Dude and Dude Do “The Potluck”

“Dude! Ya gotta see this!”

“Wassup?”

Food fight!

“Where? Who?”

“Right here! OC and Quilly! Picnic and snack stuff! They’re givin’ each other the … um … they’re talkin’ ’bout fingers!

“Nice save, dude.”

“Wonder which one’s tellin’ the truth?”

“Neither.”

“Neither?”

“Look. The dude’s restin’ up for next basketball season. Probably on his own private island or somethin’. Y’think he’s gonna take five seconds of his time to let anyone try to tell him ’bout this horsemeat?”

“Nah, probably not. But … horsemeat?

“Dude, that potluck thing was hours ago. It’s dead by now. Instead of floggin’ it, we should probably cook it.”

Ewwww, dude! Not kosher!

Potluck ~ The Non-Fiction Version

Okay, if you’ve read what He Said They Said,
here is what She Says They Really Said:

She: “You may have the car today, I’m not going anywhere. I finished my grocery shopping yester– … Crap!”

He: “What did you forget?”

She: “And after I’d already gone back to the market once yesterday and told Nina that I had a bone to pick with her, ’cause she’d let me check out without reminding me to pick up, um …”

He: “What did you forget?”

She: “She didn’t know either.”

He: “That was yesterday. What did you forget today?”

She: “Sunday’s potluck. They want finger food.”

He: “Finger food!” He crossed his arms and hid his hands. “I’m not going to church on Sunday!”

She:  “What do you mean, you’re not going?  You just spent a good chunk of yesterday afternoon with Don and Terry practicing special music.  What do you plan to tell them?”

He: “I don’t think I’ll have to tell Terry anything.  Don can still sing if we’re having finger food, but Terry won’t be able to play the organ and I won’t be able to play my trumpet!”

She: “Honey, the congregation likes your trumpet enough that I don’t think you’ll have to worry about your fingers.”

He: “Oh, OK then, you’d better take the car and get to the store. Stalking the neighborhood with a cleaver isn’t the best thing for our reputation.”

She:  “You realize I am going to share this conversation at church don’t you?”

He:  “Good, maybe it will spoil their appetites and they’ll leave my fingers alone!”

The Potluck

She: “You may have the car today, I’m not going anywhere. I finished my grocery shopping yesterday … oh, no, I didn’t!

He: “What did you forget?”

She: “And after I’d already gone back to the market once yesterday and told the clerk that I had a bone to pick with her, ’cause she’d let me check out without reminding me to pick up, um …”

He:What did you forget?

She: “She didn’t know either.”

He: “That was yesterday. What did you forget today?

She: “Sunday’s potluck. They want finger food.”

He: “Oh, OK then, you’d better take the car and get to the store. Stalking the neighborhood with a cleaver isn’t the best thing for our reputation.”

She: “I’m going to tell the people at the church that you said that!”

The Pot

She: “So I’m walking through the fair, and there’s this great big pot on a counter. I want it, but it’s so big that it wouldn’t work on our stove unless we used all four burners at the same time. And it’s so heavy, I can’t lift it!

“Then the director of your laboratory walks by and says ‘you don’t want that.’

“I want to tell him what for, but then I remember he’s the director of your lab, so I merely ask ‘why not?’

“He walks over to it and lifts the lid – which I hadn’t thought about doing. The pot only holds about a cup of water! The rest of the pot is solid metal. ‘That’s why not’, he says.

“‘No wonder I couldn’t lift it …”

“‘It’s for scientific experiments’, he finishes, as he picks the thing up himself (it suddenly got a lot smaller) and leaves.”

He: “Sweetheart, where did you get ahold of scientific equipment catalogs?”

She: “Scientific equipment catalogs?”

He: “What were you going to pay for this thing?”

She: “I wasn’t. Way too expensive.”

He: “I thought so. A perfect description of stuff in scientific catalogs. Overpriced and useless. And now I don’t know what to do.”

She: “About what?”

He: “About these catalogs. I don’t know whether to tell you to stop reading them, so you don’t have these nightmares any more, or to keep reading them and collect the nightmares for story ideas.”

She:Gimme catalogs!!”

The Absent Quilly

As you’ll recall, gentle readers, the Quill has been a little less in evidence on the blogosphere of late, because she’s actively pursuing her dream of becoming a published author. As often as not these days, she and her computer are having a dialogue (it’s polite, most of the time) about words. Or, as the Hawaiians might say, they’re ‘talking story’ …

“So she’s writin’ about time?”

Well, dude, I guess you could say it’s about time she’s writing, but I don’t know what the story’s about.

“But you said it was a talkin’ story!”

Huh?

“What’s a talkin’ story if it’s not about time? But I guess it ain’t finished yet.”

Well, since she’s only just started …

“Aha! It is about time, then! It’s not done, so that’s how come she’s lost the tic.”

Dude, most people with tics would rather lose them.

“But not if you’re writin’ ’bout grandfather clocks or somethin’. Like maybe a time-travelin’ grandfather clock. Then you’ll have a tic-tok’in story!”

It’s been done, dude. Are you trying to get us thrown out of the house?

Gnarly! Can we go back to Hawai‘i?”

It’s a long swim, dude.

“No, seriously, OC, we can go back there and tell ’em ’bout Quilly’s story. ‘It’ll be da bomb‘, we’ll say.”

Dude, you say that anywhere near an airport and I really will control-X you. Say goodnight, dude.

“Goodnight, dude.”