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‘So, what do you think?’ Jodi asked.
Burt silently examined the latest batch of Graboid paraphernalia on the counter, his expression difficult to read. This was always the worst part. Jodi obviously had final say when it came to merchandise, but she always preferred to get the go-ahead from Burt beforehand. Besides, she figured the Gummer seal of approval wouldn’t hurt when it came to boosting sales.
His eyes fell on a particular item, and he stopped to pick it up. It was one of the Graboids on a string, fuzzy little things designed simply as novelty items. Though even she had to admit that the googly eyes had been a mistake, especially for a blind species. She watched them jiggle in their plastic sockets as Burt shook it from side-to-side.
Burt held it up. ‘Really?’
‘It was just an idea. Something for the kids, you know?’
‘Come on. Dozens of people, myself and your uncle included, have been swallowed whole by these things. They are not a toy.’ He said sternly.
‘Do you know how many dinosaur toys are sold every year?’ Jodi asked.
Burt raised his eyebrows. ‘How many dinosaurs are still alive and kicking?’ He countered. ‘I doubt little Timmy would want to buy those things if his parents suddenly became Tyrannosaurus chow.’
As if on cue the seismometer on the counter started beeping rapidly. The two of them reflexively froze as the ground rumbled and El Blanco passed beneath them, no doubt searching for seismic vibrations from his next meal. After a few seconds the tremors subsided and the seismometer readings returned to normal, allowing them to relax.
Burt spread his arms. ‘I rest my case.’
Jodi sighed. ‘Okay, the Graboids on a string are out. What about the rest of it?’
The rest of the collection was fairly standard, and Burt surveyed it as such: figures of Graboids, Shriekers and Ass-Blasters, foam replicas of Graboid eggs, more junk with the “PERFECTION, NEVADA – GRABOID COUNTRY” logo slapped onto it. The whole shebang. Aside from the occasional note, there was no comment. That was the closest thing to a thumbs-up that he would give.
It was no secret that Burt was less than pleased with Perfection’s claim to fame being a clew of carnivorous Precambrian sand worms. But those worms were what put Perfection on the map – hell, they were practically their livelihoods. If it weren’t for El Blanco, they would have been forced out of there long ago. Like it or not, Graboid mania was here to stay.
Burt stopped again at the last item: the latest issue of the Graboids Attack comic. She winced as he picked it up, skimmed through the pages, paused where she knew he would. He chuckled to himself. Printed on that page was a handsome moustachioed figure, Chicago Cubs hat perched proudly atop his head like a crown. Over the course of two pages he practically swept in to save the main cast by tricking an Ass-Blaster into igniting a propane tank, obliterating a herd of Shriekers in the resulting blitzkrieg.
‘“Brent Gross, weapons expert?”’ He read with a scoff. ‘Very subtle.’
‘It was my idea.’ Jodi pointed out. ‘Don got eaten in the last one, so we needed a new hero. I thought you liked people looking up to you.’
‘Please.’ Burt flipped the comic around for Jodi to see. “Brent” was perched atop a rock formation, posing with his rifle like he was desperately compensating for something. ‘This is not me.’ He said shortly, placing the comic back on the counter.
With that, Burt turned to leave. Jodi didn’t press the matter further. Compared to how things usually went, this had been one of the better ones.
‘Do you want them to change the comic?’ She called after him.
‘I want your business friends to show some damn taste!’ He called back, donning his sunglasses and walking out.