Wallace Y Gromit - La Batalla De Los Vegetales ... -

But the King Potato was cunning. He ordered the —tall, sour, and fast—to flank them. Wallace and Gromit were backed against the garden shed.

The machine roared. A cloud of pungent, cheesy gas exploded across the garden. The vegetables recoiled. The Brussels sprouts shriveled. The leeks wilted. The King Potato let out a terrible, high-pitched squeak as he deflated back into a normal, lumpy spud.

Within seconds, the garden was just a garden again. The only evidence of the battle was a few broken fence posts, a very confused cauliflower, and a small, ordinary potato sitting on the lawn. Wallace stood in the wreckage, his dressing gown torn, a leek leaf stuck in his hair. He looked at Gromit. Gromit looked at him. Then they both looked at Archibald the Marrow, which had returned to its normal, non-threatening size.

The Horti-Matic 3000 was still running, belching out the Super-Gro formula. But if they reversed the polarity… Wallace y Gromit - La batalla de los vegetales ...

It was a crisp morning in West Wallaby Street, and the annual Tottington Hall Giant Vegetable Competition was only a week away. Wallace, a man with a cheese-based solution for every problem, had decided this was his year to win the “Biggest Marrow” category.

“Brilliant, Gromit! Load the mushy peas!”

Gromit, sipping his tea, raised a skeptical eyebrow. The machine looked like a drunken octopus made of plumbing. But ever the loyal companion, he strapped on his leather gardening gloves. That night, Gromit was woken by a strange thrumming sound. He peered through the window. The vegetable patch was… moving. Archibald the Marrow had doubled in size, now the bulk of a small car. But that wasn’t the problem. The runner beans had grown into thick, woody tendrils that were coiling around the fence like pythons. A rogue cauliflower had turned a sickly purple and was pulsing . But the King Potato was cunning

“Well, lad,” Wallace sighed, picking up the small, harmless potato. “I think we’ll stick to the ‘love’ method next year.”

It was the size of a football, with gnarled, root-like limbs. It dragged itself out of the soil and let out a low, gravelly grunt .

Wallace grabbed a half-eaten wedge of from his pocket. The most potent, pongy, blue-veined cheese in all of Lancashire. The machine roared

That night, as a consolation prize, Gromit made a giant shepherd’s pie using the defeated vegetables. Wallace declared it “the most aggressively delicious pie” he’d ever eaten.

The battle raged across the garden. Wallace swung a baguette like a club, parrying leek thrusts. Gromit, wearing a colander as a helmet, rode his motorcycle sidecar through a squadron of angry onions, making them weep (which, admittedly, gave him the tactical advantage).