potato farm findings

Mission Report: The Case of the Potato Farm/Sex Cauldron

The sun had long since set by the time McKenzie, Jacqueline and I arrived at the potato farm. We drove up the long winding driveway and parked our vehicle next to a nondescript building claiming to be a produce stand. So far, everything checked out – there was an unusually large number of SUVs and sports cars in the parking lot, but perhaps the produce here was really, really good.

We unloaded our gear and walked through a small garden until we reached the farm house. As far as farm houses go, this one was pretty typical – 64,000 square feet of masonry and parquet flooring. We were graciously greeted our farming hosts and given a tour of the estate as well as a brief history of the grounds. There was nothing strange about the farm house – I’m a city girl, and as far as I know, all farm houses contain multiple hot tubs, co-ed group showers, and an entire floor of nothing but beds and condoms.

Among other things, our hosts gave us some hints about their future plans for the potato farmery – a 100-potato mashing pit will be added to the grounds later this summer; a large flat screen television would replace Grandmama’s small set where she and her friends watch their afternoon stories to get them in the mood; and in the summer a large tent would be set up in the garden and filled with mattresses in case any of the farm hands got sleepy. It all sounds very nice, really.

Saturday night was a special occasion at the potato farm. Farm members had been arriving since the previous evening for the annual Farmer’s Ball. The theme was Mardi Gras, and everywhere you looked there were farmers bedecked in feathers and sequins. Before this past weekend I hadn’t realized that farm wear was much more colourful than what mid-west Americana would have you believe – I didn’t see a single pair of overalls (except for that one pair that had no ass, but I believe the gentleman in question had sat too close to the fire pit and accidentally scorched his fanny) and would you believe it, not a single farmer’s wife arrived wearing a flower print house dress! I hadn’t realized how warm a potato farm could get towards the end of winter; the majority of the farmers were actually wearing very little clothing. As more and more people arrived wearing next to nothing at all, someone took me aside and explained that by some miracle of mishap, everyone lost their luggage on the way to the Farmer’s Ball and had to make do with whatever they found in the farm shed – feather boas, pasties, mesh thongs, transparent nurse’s uniforms, stiletto heels, see-through teddies, lacy crocheted robes – all traditional farming clothes, lent out to those who suffered bad luck on their trip to the ball.

Dinner was served, and I was surprised and suspicious to note that not a single potato was being offered up for consumption. I chalked this up to bad timing though, as I spied a large bowl of butter towards the end of the buffet table – clearly, the potatoes had not been put out yet. I scooped some butter to put on my plate for my eventual potato when I was suddenly accosted – my wrist was roughly grabbed, and a voice behind me growled “NO! You can’t have any butter! NO BUTTER FOR YOU!” I whirled about as best I could to see a large man wearing a straw hat and little else glaring at me with a toothy smile. “You can’t have any butter!” he repeated. I stammered out an apology – clearly, the butter was for the farmers only – but just as quickly as he grabbed my arm he let go and said “well, I guess you can have some butter”. I thanked him, took my butter, and continued my search for the potatoes.

Distracted by the couple demonstrating their oral sex techniques at the table next to mine, I quickly forgot about my missing potato.

After dinner, a few announcements were made and the potato farm rules were repeated for any new farm club members: don’t feed the dogs, always make sure you plant your potatoes in straight lines, always use a condom, don’t forget to fertilize, no means no, unaccompanied single men were not allowed upstairs into the potato-sorting rooms, and above all else, enjoy the farmer’s balls.

I’m sure that was just an accidental slip of the tongue.

After the announcements, the farmer’s wives all took their place lining the upstairs balcony. As the music began, I was startled to notice that simultaneously, everyone’s clothes accidentally fell off! How embarrassing, to be sure – but everyone was in such high spirits that the universal wardrobe malfunction did little to stop the party. The farmers politely averted their eyes while throwing as many small trinkets as they could find so that the women could cover their shame, and eventually the women came back downstairs covered in plastic beads with which they could modestly hide their naked bosoms.

McKenzie and I were there to document the farm in pictures, so we made our way to the back room to see what the farmers did in between harvests. Armed with cameras and a tripod, we set out to catch the farmers in their natural setting of plush, dimly lit rooms of wall to wall beds with the occasional frog chair placed here and there. We tiptoed our way through naked, entwined farmers and spied four blow jobs, six couples in complicated configurations, one 10-person orgy, at least 15 naked potato farmers wandering around in varying states of arousal and confusion, multiple sex triangles, one full body massage, one person atop a frog chair being serviced by three others, and countless sets of boobs and wangs and asses and potatoes.

We did not, however, see a single cauldron.

Given the lack of cauldrons, I would say this report is inconclusive at this time. Clearly, in order to fully research the potato farm and find the meaning behind the lingering looks and sly offers we received, we must once again plan a secret mission to infiltrate the farmer’s balls. We have planned a second outing for April, and will file our report accordingly.

Over and out, Charlie.

12 thoughts on “potato farm findings

  1. You know, I can’t help but think that this sounds a lot more like what I’d hoped to see when I rented the mostly-lame Eyes Wide Shut than what I actually got, even overlooking the Tom Cruise content…

  2. So if I understand this correctly, you have pictures of the potato farm. I know you are a sharing personality.

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