“Not now, Duke. I cannot bear the embarrassment of your nonsense rambling.”
“Look, sour prints. Where do you think they—Smokey the Bear.”
“That’s not Smokey, Duke, for he is real. What you gaze upon is a statue and nothing more. I have always fancied Smokey; he is something to aspire to. I would like to meet him and am hopeful that, one day, I can.”
“Let’s go detective these sour prints and see where they go.”
“You will not catch me dead on these here trails. Even God himself has not a clue as to what lies ahead.”
“And that’s the fun of it, Hank. Adventure feeds into fun, or does fun swallow adventure, or swallows swallow fun’s adventure or something.”
“By God, enough. We understand it.”
“Look, a black building with animal cages around it. Is that a G.I. unit, because it says it on the wall or something. Let’s go say hi to sir G.I. Cage. I bet the sours are washing under their hams in the steamy water just scrubbing away.”
“A G.I. unit straight ahead, are you out of your mind?”
“I think, maybe—yes, dead level. Rock bottom, you sunk my battleship.”
“That is Pit 91, you flea flicker.”
“Sounds spooky, I think.”
“I’d rip my ears off if it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Right on my noggin.”
“That is an active pit where they have found dinosaur bones.”
“Sours did what?”
“Bones are found there daily. Now, I suppose I have to escort you over that way and explain it.”
“They’re like trickless magicians, right Hank?”
“Only if you will it.”
“But then, how do them bones just supercalifragilistic up?”
“Because dinosaurs are long gone. We’re edging closer, now behave.”
“Hank, how dare you. I’m going to my room. Shut the door behind me.”
“Let truth be known.”
“Be known, but to what?”
“To yourself.”
“I’ve agreed with myself many times.”
“Bigot.”
“Not actually, really. It’s more like—”
“It’s quite fascinating how you don’t stop the nonsense even when you are standing in front.”
“My name’s Duke, not sense. I’m going to go swim. Be out in a jiffy.”
“Get your tail down from that god forsaken gate unless you want to burn.”
“Maybe we should tell somebody to turn the jacuzzi down a smidge. The sours did and, see, they’re happy.”
“How many times do I have to tell you dinosaurs are long dead.”
“Hank, do not talk to me the rest of the car ride home.”
“You’ve broken my trust. Could have sworn you disrespected your king and, for that, silence is to be your name.”
“Just don’t wanna walk anymore.”
“Pipe down, you out of shape hawse, and be a man. Come down and continue on the trail with me.”
Hank and Duke on the path to LACMA
jrleyvas | October 26th,2012 | California, Commentary, Fiction, Humor, Museums, Travel, Writing | No Comments »
Duke: “You think we lost him?”
Hank: “Not a word.”
“But, you said word already so isn’t that one?”
“I said not a word.”
“Then how come I hear you?”
“Not now, Duke. I cannot bear the embarrassment of your nonsense rambling.”
“Look, sour prints. Where do you think they—Smokey the Bear.”
“That’s not Smokey, Duke, for he is real. What you gaze upon is a statue and nothing more. I have always fancied Smokey; he is something to aspire to. I would like to meet him and am hopeful that, one day, I can.”
“Let’s go detective these sour prints and see where they go.”
“You will not catch me dead on these here trails. Even God himself has not a clue as to what lies ahead.”
“And that’s the fun of it, Hank. Adventure feeds into fun, or does fun swallow adventure, or swallows swallow fun’s adventure or something.”
“By God, enough. We understand it.”
“Look, a black building with animal cages around it. Is that a G.I. unit, because it says it on the wall or something. Let’s go say hi to sir G.I. Cage. I bet the sours are washing under their hams in the steamy water just scrubbing away.”
“A G.I. unit straight ahead, are you out of your mind?”
“I think, maybe—yes, dead level. Rock bottom, you sunk my battleship.”
“That is Pit 91, you flea flicker.”
“Sounds spooky, I think.”
“I’d rip my ears off if it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Right on my noggin.”
“That is an active pit where they have found dinosaur bones.”
“Sours did what?”
“Bones are found there daily. Now, I suppose I have to escort you over that way and explain it.”
“They’re like trickless magicians, right Hank?”
“Only if you will it.”
“But then, how do them bones just supercalifragilistic up?”
“Because dinosaurs are long gone. We’re edging closer, now behave.”
“Hank, how dare you. I’m going to my room. Shut the door behind me.”
“Let truth be known.”
“Be known, but to what?”
“To yourself.”
“I’ve agreed with myself many times.”
“Bigot.”
“Not actually, really. It’s more like—”
“It’s quite fascinating how you don’t stop the nonsense even when you are standing in front.”
“My name’s Duke, not sense. I’m going to go swim. Be out in a jiffy.”
“Get your tail down from that god forsaken gate unless you want to burn.”
“Maybe we should tell somebody to turn the jacuzzi down a smidge. The sours did and, see, they’re happy.”
“How many times do I have to tell you dinosaurs are long dead.”
“Hank, do not talk to me the rest of the car ride home.”
“You’ve broken my trust. Could have sworn you disrespected your king and, for that, silence is to be your name.”
“Just don’t wanna walk anymore.”
“Pipe down, you out of shape hawse, and be a man. Come down and continue on the trail with me.”
“But.”
“Not a word.”
Tags: commentary, creative writing, dinosaurs, duke, fiction, hank, humor, la brea tar pits, LACMA, Los Angeles, Los Angeles County Museum of Art
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