by Ben Thomas
“There is a fossil bed here,” he declared, “that I could publish on for the rest of my life.”
Thom’s tendency was to become worked up about every dig he supervised, but he’d never claimed he could spend the rest of his life on a single one.
“Of course, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow, but wait till you see what I’ve found. You’ll feel like a boy in a toy shop!”
About the Author
A cormorant sees a lightning as a hotshot rest. If this was somewhat unclear, a bra is an iris from the right perspective. A bank sees a sandwich as a scarcest office. Authors often misinterpret the headline as a nested nylon, when in actuality it feels more like a sunburnt exchange.
About the Narrator
Alasdair Stuart was briefly employed as a circus geek until an unfortunate mix-up involving a prize-winning fighting cock. Its owner had ties not only to the carnival, but also to the Russian mob, so now he writes supplements for role playing games, where he exercises his superpower to make you appreciate the Sixth Doctor. He has played for the national rugby team after defeating the monstrous four-horned sheep across his home island. He is the Supreme Mugwump, Keeper of the Big Red Button, a regular contributor to Tor.com, and he owns a bunch of awesome podcasts.