Tolerable Good Story

I have a story about the toil of generations overcoming adversity!

When I was five, my grandma had toy dinosaurs. The smallest was a bitty, rubber skeleton. The biggest of this set was a triceratops not much bigger than my hand; it was made of plastic, it had a gaping mouth, and it was completely hollow inside. And one day, I thought to myself, "That bitty skeletong would fit just right in that triceratops..."

And I was right. Unfortunately, little fingers couldn't fit into the triceratops' mouth. The bitty skeleton was well and truly stuck.

Naturally, I sought the aid of the mos' aged and experienced relatives. Mathematical dads, carpenter uncles, practically ancient grandfathers, armed with all manner of tweezing technology, found themselves defeated by this small dino-in-dino problem. But I, in my child-like orneriness, persisted. And for every visit to grandma's house, my goal was to carry this triceratops around and seek a new relative to try and extract the nuisance skeleton, which I had skillfully oriented face out, tail in, so it smuggly grinned out always.

But eventually...I outgrew my passion for playing with rubber dinosaurs, and forgot this dino-in-dino.

Some few months ago, my grandma decided that she'd just give my family a whole lot of the old toys. Dinosaurs among them. My little brother is five. Upon examining the dinosaurs, what discovers he? The bitty skeleton, still inside the triceratops, after some thirteen years. He bringeth it, most sincerely, to me and says, "This, sirrah, is not how it ought. Improve this inqualitous state, vassal!"

I then remember those early years, and the smuggly grinning skeleton. I know that the task cannot be done. I tell him the story of how the dinosaur became, and I give him back the triceratops.

But he is both persistent...and forgetful. And so he brings back this dino-in-dino another day. A day when I feel, fortunately, endeavoursome (take that, anti-archaism school of thought!). I think that not all toolage has been exhausted. There may be hope yet for the bitty skeleton...in hook technology.

Hook rug? Anyone? Anyone know what that is? No? Well, these things have these snazzy tools designed to...hook around things. I had one. I grasped small, smug skeleton--small pause for effect, pause over. Out it comes.

Thus, generations of toil solve bombad problem.

The End.