Page 115 of Flirtasaurus
“Ohhhh.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Ohhhh.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“A little bit of that…”
Bruce fiddles some more.
“Ohhhh.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Ohhhh.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“And… we’re out.”
The image on the wall cuts out. As do the sounds, thank the sweet lord above.
But I have to say? The deafening silence that ensues is actually ten times worse than my sex noises playing in surround sound for the entire staff of the museum to hear. Hard to believe, I know, but it’s true.
Mr. Birch emerges from his sex fog with a full-body shake. “Woo! Well, uh. That was, uh… That was not what I intended to, uh—” He turns to Dr. Knowles. “Question: Do youallowyour staff to fornicate on the museum premises?”
“No, Mr. Birch, we do not,” she says, her mouth in a tight line.
“Just checking. Because that footage might actually make a wonderful addition to one of your exhibits on prehistoric life and the rise of the Homo sapien. Something to consider!”
“We’ll… keep it in mind. Thank you, Mr. Birch, I think we’re all done here.”
“I know I’m not in the science biz, but as a Homo sapien and a museumgoer myself, I have to say… I found that to be really compelling.”
“Noted. Now, if you don’t mind, we need to—”
“Ooh, you could call it ‘The Caveman Conga.’ No, no, ‘The Dance of Darwin!’ ‘The Evolutionary Two-Step!’ Oh, I got it, I got it. ‘The Brontosaurus Boogie.’
Who knew bumbling little Mr. Birch was a porn producer in the making? I guess the handlebar mustache was a bit of a red flag.
“COULD SOMEONE PLEASE ESCORT MR. BIRCH TO THE EXIT?”
That’s it. It seems Dr. Knowles’ calm exterior has finally cracked. And it only took her trusted intern boinking on the job and ultimately making an adult film and screening it for all her employees.
Bruce steps up yet again, gently takes Mr. Birch’s arm, and guides him out.
Sasha sees a moment to steal focus and delay my inevitable demise. “Hi, everybody! I’m Sasha Prendergast, and I’m representing the team at Spencer Spirits. I’d be happy to take this moment to walk you through how we plan on setting up the bar and introducing you to our sommelier, James—”
“Miss Prendergast, was it?” Dr. Abrams, head of the Astronomy department—the man I met that day in the planetarium when I was ripping Ralph a new one—interrupts her. “Thank you for that. I, for one, could certainly use a drink right now, but we have another pressing matter to tend to first. Ralph?”
Oh God, here it comes.
“Yes, sir?” Ralph says with more calm than I could ever hope to muster at this moment.
“Anything you care to say about what we just witnessed?”
“Yes, sir. I am incredibly embarrassed and deeply sorry for my actions. The way I conducted myself on Saturday evening was…”
