Wallace Y Gromit - La Batalla De Los Vegetales ... 〈FREE • BLUEPRINT〉

“Gromit! The cheese engine!” he whispered.

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 .

The Horti-Matic 3000 was still running, belching out the Super-Gro formula. But if they reversed the polarity…

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). Wallace y Gromit - La batalla de los vegetales ...

“Great Scot, Gromit!” Wallace cried, pulling on his dressing gown. “They’ve gone rogue! It’s the yeast extract—it’s given them… ambition!”

Worst of all was the , a monstrous, lumpy dictator with eyes of dark, wet soil. He sat atop a throne of compost and demanded the surrender of all “soft-skins” (humans) and “cheese-eaters” (Gromit). The Counter-Attack “We need heavy weaponry, lad!” Wallace shouted, dodging a flying turnip.

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. “Gromit

Gromit grabbed the main hose. Wallace flipped the switch from “GROW” to . But they needed a catalyst—something the vegetables would hate more than they hated humans.

“Brilliant, Gromit! Load the mushy peas!”

“It’s 98% Wensleydale by-product!” Wallace beamed. The machine looked like a drunken octopus made of plumbing

Gromit, already two steps ahead, had retreated to the basement. He emerged pushing the —a modified vacuum cleaner that fired rapid pellets of frozen peas.

The had launched the first assault. Using their tough, spherical bodies, they rolled down the garden path like cannonballs, smashing through Wallace’s letterbox and taking out a gnome.

“It’s over, soft-skins!” rumbled the King Potato. “The age of cheese is finished! The age of fibre begins!” Just as all hope seemed lost, Wallace had a cheesy epiphany.

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.

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 .