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Rational Thought at the End of the Crataceous

Old Guy

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The big Tyrannosaurus leaned against an innocent tree and began scratching his shoulder. A pack of small raptors dashed between his legs and vanished into the underbrush, all the while screeching insults about slow, old, fat-bellied slugs. Gunny paused in his scratching. “Was them zip-turds talkin' ta me?”

Stans, the duckbill, looked up from his fern lunch. “I dunno. Maybe they was talking about Donnie. He's the only one with a fat belly.”

A massive stegosaurus raised his head and bleated, “It's a grass belly, dang it! How many times I gotta tell you clowns.” He went back to chomping a small bush, still grumbling. “Dang flat-bills. Ain't got a lick of sense.”

Gunny leaned into the tree again. Stans was probably right. Zip-turds were ill-mannered, smarty-scaled imps. Next time he saw some, if he remembered, he figured on eating a couple. That'd show the little snots.

The tree groaned ominously. He stepped away. His shoulder felt better. Now he just needed -- something. One arm moved toward his mouth. He looked down. His arms were too short to reach his mouth. Cleaning chunks of bone out of his teeth was damn difficult. He wondered why his arms were so short -- for a second or two. His curiosity faded, replaced by a vague sense of want. It was hard to understand the concept forming in his pea brain. A bunch of weeds twisted into a -- what? A round thing. A burning round thing that tasted good. After a few seconds of formless desire, the whole idea vanished. A T-rex brain isn't big enough to hold on to a thought for very long.

“Is it gettin' hot?” asked Donnie. He swallowed the last of his lunch and lumbered into the shade of a large tree. “It's gettin' hot, ain't it?”

Gunny looked around. It was hot, but then he couldn't remember when it hadn't been hot. His gut rumbled, derailing further curiosity about the weather. Donnie would make a good meal. More than one meal, considering his bulk. So would Stans, now that he thought of it. But, no. A glimmer of memory surfaced. Stans and Donnie were the only two guys who would talk to him. All the other locals either ran away screaming or ignored his attempts to discuss -- whatever. He knew some of them could talk. He'd heard them discussing things like what kind of meat went best with a cycad salad. Some critters pissed him off so bad he ate them. Without any dang salad.

“I think it has something to do with that big flash we saw yesterday,” said Stans.

Gunny glared at the flat-bill. Stans was always going on about crap nobody wanted to hear. Maybe he should eat him. “What's a flash? What do y'all mean by yesterday?”

“Yesterday was before today,” explained Stans. He was always patient with Gunny. It didn't pay to rile a carnivore. “There was yesterday, then it got dark, and now it's today.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Donnie, which might mean he remembered something. Or it might not. He was an accomplished liar. All boneheads were. They ate plants and didn't get out much. Mostly they stood around in circles and told lies.

A faint light glowed in Gunny's mind. “I do remember somethin' kinda bright. And a lotta noise.”

“Noise?” Donnie hunched up a let go a tremendous fart. “That kinda noise?”

Neither of his companions commented on his efforts. They were used to him. “Louder than that,” said Stans. “I couldn't hear much for a while afterward.”

“That don't tell us nothin',” smirked Donnie. “Yer deaf as a post anyhow.”

A shadow fell across the clearing. “Near dark,” said Gunny. “Is it that late? I ain't had nothin' ta eat yet. Have I?”

“You had some leftover club-tail this morning,” said Stans. “It wasn't nothing like a full meal, though. You want I should call one of my relatives in close?” The old flat-bill didn't want Gunny getting too hungry. Besides, he didn't like most of his kin. Pushy, ignorant slugs, most of them. Never had a real thought in their empty heads.

“Maybe later,” replied Gunny. “How come that part of Up Above is so dark?”

“Up Above,” chorused his companions. The great Up Above formed an unreachable part of their world view, to the extent that dinosaurs had a world view. Most looked no further than the next meal. Some had discovered how to talk to others, though hardly any of those ever had anything worth saying. A very few, like Stans, could remember things like “yesterday” and had begun to form ideas about that funny light Up Above. Donnie didn't understand much of anything, but he liked to pretend that he did -- and he loved to tell stuff to other boneheads, especially stuff he made up. A regular dinosaur bard, he was.

“It's the end of the world,” said Stans.

The other two stood silent, stunned by his introduction of two new concepts in a single sentence.

“What's this “end” thing,” asked Donnie.

“Um -- .” Stans frowned. That requires a good deal of practice for a flat-bill. “Like when Gunny killed that club-tail yesterday. The was the “end” of the club-tail. He wasn't around no more.” He frowned harder. There was a hole in his explanation.

