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

“Brilliant, Gromit! Load the mushy peas!”

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.

“Eat this, you oversized compost heap!” Wallace yelled, shoving the cheese into the intake valve.

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 ...

“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.

“It’s all about love, Gromit,” Wallace said, patting his prized marrow, Archibald , which was already the size of a small sheepdog. “But love alone won’t beat Lady Tottington’s prize pumpkins. No, lad. We need… science! ”

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

Gromit dropped his teacup. By dawn, the garden was no longer a garden. It was a jungle. And the vegetables were no longer plants—they were soldiers.

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.

“Gromit! The cheese engine!” he whispered. “Eat this, you oversized compost heap

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

(Post-credits scene: The potato’s eyes blink. Just once.)

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

The were next. They marched on their white root-ends, waving their long green leaves like pikes, poking through the kitchen window. The Tomato Artillery launched over-ripe projectiles that exploded into sticky, acidic goo, gumming up the kitchen machinery.

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 .