October 24, 2009

“Huh?” said the woolly mammoth, lifting his head from the bar and narrowing his eyes in a failed attempt to focus on Hilda, the bartending ocelot.

“Closing time. You gotta leave. I’m locking up,” said Hilda.

“How many? … What is … Have I been here today?” mumbled the mammoth. His trunk swept the bowl of peanuts onto the floor. “Oh, sorry … How does that make of me so far?”

The woolly mammoth’s head slumped to rest once again on the bar.

“Hey, I ain’t kiddin’. Time to go, pal,” said Hilda, and she came around from behind the bar and bit the woolly mammoth’s tail.

“Come in, the weather’s open,” slurred the mammoth, opening one eye, but otherwise not moving a muscle.

Hilda scratched a mammoth leg. The mammoth lurched sideways, falling heavily, crushing peanuts and peanut bowl.

“No need to … I’m … What am I?” said the mammoth.

“You’re leaving,” said the ocelot.

“You’re right … It is what … is … I am …”

The woolly mammoth knee walked to the door and through it, trumpeting back, “Don’t worry about … being worried … It’s not … What?”

Hilda locked the door before going to fetch the broom and dustpan.


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