good publicity, but these fuckers are old school. They can smell a scandal fifty miles away, especially when it involves five-foot-tall root animate vegetables on motorized carts. That freaking tuber has put us in Coventry once again. (Where is Coventry? Right where we are, that’s where.)
So… it looks like our promotional tour will definitely begin in outer space. Aldebaran here we come. Thanks a load, tubey! You and your white water rafting adventure holiday!!
