Dancing George The Obese Eskimo, Chapter 2

            
            A few days later, Gunther was sitting at the icy dining table, tucking into a goliath salmon that had taken him about two minutes to hook whilst the other fishermen looked on enviously as they shivered for hours without a bite. Suddenly, George waddled in thru the Igloo entrance, wrapped up snugly in his furcoat because, as I've mentioned, he was no fan of the cold (which is hard cheese, in fact, 'lard freeze' when you're a pudgy lil'  Eskimo). Indeed, pudgy lil' Eskimo George resembled a Polar Bear's hairball in his white furcoat. 
    'Where have you been, son?' asked Gunther of his boy. 
    'I've just handed in my entry form for the Grand Talent Competition, dad!' replied George enthusiastically. Gunther chewed on his succulent salmon with an expression of perplexed concern on his Eskimush. He loved his son, but was well aware that George's waistline wasn't Eskimini enough to succeed in any contest he entered as a dancer, he was Eskimorbidly obese! 
    'Well, son, what talent do you intend to show off at the competition then?' Gunther inquired. 
    'Why my dancing of course, Dad!' said George innocently. 
    Gunther looked even more puzzled as his mysterious son waddled out of the igloo again. It was most unlike George to brave the cold twice in one day - what was he up to? 
    Now the thing about George was that, tho' he didn't move much, he thought a lot - he was in fact rather devious. And he had a lot of time to practice being devious considering he moved so little. With this skill for scheming, pudgy, devious George had cooked up a plan; he was going to win that talent competition without having to resort to all that tiresome practice in the intolerable cold. Like all masterplans, preparation was paramount, which was why he was now  waddling like a pregnant penguin all the way to the other side of his village to pay a visit to the wriggliest seal in the Arctic, a seal called 'Eel'. George wanted to cut a deal with Eel the Seal. 
    When he arrived at the far end of the village, he spied Eel the Seal noshing upon another one of those poor salmon every creature in the Arctic seemed to nosh day and night.  Approaching gingerly so as not to spook Eel, George called out gently. 'Eel! Eel! Eel the Seal, might I possibly have a word?'
    Sleek Eel spun round on his belly like pelted lightening, even his blubber was fast.. 'Say, you're not the son of Gunther the Hunter, famous far and wide for spearing seals and serving them up as steaks for said gluttonous son, are you?'  Eel interrogated him. 
    'Oh no, Eel, I'm another morbidly obese little Eskimo entirely. My name is, erm, Omikse, ' George improvised.     
    'Omikse', hmm...Hey,  isn't that 'Eskimo' spelled backwards?' replied Eel warily. 
    'Yes, it is, and I'm called Omikse because my family has turned its back on many of the old Inuit ways, including hunting those most majestic pilots thru the underice seas, the elegant and athletic seals,'  thus did George placate and flatter Eel the Seal.
    'Well,' blushed Eel, 'we seals are pretty coolio, agreed. What can I do for you, my fine stout young fellow?' 
    George leant over and whispered into Eel's phocid lack of an external ear for at least ten minutes, then they shook hand and flipper decisively. George waddled back to his igloo with a devious smile between his fat little paprika cheeks. His plan was falling into place much like the qana ( the Eskimo word for 'falling snow') etherially lands upon the land and the land-hard ice alike.