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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2142900
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Holiday · #2142900
Reality is what we make it.
“Ok Sandy, I got you all suited up and dusted off for Christmas. What do you think?”

“I think you’re an idiot, Danny boy. That’s what I think.”

“Why would you say that? After all the work I just put in on you?”

“Shut your banana hole, Danny, and gimme the mirror.”

“Boy oh boy, Sandy, you’re a little abrasive, you know that? You are downright gritty.”

“So, where’s the mirror, Danny?”

“You know we don’t have a mirror. We are marooned on this desert island in the middle of the Pacific."

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, just hold on there a minute, Danny boy. Back up the truck, son. What you mean to say is that: “You are marooned on this desert island, or should I say “moroned” on this island. Whereas I, the great, rotund Artemis P. Sandbottom IV, am a native of said island, which is certainly NOT deserted, since I myself am a living, albeit not breathing, inhabitant. And I am certainly not marooned. I can go anywhere I like, whenever I like. So thpppttt.”

“Oh! Real mature, Sandy! Ok fine, why don’t you just go out for a little swim, huh? I mean, seeing as how you are so mobile and all. Or maybe you should go for a little jog up and down the beach. See if you can run off a little of that rotund greatness?”


“Why not?”

“I don’t want to, that’s why not. I might mess up my new Christmas outfit. I know you worked hard on it and I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings. But I would like to know what it looks like. I wish we had mirror, Danny. That’s all.”

“Hey wait a minute, Sandy. I just thought of something.”

“Well, will wonders never cease? Is it a full moon or something?”

“My best bud, Sandy. Always ready with the fistful of sand to the face. I’m serious here. I’ve just remembered how I can get you a mirror. Wait here. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Sure, glad you told me that. I was heading off to the opera. Supposed to be a real gravelly voiced alto singing down at the Flamingo."

“Funny Sandy, you’re a real wit today.”

“Not really, Danny boy. I’m just a pile of sand, but compared with you, I’m Albert friggin’ Einstein.”

“I heard that, krill for brains. I’ll be back in a minute with the mirror. Then we will see who is Albert Einstein and who is more like the grit in Gilligan’s boxers.”

“Speaking of boxers, Danny boy, why don’t you put some on. I’m sick of seeing you running around naked all the time. It ain’t civilized.”

“Said the fat guy wearing nothing but a smile on the beach. You know my clothes rotted away months ago. What’s your excuse?”

“Hey! What have you got hidden behind your back there, Danny boy?”

“Tah dah, take a look, Sandy. I just fashioned a mirror out of these palm fronds. See how good you look in your Christmas outfit. You are one picture perfect specimen, of sand filled Christmas rotundity. What do you think?”

“Well, I could stick with my first answer, Danny boy, “you’re an idiot.” But, the more I look at my bad, elf self, the more I like me. I’m pretty stylin’. Nice of you to give me your shades. Hope you don’t want them back.”

Oh, I want them back alright, Sanda Claus. Just as soon as Christmas is over, I’ll come get them from you.”

“No, you won’t, Danny boy. I won’t let you have them.”

“Really, Sandy? That’s the way you’re going to do me? What? Will you use your skinny little stick arms to push me down? Or your silly carrot nose to poke me in the eye? Huh?”

“No kidding, Danny. I got a carrot for a nose? I’m surprised you didn’t eat it. Ever since you ate that giant millipede last week, I figured nothing edible could get past you.”

“Well, it’s not really a carrot, Sandy old friend. It’s actually a piece of rotten mango that washed up on the beach. Not fit for human consumption, but works great for your face. I hope you like it. I carved the shape myself.”

“Yeah dude, I love it. It’s a real masterpiece. Great design, long and pointy. You got real skill. How could I not like garbage for a nose?”

“Are you being facetious, Sandy?”

“What? You can’t tell, Danny boy? I thought you were Einstein and I was just sand in Gilligan’s shorts.”

“You are just sand, Sandy old pal. How am I supposed to know whose shorts you've been in?”

“Danny boy, you better take that back.”

“Why don’t you come make me, Sandy. Just hop on over here with your stumpy little legs and make me, why don’t ya? Nyaa na na nyaa na!”


“Does he always behave like that, Captain? Running around naked talking to that snowman made of sand. He acts like it can talk or something.”

“Well Ensign, we’ve been here for almost a week trying to rescue him. But he says he must wait until after Christmas to get his sunglasses back. The man’s been here more than four years. The Doc says we need to wait until he’s ready.”

“Can’t we at least get him to put some shorts on?”

“We tried. But he said "no way, the snowman would just put sand in them.“
© Copyright 2017 J. Lynn Lindsay (buzzltyr at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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