The Dinosaurs, Part I

The Dinosaurs

John Flintstone padded through his Sedona adobe abode, one of his seven luxury caves, grumbling.

“Cindy, where are my flag coveralls? Sarah’s going to be here any minute. We’re getting in the Dinomobile and off to Colorado again.”

“Consuela is washing them, you grumpy old man,” Cindy called. She was standing near the fire pit, trying on one of 400 potential inaugural outfits. “It’s in the spin cycle.”

He heard the club hitting the front door bam, bam, bam and stumbled off to answer it. “Keep your mini-skirt on, Sarah,” he yelled. “I was a POW, remember?”

He opened the door. Sarah stood there with her slingshot and club, panting, pointing proudly behind her. On the ground lay a dead moose, bleeding. “I brought you a present, Gramps,” she said.

“Sarah, how much moose do you think we can eat?”

“You have to be ready for end times, John. Hang it over the fire and smoke it.”

Consuela rushed forward with his flag coveralls. She stopped to gape at Sarah, who was wearing a mid-thigh-length skirt made of dinosaur hide, an Amazonian-style brassiere and a boa made of auk feathers.

Jose came out from the pump behind the house where he had gased up the Dinomobile. “Senator,” he called. “We’re getting low on FossilFuel.”

The Dinosaurs had been in power for the last 8 years and for 20 of the last 28. Oil was going fast. The wars in IRock and Afghanistone had not brought cheaper oil as planned.

“Sarah will help you drill when we get back,” John shouted. “She’s got a nose for it.”

Karl, the driver, opened the doors. They climbed into the Dino and headed out.

“Alright Karl, get us briefed, damn it.”

“Rein in your PTSD, Senator,” Karl called.

“What’s PTSD, John?” Sarah asked.

“Politics Too Stressful Dinosaurs syndrome,” Karl answered. “You’re speaking to a convention of Luddites called the Bush League. They chip words onto the sides of caves with auk bone. None of this email for them.”

“Email?” John said. “Is that when the elephant brings me fan mail?”

“The women will be in one room. Sarah will talk to them about having it all: drop more babies, hunt, fish, schmooze, drill, get and spend pork. You’ll be with the guys, Senator, reminiscing about war and your time on the Maverick ranch.”

“You’re going to blast Barry,” Karl continued. “Remember – my opponent is not ready, not ready, not ready to lead. We want 8 more years just like the last eight.”

“What are you talking about,” snarled Sarah. “I am too ready.”

The muddy road was bumpy. The Dino began to buck and sway. “What the hell’s going on up there, Karl?” John yelled.

“Looks like the flood washed the road out again,” Karl called. “Barry says it’s global warming.”

“Doesn’t he know the earth is flat?” John said. “I read that Tom Friedman book.”

Karl gunned the Dino and it stalled. “Damn it, Karl,” John shouted. “Barry’s on his high horse. He takes that high road. He’s going to beat us there. Get going!”

Next week:

Barry on the high road