DINO CUBED

Hey pallies, here's 'nother cool piece of Dinoprose...I was followin' up on a google alert 'bout our Dino when it eventually led me to this way short, but way cool piece of prose that features our Dino. Written by a lady tagged Gayle Carline it's 'bout a dude who loses an ice cube tray used in Ocean's 11 and signed by our Dino. Our Dino is just so good to this pallie to lead me to 'nother cool story that is so so Dinofocused...as usual, if you wanna read "Dino Cubed" in it's original format, just click on the tagg of this Dinopost. Dinodelightedly, DMP

Third Annual SCWC*PS
Topic Award Winner
Each conference the SCWC has a writing contest in which all conferees are invited to participate. The rules are simple: Write a piece in any form you wish of no more than 250 words based on the topic announced Friday night. The topic for the SCWC*PS 3 event was "Ice." Gayle Carline of Placentia, CA is this year's winning author.



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Dino Cubed
by
Gayle Carline
.

HE WAS THE kind of man who made you want to disinfect your eyeballs when you looked at him.

"You the private dick?" his voice oozed from the doorway.

"Private investigator," I corrected him.

The stranger slunk into my office and poured himself into a chair. Pale and thin, his wispy blond hair lay pasted against his head, making his ice-blue eyes look large and reptilian.

Taking a picture out of his pocket, he threw it across my desk.

"I lost something. I need you to find it."

I studied the picture. "It's an ice cube tray."

"Not just any ice cube tray," he told me. "It's the ice cube tray used for Dean Martin's drinks on Ocean's Eleven.

I stared at him, clearly unimpressed.

"It's signed by Dino! I paid $1500 for it on Ebay!"

"Okay, okay," I said. "I get $100 a day, plus expenses."

"Anything. Just find it for me."

Taking out my notebook, I got to work. "Where did you see it last?"

"In my freezer," he said. "It's still there somewhere, but I can't see it for all of the ice."

I sighed. Opening the bottom drawer, I pulled out my travel-sized hair dryer. "Give me your address," I told him.

What the hell, I figured. It's a paycheck.


The end.