The Skeleton & The Carpenter

In Search of Limburger

        "So, where do we go now?" Roger asked.

"Well, before we do anything else, we've got to get one thing out of the way." said Mustache Guy seriously.

"What?"

"Get you to take your driver's test! Shouldn't be too hard, I don't think, after the drivin' you've done." answered a smiling Hardware Guy. Roger laughed, and then said,

"Alright, after that. Where do we start looking for Limburger?"

"I really don't know, Rog. We're gonna have to do some detective work. It ain't gonna be easy." Hardware Guy said, steering the car westward.

The future sites of Roger City and the Mustache Guy Municipal Waste Treatment Facility shrunk into the horizon behind the truck. The two friends sped away from that city in its infancy, with vague plans to return someday and even more vague ideas of what it might look like when they do: a bustling metropolis, a quiet suburban refuge, or perhaps a grimy, dangerous haven for criminals? After all, the city's defenses were compromised even before the roads were paved or the buildings built.

But these thoughts vanished with their view of the city in the rear view mirror, to be replaced with inklings of the seemingly endless adventure that stretched out ahead of them. How were they ever going to find Mustache Guy's long lost brother, about whom they had no leads, no information, other than the fact that he loved cheese? How could they possibly locate a man who had not been heard from in nearly twenty years? Neither Mustache Guy nor Roger was sure how they were going to accomplish this task. But they were both sure that they could do it. Together, they could do anything.

And so onward they drove, the wind in their faces and the smell of the nearby lavender fields in their nostrils, the skeletal offspring of a superhero and a carpenter-turned-facial-hair-connoisseur in search of a cheese-lover.

Mustache Guy quietly uncurled the right end of his mustache and reached behind Roger's back, slowly, to not arouse any suspicion, and used it to tap him lightly on his right shoulder and then re-curling it instantly, as if nothing had happened.

Roger looked to his right to see who had tapped him, only to realize that, being in the passenger seat of a truck moving at sixty-miles-an-hour, no one could possibly be to his right. He looked over at the driver, with a look on his face as if to say, "Very funny, wise guy."

"Wasn't me." said Mustache Guy with a smile, hoping this would be enough to get Roger to drop his glare and look away, opening himself up for another tap from the mustache.

The End