Thoracic Animus (11)

   
   "Thoracic Animus (11)"
  
   Tanya followed Mutt back to his campfire, where his Uncle was lubricating the crossbows--him still in heavy anticipation concerning bagging a Squatch.  Mutt introduced his Uncle to Tanya, and the threesome sat, making coffee mixed with cloves for the sanitary effects within their corporeal aspects; next, the conversation did shine, like the big neon glitter above.

TANYA
So, Mr. Uncle--why are you hunting Bigfoot?

UNCLE
Hell, just for the kicks, and to be famous, like William Blake wanted.  The poet got it in the end, after dying a penniless old man considered a crank.

TANYA
You sound kinda on the crank spectrum.

UNCLE
Thanks.  And hell, I'm a Yankee, but I understand the metaphysics of Uncle Jesse and them Duke boys.

TANYA
Always liked Boss Hog myself.  He dressed like Faulkner and Twain; plus, Colonel Sanders.  

MUTT
I could really go for some chicken.

TANYA
Grilled or crispy?

MUTT
I don't have the digestive tract of a coyote, so I'd go with grilled, and some salt, pepper, and turmeric.

TANYA
Damn dude--that sounds nasty.  Need mine fried--deep fried.

UNCLE
How would you like your Hairy Man cooked?

TANYA
Ain't hunting him to eat him old timer.  Just want him to talk, and have him tell me, at least, the fundamentals of Earthly existence.

   Mutt pondered his crappy, bizarre life.  But it was Holy Saturday, and Jesus LIGHTS it ALL up.