A Funeral for Mrs. Soulpotato

Everyone in town had got together for the funeral of Mrs. Soulpotato, the last in the line noblest, tsarist lineage of P.O.T.A.T.O. (Potato, Onion, Tradition, Art, Tits, Ornament) bloodline. Everyone was dressed in the traditional rainbow-colored corsets that Mrs. Soulpotato herself had worn, then chosen for her mourners, and then made them pay for as well. It was a sunny, beautiful day that everyone would be enjoying outside, playing, catching up with old friends or loving each other. Instead, they were forced to stay in the church all day for Mrs. Soulpotato had ordered it to be requested that people could only leave after Miles Davis’s Bitches Brew album was played 50 times so that people would, in her own words, “learn the bippity-boopity-bop.”

With Mrs. Soulpotato’s corpse hanging from the rope she hanged herself with accidentally by someone, the wake began.

“Hi, everyone,” said Johnny, the carpet dealer. “So, I’m the first to talk about Mrs. Soulpotato which is an honor to me because Mrs. Soulpotato was like a mother to me… if my mother was someone who I never saw, or heard, or interacted with in any way. So there is that… oh, how I miss my mother.”

Once he was finished, everyone turned their attention to the Random Numeral Creator Machine to see whose turn it was to speak next. It was Ted’s.

“When I met Mrs. Soulpotato,” began Ted and dried up a tear from his eye. “Was when I entered this church and one of her fingers fell onto my ice cream. It was the best ice cream I’ve ever had. How could I ever forget something like that? She was unforgettable?”

Next it was Ramona, who was bald, but very hot.

“Hey, remember when Mrs. Soulpotato threatened to have us all evicted from our houses if we did not find the secret communist treasure? I sure do. Man, were those some damn wacky hijinks: scavenging through the tundra, getting poisoned by mushrooms, resorting to cannibalism… what I am trying to say is… that without the fascist Mrs. Soulpotato we wouldn’t have any of these interesting stories to talk about… and we never would have been able to redistribute her stolen wealth. Stolen from our workers!”

“Hello, everyone!” said Sally, as Ramona forgot who she was and went and changed her entire life completely.

“Hi, Sally!” said everyone else waving back with both of their hands. She was the last to talk because someone had broken totally on purpose the machine so people wouldn’t have to speak anymore. “Well, I guess that what I enjoyed more about Mrs. Soulpotato is when she died while I was murdering her. She was someone great to be murdering about… so great that I don’ t think I will ever do it again.”

Everyone, all communists, clapped and, suddenly, there was nothing else to do, so they decided to make the best of it and make a big, badass party like the ones Mrs. Soulpotato enjoyed throwing only for herself and her fascists friends. At some point, someone realized that they had all the candy but no piñata but they quickly solved this problem when it became apparent that Mrs. Soulpotato had given everyone one last gift with her beautiful corpse, and when everyone went back home the next day, they all felt very happy and satisfied with their brand clean piñata taxidermic souvenir.