Salt

"You have the dexterity of a hippopotamus," said Nigel the Swan.

"You have the intelligence of a slug," said Derek the Hippopotamus.

"Oy!" said Dr Frosty the Slug. "I take umbrage at that statement."

"I was merely complimenting Nigel on his superior intellect," said Derek.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" said Dr Frosty.

"I think you got your doctorate off the internet," said Derek.

"I don't have to take this insolence from a hippopotamus," said Dr Frosty.

"Said the slug," said Derek.

"Come on now boys," said Nigel. "Let's all be friends."

"You started this," said Derek.

"And now I'm finishing it," said Nigel. And with that, he whipped out an ornate jewelled samurai sword from under his wing.

"That's not very friendly," said Dr Frosty.

"Friendliness be damned!" said Nigel, adopting the combat pose.

"This always happens," said Derek, as he casually unsheathed the scimitar that no one had previously noticed he had.

"Stop!" said Gary the Goose, who had been tidying his stickers. "There shall be no combat on Tuesdays!"

"(It's Thursday)" said Dr Frosty...

- at which the Salt of the Gods was tipped from the Divine Cruet Set of Retribution, and Dr Frosty was but a puddle of quivering slime.

"Oops," said the Voice of an Angel.

"That puts things in perspective," said Derek and Nigel in unison.

***

The funeral of Dr Frosty was a humble affair. But some would say 'humble' only when compared with a procession of royal barges down the Nile.

The remains of the slug were scraped up and shoved into a matchbox, which was attached to a firework, which blasted ineffectually three foot into the air. With a pfft.

"It's what he would have wanted," said Nigel the Swan.

"I doubt it," said Derek the Hippopotamus.

"Sorry I'm late," said Prudence the Prancing Purple Pony, as she gathered up the parts of the parachute by which she had just made her particularly unsuspecting appearance. "What have I missed?"

"Who is this equine interloper?" went the murmurings of the assembled throng.

"I am Prudence!" said Prudence. "And I have come to pay my respects to my hairdresser."

"I think you've come to the wrong funeral," said the assembled throng.

But Prudence, ignoring such crass commentary, said with a sigh, "I shall miss you, Frosty Scissorfoot..."

At which a big question mark appeared above the heads of the assembled throng, then burst, like a bubble, with a spattering of rainbow hues.

At which about a hundred slugs with funny hairdos appeared at the proceedings.

"I think we've come to the wrong funeral," said the assembled throng.

***

Derek and Nigel munched on minted mangos at the wake of their good friend, Dr Frosty, who it turns out they didn't know as well as they thought they did.

"He could do wonders with a pumice stone," said Prudence wistfully.

"I thought he was a doctor of philosophy," said Derek the Hippopotamus.

"It turns out he was a doctor of follicular fashion," said Nigel the Swan.

At which the hundred or so slugs with silly barnets struck up an acapella rendition of Magic Moments.

"Let's make like ends and split," said Nigel, rather pleased, despite the funereal context, with his hairdressing metaphor.

"Yes," said Derek.

They both got out their skateboards and 'split.'

***

While Prudence the Prancing Purple Pony ate too many minted mangos and necked too many minted mango margaritas and a hundred slugs sang Sloop John B, Nigel and Derek pulled some sick tricks on rails, ramps and halfpipes.

"Ahh Dr Frosty," said Tony Hawks the comedian, who just happened to be passing.

"Oy, get off my skateboard!" said Tony Hawk the pro-skater, who also just happened to be passing.

"Could you both just bugger off?" said Nigel. "You're intruding on a private moment of grief."

Tony Hawks and Tony Hawk winked out of existence in a miasma of Coincidental Celebrity Infeasibility.

"To be honest," said Derek, "I've never really much liked Dr Frosty."

"Nor I," said Nigel.

"And I think swans look ridiculous on skateboards," said Derek.

"Said the hippopotamus," said Nigel.

"Sigh," said Derek, as he whipped out his scimitar.

"!" said Nigel, as he whipped out his samurai sword.

The clashing of blades rang through the night, as a hundred manky-mulleted mollusks sang That's Amore.

[ fin ]