I looked on as Moe tossed the rock. It went
skittering on the lake. Pitter-pat, pitter-pat, pitter-pat,
pitter-pat. It must have skipped ten or twelve times.
“You want to skip one?” Moe asked.
It did not look hard when Moe did it. So I bent
down and picked up a rock. I wrapped the rock in
my finger. Then I flung it sidearm at the lake.
The rock struck the lake and sank. I can’t say it sank
like a rock since it was a rock. The point is, it did not
skip.
“When the rock sinks like that, we say it’s a plonk,”
said Moe. “That’s not what we want to see .”
I picked up a rock and tossed it.
Plonk!
“Snap your wrist!” Moe called.
I snapped my wrist as well as I could.
Plonk!