A potato named McKenzie

The car was a bright brown, almost neon, and it's driver was not a happy man. He stopped the car in front of a small house on an otherwise deserted large street. He peered out the windows, and checked the house number against a piece of paper he pulled from his pocket. Grimacing, he opened his door and stepped out. He moved briskly to the trunk, opening it and removing two large plastic jugs. He closed the trunk and placed one jug on it, and the second on the first, before picking them both up and turning toward the house again. He moved with great deliberation, not quite breaking into a run, yet definately not strolling along the walkway. He stared straight ahead, ignoring the dandelions growing to either side. The dandelions would have to die, but other matters were more pressing.

He tapped the door with his foot as soon as he was close enough, and it swung back into shadow. He stepped inside and the door was slammed behind him. The man behind the door looked at him, looking terrified despite wielding a large scythe. "Only two, Grover?" he asked, glancing between the newcomer and the door.

"Only two," replied Grover, as he set the jugs down against the wall. He carefully stepped over to the window. "They know we're planning something. They were waiting for me. I don't think they know about the goats yet."

The man behind the door sighed. "As long as you weren't followed, we can wait until dusk." Grover shook his head.

"They're coming," he said, watching the dandelion seeds scatter lazily in the non-existance breeze. The other man joined him at the window and watched in horror as dozens of small white flowers sprang up through the tangle of weeds and turned toward the house. Grover stepped away from the window and tried to tip-toe hastily toward the garage. He opened the door and several dozen pastel-colored goats ran past him into the living room.

The other man walked back to the front door, standing behind it with his scythe again. "Ready when you are."

Grover nodded and opened a jug. The door swung open and both men chased the goats outside. The two men followed, Grover sloshing a milky green fluid from the open jug across the weeds, the other man slashing stems with the scythe. The goats milled around under the eaves, eating the weeds closest to their feet. Without warning, an unfinished monkey swung down from the roof and landed on Grover's shoulder, knocking him flat.

The other man swung around with the scythe, cracking part of the monkey's ceramic endoskeleton and severing the hydraulic lines running to it's tail. He swung again and connected with it's head, a black goo dripping from where it's computer should have been. The monkey went limp and Grover rolled over onto his stomach before lifting himself up. The two men nodded to each other and began backing into the house. As the door shut, a very pale black goat stepped out from the eaves and began nibbling on the broken monkey. The remaining flowers turned toward that goat, and, for the first time in it's existence, the master potato was afraid.

Goe, wants to know more about Lord Kimbot.