A Drop To … (Microfiction Monday #67)

“Havin’ fun, dude? Sittin’ there wit’ yer Photoshop an’ yankin’ the colors outa pictures? I oughta have ya arrested.”

“Fer what?”

“Fer torturin’ pixels.”

“Since when is that a crime, dude?”

“Since the US Constitution, dude. No cruel and unusual punishment.”

“That’d be what anyone who has to talk to you gets, dude. So why ain’t ya in jail? For yer info, this is one of Susan at Stony River‘s pics, an’ it’s ‘xactly as I got it. No Photoshop, no nothin’.”

“No, um, stuff, dude?”

“Nope.”

“OK, then, no more rainbows.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t know we were runnin’ into a color shortage, dude. If the rainbows are stealin’ ’em from places like this so’s they can show off their bling someplace else, well, they gotta make restitution. That’s all there is …”

“Restiwhat?”

“Restitution, dude. Big buildin’ where they put you to sleep.”

“Oh. A lecture hall. I get it.”

“Dude. Where is this place ‘xactly, anyhoo? In the picture, that is.”

“Dunno. But I got an idea.”

“Y’wouldn’t be thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, would’cha?”

“What say we find out, dude? You first.”

“Ah, the Mississippi.”
“Not.”
“What?”
“Look at it, dude. Filled up to its banks. It ain’t missin’ no sips. Hell, it ain’t missin’ a drop.”

“So. We done yet, dude?”

“Almost. But I can’t quite stop wonderin’ what Susan’s gonna do wit’ this pic. Maybe she oughta contact this British noblebuddy, the one whose face is on all the teabags. Maybe he’ll take it offa her hands an’ she’ll get somethin’ for it.”

“Who’d that be, dude?”

“Earl Grey, of course.”

“Dude.”