The Golden Voyage of Barney Rubble, Phase 2

After a long day of goring wild men with a triceratops, mining the gold of the shit bird and other signal events, I dozed immediately off upon laying down on my sleep rock. As I slept my mind's eye traced the paths of the unusually tall men as they measured the Greater Bedrock landscape, leaving the luminous dotted lines of an enormous grid as they did so.

In my second mind's eye, I could espy Rubble and his crew of nautical morons precipitously navigating the great world ocean, sea monsters leaping to the fore and aft. Barney turned toward my mind's eye and said, "You better sleep, you have more important work tomorrow."

In my third mind's eye I could see mobs of wild men, cavorting wildly, jumping up and down and doing unspeakable things as other wild men beat drums, ate raw dinosaur meat and sharpened sticks.

When the sun's orange tide rose upon the horizon, I sat up and looked out the window-opening. Smoke was rising in the distance. "The damn wild men are at it again!" I thought. I grabbed a giant seedpod for breakfast and ran out to remount my attack triceratops. I found him waiting, pawing the ground with his huge claws and grinding his huge snout-horn against the rocks to sharpen it for the day's lethal festivities. I mounted him and he immediately bolted toward the smoke, trumpeting thunderously as he galloped.

The wild men were hard at work burning a prehistoric farm. There were dozens of them raising varieties of havoc as the farm beasts bleated and reared up on their hind legs in abject terror. I rode the triceratops into the largest concentration of wild men and bade him do his worst. This he did with obvious relish.

Soon, half rent-apart wild men lay upon the ground like leaves in autumn as time after time the triceratops viciously gored them, making a crunching sound as the blood spurted out around his face. “U!” shouted each crushed wild man as his stare went directly from anguish to blank and he was thrown high in the air and away from the former site of his anarchic endeavor. The triceratops seemed unnaturally animated and possessed by some incredible fury, spinning to and fro, gouging and hurling at the numerous wild men until all were dead.

He stopped and scraped the ground with his horn to clean it as I surveyed the scene from his broad-boned, leathery neck. Wild men were spread out unevenly across the farm like the remnants of a scarecrow convention after a tornado.

After the triceratops drank a pond dry, ate a tower of grain and shit convulsively, we were ready to transact more of Rubble's bloody business.

I scanned the area and saw the measurement grid lines that the tall men had made overnight. They seemed to gradually concentrate toward a distant hill side, so I entreated the triceratops off in that general direction. He put his snout down to the ground and snorted loudly, picking up a scent from the gridlines. Suddenly, he reared up on his hind legs, bellowed deafeningly and galloped away toward the hill. As we road I took some of the seed pod from my sling and munched it. "Damn, this is the best seed pod I have ever tasted!" I reflected. The morning's grisly work had
sharpened my appetite, just as it had for my heartless, murdering beast.

To be continued..........