The mold worked but I messed it up in a couple places when I had to improvise to raise the level of Oomoo 30 when I ran short, but the process taught me a few things to do different with the next dog. And to watch for those air bubbles in the plaster mix.
While on the couch watching a Battlestar Galactica rerun, Fleegle asks, “So the people on television are not who they say they are?”
“No, they’re actors,” I say. “They’re reading lines they’ve memorized that were made up by the writers about imaginary people.”
“Does that mean if I become an actor I’ll get to fly a spaceship? I want to fly a spaceship.”
“No, they’re sitting in front of a green screen when this is shot. Someone else puts the spaceship around them later.”
“So they’re just sitting there in a couple of vinyl recliners like you and me while someone else does all of the imagining for them?”
“Well, they do read the lines,” I say.
“And they make facial expressions,” Franny says from her end of the couch. “Those two look really skinny, I bet they’re super hungry. Maybe the writers should’ve written something into the script about binging on space food. It might be the only way to get the actors to eat. I bet the writers do all of their writing in their kitchen within an arm’s length of their fridge.”
“Why do you think that?” Fleegle asks.
“Well, are you thinking about sharing when you have a mouthful of food? I don’t think so. I think these writers just don’t want to share any of their food with their characters so they starve them.”
Fleegle gets off the couch and sniffs the actors on the television screen. “They don’t smell so good. Raud, I think they need our help. Why don’t we move the television into the kitchen and try to feed them.”
Franny wags her tail. “Yeah, you could put the television on top of the refrigerator and you could throw food at their mouths when they’re talking. Some of it is bound to get in.”
I shake my head. “The couch goes wherever the TV goes and it won’t fit in the kitchen.”
“Ah yes,” Fleegle says, “but the fridge will fit in the living room.”
“Yeah, right next to the couch. And you’d only have to move one thing that way instead of two,” Franny says and jerks her chin at the screen. “Look at her skinny arms. Do you think she ate at all last week? At the rate she’s wasting away, she may not be around for next week’s episode.”
Fleegle struts in front of the couch. “We need to move on this fast, Raud, and start throwing food at her. She’s my favorite character.”
“Is that so. Then what’s her name?”
“Um… The hungry one?”
I get up from the couch. “Okay, but she’s only getting popcorn. We don’t want to overfeed her. She might go into shock from too many calories.”
Fleegle tilts his head at me. “But that’s popcorn with melted butter, right?”
“And salt,” Franny adds.
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