HUNTING
BUTTERFLIES
Typical Polar Bear Pete, Eskimo
Sid, Marjorie or Marj (depending who’s asking) and Nancy Palmer are a bunch of
sour grapes: always arguing and chewing at the wrong end of things. Now they’re
hunting butterflies and Nancy Palmer has gone and got a pearl-bordered flittirally stuck on the back of his hand.
‘That’s rare, that is,’ says Marj.
‘Might be worth something,’ adds
Typical.
‘I’ll jar it and anaesthetise it
for good,’ says Eskimo Sid.
‘You don’t kill it if it’s rare,’
says Marj.
‘No, Marj, it’s worth something
dead or alive,’ replies Typical.
‘They’re insects, ’ says Eskimo
Sid. ‘And I don’t like insects.’
‘Sush,’ says Nancy Palmer. ‘This
butterfly might be rare but she’s stuck on my hand and I don’t like things
stuck on my hand.’
‘No-one does,’ says Marj.
‘So what are you going to do about
it?’ asks Nancy Palmer.
‘Kill it,’ says Eskimo Sid.
‘I thought that would be your
answer,’ says Nancy Palmer.
‘Peel it off and mount it with a
pin onto a piece of paper,’ suggests Marj.
‘Now we’re talking sense,’ says
Nancy Palmer.
‘But we don’t have a pin or piece
of paper,’ says Typical. ‘And a pin would kill it.’
‘Good,’ says Eskimo Sid.
‘I’ll place my hand into my mouth
and lick it off,’ says Nancy Palmer.
As Nancy opens his mouth, the butterfly flies in.
‘Anyone got a net?’ asks Marj.
‘I’ve got one at home,’ says
Typical.
‘Fat good that is, I’ve eaten it
now,’ says Nancy Palmer.
‘Don’t worry, they don’t live long,
it would have been dead in a week anyway,’ says Marj.
‘Good,’ says Eskimo Sid.
