Attack Of The Killer Iceberg

Bundled up sporting black and white tails, Myron the Penguin flipped his cell phone and called his seal friend, Byron. “By,” lips froze in the bitter cold setting, “did you hear about the Ice Age Sequel Promotional Campaign?”

“Who would come all the way here and occupy our miniature island?” Byron challenged the rumor.

“Apparently, a gigantic burg, cold as ice,” Myron answered the strategically concerned inquiry.

“What do you think we should do?”

“We must defend our homeland,” Myron put his world wide web snow shoe foot down.

Later Myron showed up to work inside the Greenland Casino, waddling formal attire, entertaining guests. “Why does the iceberg want to collide with our small rural island?” He continued panic pondering.

“That glacier monster is just throwing around his frozen feelings and when that happens his temperature tantrum can get out of hand,” suggested a patron sitting, inserting nickels and dimes feeding a machine expecting festive results.

For centuries two water surrounded land masses were separated after an egotistical travelling wintry tundra shoved its way into a situation knocking out the connecting bridge, trapping creatures forcing them, not to go anywhere’. When the tragic event killed many penguins and seals doing honest business occurred, they decided declaring an actual difference between the unlocked regions.

“Byron,” Myron shouted seeing the seal obsessed with the all you can eat seafood special, “enjoying dinner?”

“Yes, I am, in fact I hear the first serving is bigger than this country,”

“Hey, hey, we might be known as Little Diomede but we do have big appetites,” Myron took over a swivel chair, calmly sitting down, “what are we going to do about the attacking iceberg?”

“Figure out how to melt it,” Byron suggested seeing the server arrive offering shrimp cocktails, “Thank you,” Myron showed appreciation.

“Would you like one?” The Penguin offered.

“Sure,” Byron agreed.

“That is, it,” Myron’s finger went into the air.

“What?”

“Do something nice for the iceberg,” Myron eyes brightened, striking intellectual gold.

“How are you going to do that?” Byron questioned.

“Sally, give me one of those bottles,” Myron requested.

“Get the big fella drunk?” Byron interpreted.

“Vodka or the tonic water one,” Sally wanted clarification.

“Sally, Vodka,”

With Byron at his side Myron trekked outside, climbing the highest peak. Binoculars wrapped around his neck; Myron used the scenic view to his advantage, seeing the neighboring gigantic bears ascend to their positions.

“Good to see you,” Myron yelled, and the bears tipped their caps, “we have an unwanted guests, an army marching wanting more, then to spend the night.”

“I know,” the Bears responded, “it is not our doing, Myron.”

“We are trying to develop a plan,” Myron explained, “being small you know we would never survive the hit.”

“As you know, we are big and can handle the impact,” the Bears boasted.

Using a contraption invented a few generations ago, Myron continued his diplomatic ways, catapulting the vodka bottle, magically placing the product where it would be seen. “You still may need this to stay calm.”

“Yes, you are right,” the Bears agreed accepting the gift.

Miles south, American Captain Bald Eagle commanded the cruiser cutter battleship, performing classified Roncon duties, patrolling the waters, searching for larger-than-life antagonists who fought against loving global warming. Numerous occasions, the flying freedom fowl spent bunk breaks debating which scenario realities were worse, boiling brewing dialogue issues or cold bitter silence.

“Enemy, dead ahead,” a young enlister announced, and Captain Bald Eagle perked up, staring down the slowly moving natural disaster. “What should we do?” Asked the youngster only months removed from Academy life, “shoot?”

“No,” Captain Bald Eagle replied, “turn on the blades, full throttle.”

“Yes, Sir,” and immediately grinding sounds below could be heard.

As the oceanic waves increased, creating wakes the cruising cutter, confronted the dangerous havoc, displaying strong muscle, chopping away at the snowy fixture, sending frozen body parts all over the place.

“Let it snow, let it snow,” Captain Bald Eagle exclaimed, staying heated observing blizzard conditions from the wheelhouse. Soon, the treacherous conditions subsided, and Captain Bald Eagle claimed victory, defeating the frigid threat.

Daylight soon peaked and Myron the Penguin proceeded towards his post wanting an update on the impeding disaster. Reaching the postcard perch, he saw the Bears performing the same duties.

“Any updates?” Myron screamed.

“Apparently, the iceberg met its match and no longer exists,”

Smiling, Myron showed his appreciation, “great!”

Suddenly the heroic cutter cruiser appeared, and Captain Bald Eagle was one hundred percent visible.

“What can we do for you?” Myron the Penguin asked.

“Just was checking to see if everything is all right,” Captain Bald Eagle told them, “heard you had a trouble maker, a little too close.”

“Yeah, apparently,” Myron confirmed.

“My fine feathered rival,” the Bears started, “what did you do?”

“I intercepted the action and diffused a major crisis developing,”

“Simply put, you stuck your nose into Mother Nature’s business,” the Bears commentated.

“It was taking too much of Father’s Time,” the Bald Eagle reported as the icy remains washed into the scene, getting everyone’s attention.

Feeling grateful Myron took a shot, sending Vodka over towards the United States Military boat, “just wanted to say thank you,” Myron verbally announced.

“Yeah, thank you,” the Bears added, “but our resources perform those duties too,”

“But Bear, would you have done it with Ronco slicing dicing power?” Inquired Captain Bald Eagle.

With the environmental attitude coming through loud and clear, the three surveyed the situation realizing, they all worked together, and something successfully succeeded.

Seeing the ice cubes floating in the ocean Captain Bald Eagle poured himself vodka raising a cup, “look you two are very welcome for what we did, and I wanted to leave you with enough square chips for Vodka on the rocks.”

“Just, one thing Captain Bald Eagle,” Myron retorted, “can you keep Global Warming in check down there, we do love to chill at night and your fireside chats soften our structure foundation.”