A long, long time ago, on a farm somewhere in Nevada, there was a rabbit hole. The Rabbit Hole, as it was simply known, was the most beautiful spot of land you would have ever seen in your whole entire life. Painted splendidly with the most beautiful hues of green and covered in the most delicious, ripe, juicy orange carrots that would send your taste buds to heaven in a mustang, it was also the most prosperous of land. It’s inhabitants were the cheeriest bunch of things in the world, who had semi-daily celebrations for the most tiny of going-ons. The inhabitants once held a two-day celebration because the resident barber changed from mint toothpaste to carrot flavored toothpaste, and as such, there was much rejoicing. All this was quickly changed, sadly, on a calm and rather beautiful July day, when the mayor of the rabbit hole, Mayor Rabbington, declared war on the nearby patch of land known as the Garden of Spud for reasons that he did not reveal.

If the Rabbit Hole was heaven, the Garden of Spuds was... definitely not heaven. The lands in the Garden of Spuds were just as brown, murky, and muddy as the the Rabbit Hole was green and inspiring. The whole area was like a maze, so full of the spiraling roots of the newborn and prospering spuds (baby potatoes), and the potatoes where not always the cheeriest of folk. They rarely had celebrations - their one and only true celebration, where every spud school was closed and potatoes didn’t work, was the colonial Food Festival, in which on that very day, May 3rd, many many years ago, a magical potato ate over five-hundred cheese doodles in 12 minutes and survived to live the story. Even then, many suggest that they are not truly celebrating this joyous and magical event, but they are really celebrating what happened AFTERWARDS - he exploded, and they all feasted on his cheesy filling. Nobody to this day knows what ignited the war between the bunnies’ Rabbit Hole and the potatoes’ Garden of Spud, but many suggest that Mayor Rabbington simply did not like the average potato’s way of life. The mayor, being such a man of amazing talents, always manages to somehow avoid the question in a new and creative way. But rarely did people ask questions. After all, why would you ask questions? Mayor Rabbington was always right - everybody knew that. Nobody defied him - he was, after all, the law. If you do, you will soon be read about in the newspaper due to your tragic death by heart attack.

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