Preppy Tonk and Jon

Preppy Tonk looked at her rival with an evil twinkle in her eye.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I see that evil twinkle in your eye again.”

“No. It must be the burning hot sun reflecting off your chromed head.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah- huh,” Preppy Tonk shot back.

“Whatever, lets continue.

“King to knight rook.”

The purple slug looked down at the holographic chess board. “Poopy-doodles, you win again!”

“Yaysies-daisies!”

”If this was Earth Chess, I’d kick your butt!” Jon exclaimed, wiggling his fat, dripping eyestalks.

“Yeah, but the author doesn’t know how to play chess and that would require research and he’s too lazy.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but you’re still a silly.” Jon stuck his slimy purple tongue out.

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Well, let’s have a trace then.”

“Trace?”

“No, a race! Goddamn u, author. Fix your typos!”

“Yeah, you ready, Enourghipool… er, Preppy Tonk?”

“You know it, Jon!” she said and stretched her furry brown legs.

“Your silver eyes look like pools of mercury.”

“Thanks? I guess?” Crouching down in racing position, Preppy Tonk lifted her leg.

“Did you, make a stinky?”

“Yes, … I... did!”

‘”It smells like rotten eggs.”

Preppy Tonk's face turned red.

“You made a stinky, you made a stinky!”

“Whatever.”

“Ready…” Jon announced as a star shot through space.

Preppy Tonk's muscles tensed up.

“Set...”

“I know what comes next!” Preppy Oblanka Tonk smiled.

“Go!” Jon whispered.

“Run!”

“Jump!”

“Kick!”

“Touch the stars!”

“Look into the sun!”

“How? I'm blind.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Why did you claim you were blind then?”

“Cuz I’m goofy!”

“But you’re not a hobo dog.”

“Goofy isn’t a hobo.”

“Oh , what is he?”

“A goofy dog, duh!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I know these things,” Preppy Tonk whipped her huge head back with confidence.

“Oh, so you're a professional now?”

“Yeppers.”

“Good grief!”

“Oxymoron, oxymoron, oxymoron!”

“Hey, that's not nice!”

“No, an oxymoron is contradictory terms.”

“Oh, why is it called that then?”

“I don’t know. Do I look like an English professor?”

“I’m not sure how to take that...”

The two rivals panted as they ran throughout space. They passed an orange planet, then a blue one made of hot dogs, and finally, Earth.

“Stop describing everything!”

“Who are you talking to, sis?” Jon asked as a drifting robotic Golden retriever passed in between them.

“Our creator again. He keeps describing the scene,” Preppy Tonk replied.

“Isn't he supposed to do that?”

“Yeah, but it's getting annoying!”

“So? We’re competing against each other. That’s more important, right?”

“I guess so,” Preppy Tonk said, biting her blue puffy lip.

“Atta girl,” Jon replied and patted her on the back.

“Hey, how can you pat me on my back? I thought you were ahead of me.”

“Uh… I forgot that explanation.”

“Did you?... or did the author forget?”

“I have no cosmic idea, Preppy Tonk.”

“I thought you knew everything.” She raised an eyebrow.

Preppy Tonk glared at her opponent.

“You know, for an alien slug, you sure are fast!”

“Hmm, alien slug…. Where have I heard that before?”

“Maybe in a book about kids who can turn into animals?” shrugged Preppy Tonk.

“Almost at the finish line!” Jon said with glee.

“How can you tell?” Preppy Tonk asked, putting her hairy claws together.

“Checkered line coming up!” Jon pointed straight ahead with his slimy antennae.

“Oh, just cuz there's a checkered line means the end of the race?” Preppy Tonk said, putting her paws on her brown meaty hips.

“Yes that’s the rule,” Jon said, adjusting his squared glasses.

“Well… OK,” Preppy Tonk said as she scratched her ear.

“Have an itch?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I have an itch, too.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yeah-uh!” Jon said, passing a large pink asteroid.

“Well, then, where's your itch, huh?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Ew.”

“OK, OK, it’was my arm,” Jon smiled.

“Oh, that’s not bad.”

“It itches more than yours,” Jon said, scratching his arm.

“Nuh-uh, mine itches more.”

“Let's finish the race!” Preppy Tonk exclaimed.

Jon ran through a hoop, jumped over the fence, and hauled through lava.

“I win! I win!” Preppy Tonk did the macarena.

“You cheated.” Jon pouted.

“No, I didn't!

“Yes, you did!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“OK, I believe you,” Jon said.

“Knock knock,” Preppy Tonk whispered.

“Who’s there?” Jon asked.

“Dwayne.”

“Dwayne who?”

“Dwayne the bathtub, I’m dwowning!”

Jon laughed like a hyena. “Mine’s better!”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, a duck walked into a bar and ordered some quackers. When the waiter asks her how she will pay, the duck says ‘put it on my bill.’”

“Not funny at all, my rival.”

“Humor is subjective, so I win!” Jon blew a raspberry at her.

“How old are you?” asked Poppy Tonk.

“I am an adult.”

“Cool, I’m a kid.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really!”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“Sing baa baa black sheep.” Preppy Tonk started singing.

“You have a beautiful voice!”

“And?”

“And what?”

“AREN'T YOU GONNA SING?”

“No, why would I do that?”

“I thought we were competing,” Preppy Tonk said and sneezed.

“Oh, yeah, goofy me. I forgot. By the way. Bless you or gazoontite, or whatever.”

“Thanks, wait… Goofy?”

“The author‘s getting tired of ‘silly’.”

“But, he used it.”

Preppy Tonk shrugged. “It's his story.”

“Oh, OK.”

“What's wrong?”

“I like that word very much!”

“I do too, but let's move on.”

“Alright, wanna have a tickle fight?”

“You know I do!”

She tickled his foot. “Geetsa-geetsa… Hey, look, a tree; it's floating in space,” Preppy Tonk said and floated to it and she giggled. “Stop.” Grabbed an apple. “This will knock your socks off!” She started juggling.

“Oh yeah?” Jon said as he cocked an eyebrow. “Watch this!” He grabbed the tree and shook it until every apple detached and floated into space.

“Impressive?”

“Thank you. I’m the King.”

“King of what?”

“King of Apple!”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really.”

“Well, I‘m the Queen of Blueberry Squash Pie.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Wanna keep going?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“We made it to the thousandth word!”