CRUSTY CONVERSATIONS

300 Million-Year-Old Rocks Discuss Potatoes

Because the world needs bolder boulders

“Roc, are you going to dress up for the Christmas parade this year?”

“Depends, Brock.”

“On what?”

“My mood. When I put on my Santa suit, kids climb all over me, adults take their endless videos — what a zoo. I’m not meant to be focused on.”

“I don’t love this new gig. Landscaping is pedestrian. I liked the quarry — quieter, despite the machinery.”

“That quarry was nice. Brock, do you remember the guy — what’s his name — Buster?”

“Buster! I loved that guy! He was a nutcase.”

“I love nutcases. They make you feel something. Remember when Buster dumped that big rock in the wrong place just to piss the bosses off?”

“That made me feel something.”

“It made me feel alive.”

“It made me feel the earth shake.”

“It made me feel grateful I wasn’t alive but felt that way.”

“There should be more Busters.”

“I think they have a short shelf life.”

“What do you want for Christmas this year, Roc?”

“Don’t get me anything, Brock. I have so much crap already.”

“Where’s all your crap?”

“You got me there. I’m just parroting what I hear.”

“Oh no. Here they come — the kids.”

“Watch yourself. You know they’re going to climb on us.”

“Ouch.”

“Owww!”

“Try to be positive, Roc.”

“Okay — at least we’re not inside an active volcano.”

“Or on top of a landslide.”

“Or in Buster’s front loader.”

“Ouch. Here come the cameras. What do you make of the selfie, Roc? It’s a little inverted, no?”

“I’m not up on inversion, but it’s unnerving.”

“They’re telling us to smile. Just fake it.”

“This is like being in a movie, Brock.”

“When’s the last time you were in a movie??”

“Fine. It’s like being someone’s muse.”

“Like the Mona Lisa.”

“Or the Taj Mahal.”

“Now, I’d like to be the Taj Mahal — all marbly. That’s elegance for you,” said Brock.

“And the Mona Lisa isn’t?”

“The Mona Lisa is practically begging to have mashed potatoes thrown on her.”

“If I were a famous painting and protesters were throwing food on me, I’d open my mouth and eat it. Why protest a protest? Just go with it.”

“Probably because paintings don’t have mouths. Duh.”

“Do you remember how the dinosaurs would make those sloshing noises when they ate?”

“Disgusting.”

“Exactly. That’s what the Mona Lisa would sound like eating potatoes.”

“True. She sort of looks like an Iguanodon. Does everybody say that?”

“Do you want to see if we can scoot further into the planting bed and lower our profile a bit?” asked Brock.

“You’re always suggesting this. I have not moved on my own in three hundred million years. Why do you think I’d do it now?”

“I wonder when the next glacier is going to come around.”

“Is that a joke?”

“It’s funny, right?”

“Speaking of extinct glaciers — which do you choose, Brock: mashed potatoes from a box or pre-made?”

“I want my mashed potatoes fresh from the damned potato.”

“That’s not an option.”

“Fine. A box.”

“I’d pick pre-made.”

“Why pre-made? Wait. Don’t tell me. I honestly don’t care one iota. We don’t even eat food.”

“But if we did,” said Roc, “what would we make for Christmas dinner? Entertain me.”

“I’d eat worms. They smell so delicious.”

“I’d eat grilled vole.”

“Nice choice. Garnish with the worms.”

“And mashed potatoes. Do you want to come over this Christmas and have dinner together?”

“I’m already here, so — ”

“We’re ready to rock, Roc.”

“You’ve told that joke 10,650,003 times now.”

“Nice recordkeeping.”

“Brock, I’ll never take you for granite.”

“Touché.”

“Watch out! Adults in-coming. Ouch!”

“Owww! Pretend you’re asleep. Maybe they’ll lose interest.”

“Let’s just sleep and wake up in a couple hundred thousand. They’ll be gone by then.”

“I look forward. Wonder what’ll replace them?”

“Dunno. Wouldn’t mind seeing a new take on that Iguanodon.”

“Homo Iguanodon?”

“Homo Iguano Mona Lisadon.”

“Maybe they’d take up residence in the Taj Mahal.”

“Or the White House,” said Roc.

“Or the Met.”

“Or Amazon warehouses.”

“What would Christmas be like, I wonder?”

“There’d be parades like usual, but the mashed potatoes would be delicious.”

“They would. They’d be merry and light.”

“It’s Merry and Bright.”

“Whatever, Roc.”

“Merry Christmas, Brock.”

Thanks to my amazing editors, Betsy Denson and Gary Chapin. They are my rocks. They’re not in my rock collection, but they’re solid.

If you prefer box potatoes, Join Medium. If you want to make them from scratch, I can’t help you.