Gunny saw it right off. “But I ate the last of him this morning -- y'all said. He was here until then.” He turned and nodded toward a heap of bones and offal. “Some of him is still here.”

“It's not like that,” mumbled Stans, trying to think. The little gray cells were working as hard as they could. “Part of him was here, I'll grant you that. But the part that made him move and talk was gone. That part was no more. It had “ended”. You see?”

“Well -- .” Gunny wasn't clear on the idea. “He didn't move because I ate his legs -- um -- yesterday. And I don't know if he could talk. He didn't say nothin' ta me.”

“I don't think he had a chance,” said Donnie. The whole idea of an “end” scared the liver out of him. He wanted to change the subject. “So what's this “world” thing?”

Stans believed that was easier to explain. “Everything around us. Trees, rocks, flat-bills, boneheads, the dirt under our feet, and even that pile of club-tail bones.”

Gunny thought he understood and it wasn't pleasant. “All this ends? And then what?”

“Then we fall down dead. We end. Our bones lie bleaching in the sand and animals not the least bit like us dig them up in about -- tomorrow or the next day -- and wonder who we were.”

His companions glanced at one another. Finally, Gunny shook his head and laughed. “Dammit, Stans! Y'all been eatin' them rotten berries again?”

“He has!” cried Donnie. “I seen him.” He was lying, of course, like all boneheads.

“I only ate a few,” grumped Stans. “That don't have nothing to do with my ideas.”

Gunny sighed and stretched. He sniffed the air. “Smells like burned critter. Yuck. I seen zip-turds eatin' burnt stuff before. Made me so sick I only ate a couple of 'em.” His gut rumbled again.

“Hold on,” said Stans, turning away. “You don't mind an old, stringy one, do you?”

The T-rex had no idea what his friend was going on about. Meat was meat.

A large black rock smashed through a tree and plowed into the ground a few steps from Donnie. He farted in fright and lumbered out of sight. Gunny sidled away from the stone, which had cracked into several smoking pieces.

“Looks like an end to that rock,” he muttered.

For the next several hours a hail of shattered rock fell from Up Above, smashing the forest into a tangle of broken trees and dead animals. Only the zip-turds survived -- for a time.


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Well, you're close about the whip, manacles, and leather part. But in the way that I would partici....never mind. ;)

I can't fully explain all of the weight loss. I began losing weight at the end of November 2013. Loss of appetite I guess has been the biggest thing. That helped me to cut back on fast food. Also smaller portions when I do eat. And I have to eat because of my diabetes. If I didn't have to eat because of the diabetes, I would probably lose more. I did start on a new diabetes once a day medication, no more insulin, and the new medicine has a side effect of weight loss. But I didn't start on that until four months ago. And I only have lost 15 pounds since then. PSA blood test was normal. Supposed to get more blood testing done in a couple months. Doc thinks it's just because of the diabetes. But he is a new young whippersnapper that doesn't even examine you. Just comes into the room, sits down at the computer, pulls up your file, listens to you talk, gives you an opinion or an order for meds or blood test and leaves. He has never given me an actual, hands on, stripped down to your birthday suit physical exam. He doesn't even carry a stethoscope. My old Doc retired, and she (reminded me of Frau Farbissina, but nicer) would check you over on almost every visit (not in birthday suit unless ordered). Perhaps I have said to much? :blush:

I now weigh 10 pounds less than I did my senior year of high school. Of course 5 pounds of that weight in high school was hair. :D

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So, your're gonna have to have the flight jacket taken in a bit?

:) OG

All my clothes, including aforementioned jacket are way too big now. Except for my hats. My head is still the same size.

Had to buy new clothes. I hate shopping for clothes.

And Stans, the diabetes med was the least of the weight loss reasons. Mostly not eating as much and less fast food. The local Taco Bell® franchises even called local law enforcement to issue an "Operation Quickfind" to locate me. They were having to lay off employees since I hadn't been in for awhile. Lottie got a sympathy card. Don't know why. Maybe they thought I was dead? :unsure:

That and being chased by Lottie swinging a Louisville Slugger® at my head caused a bit more exercise.

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Lottie's mom warned her about Donnie.

"He's a baaaaad man, dear. You'll need this." She then handed her the aforementioned Slugger. "Use it every day."

Her mom was wrong, though. Donnie isn't a bad man. He's worse. And no amount of Slugging will keep him out of strip clubs and other dens of iniquity.


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Lottie's mom warned her about Donnie.

"He's a baaaaad man, dear. You'll need this." She then handed her the aforementioned Slugger. "Use it every day."

Her mom was wrong, though. Donnie isn't a bad man. He's worse. And no amount of Slugging will keep him out of strip clubs and other dens of iniquity.


It's genetics. Yeah...that's it. Genetics.

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