The Great Tot War of 0-Tuesday

"I remember it well. Like it was yesterday.", the grizzled old codger muses, rubbing the stump were once her limb had been. " The gruesome images from that battle will haunt my memory for eternity. What is that you ask? You have never heard of the Tot War?"She shakes her graying head, her rummy eyes puzzled in disbelief. "Have it in ya to pass an old veteran a Dot, will ya, and you'll hear it first hand. Not the mollycoddled version you will find in the history books". As she settles back into her computer chair more comfortably for the duration of the tale, candy buldging in her cheek, one can almost see the years slip away from her face. She, herself already lost in time, were her story started, two days before....

"There we were together in the mess hall, the entire regiment exhausted from the rigors and training of the day. Tired, muddied and wet, the weary men slumped were they could find room, vieing for a spot closest to the fire. The days drills over for the day, their uniforms drying on make shift clotheslines. The air was filled with jovial banter, bursts of laughter, and the smell of the meager sustenance the kitchen sergeant had prepared, along with the smell of the wet wool. The unmistakable aroma of tots enticing wafted through out the encampment, the anticipation of their upcoming delight helping to create a lighthearted atmosphere. Conversation was cut short once the food rations hit the table, the men's attention focused on filling their empty rumbling stomachs. What should have been the high point of their day, the time when their sole mission was satiating their belly's, suddenly and unexpectedly turned into the type of ilk nightmares are born of.

Silence invaded the camp once the fatal strategic error was noticed. The men stopped their chewing, mouths full, as the count began. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. Ten. An even number. Ten tots left and there were an uneven number of men. Sneaky calculated sideways glances where stole as once again chewing started, faster now. No head was lifted, all concentrated on finishing their ration first, hoping to nonchalantly reach for the remaining morsels unnoticed. Impossible, that battle tactic failed..."

"You know, the red ones are my favorite?" "C'mon, pay attention now, you have no idea how much longer a coot like me might be around. Pass the red Dots over to me and I'll continue with my epic tale. mmmm"

"It was the green horn, the fodder boy of the troupe who sounded the first battle cry.. "MINE! I get four! I'm done first!" NOW-", was caption Goosemounts reply, "we each get three." All the men, suddenly spurned on by greed, grabbed their life line of three tots, leaving the last tot alone on the platter. But only for an instant, when stimutainously, all three hands quickly returned to claim the remaining prize tot.
It was Cooke, having been armed with extra long appendages that swooped up the nugget. The troupe turned on her like jackals. Tot held high above her head, she fled the mess area, the remainder of her regiment in hot perused at her heels. They attacked her all at once, lethal friendly fire if you will. Shots whizzed by her, some finding their mark. She was pummled from behind, below, and straight on as they encircled her. A hit to her ankles from Goosemount immobilized her. It was the weight of K2 climbing up her flank that took her down. Down but not out. They fought hand to hand, tot disimulating itself almost entirely in her clentched fist. Over and over they rolled as the raging combat continued through out that long night. Her breaths came in hot sharp gasps and her body began to weaken. But not her sprirt, nor her love of all things potato enhanced, as she held tight to the soggy grail. All is fair in love and war. It was K2, in a bloody fit of passion that swung the fatal blow to her most venerable spot, her unprotected raised armpit. But it was Goosemont who enjoyed the spoils, as he won by assimilation, waiting for the fallen alpha to drop the tot before throwing himself on it. It was in his mouth, where he chewed the victory tot open mouthed for the rest of us to watch his feast. We sunk to our knees as we wailed, beating our chests in defeat and despair."

"I may have an entire Sams Club size bag of tots in the basement freezer, unopened, and unknown by my men, but my hand to God, none will ever taste as sweet as that one I lost on Tuesday."

"Go now, and tell your grandchildren of the real ill sought glory of such a battle. It is now my nap time. Leave an old vet with her memories. And the box. Just leave the whole box. Don't try sneeking any off, I am well vised in the ways of food battle."