Tagged: animal

Ignoring the Struggling Bear

  • by jenfamously hard to train
  • But this technique you’re practicing
  • impaled his foot
  • mascara stains
  • an expired clown license

Tune in next time part 515      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Ignoring the struggling bear, and Nurse Marnie as well, Brady said to Scrim, “As you know, storm clouds are famously hard to train, but Dr Thunderboom has devised a technique. Isn’t that right, Dr Thunderboom?”

I nodded solemnly, watching Marnie and her ursine companion from the corner of my eye.

Scrim approached the fountain. “I’ve done a lot of research into weather control, and I’ve always been disappointed. But this technique you’re practicing, Thunderboom, this training regimen — you say it really works?”

“Absolutely.”

Scrim stared, wide-eyed with wonder. Behind him, Brady gestured for me to elaborate. I didn’t see the point. Scrim had already bought my story, his eagerness to control the weather eclipsing his skepticism.

I pointed to the clear blue sky. “It was supposed to rain today, but you can see my results for yourself.”

Brady rushed forward to deliver his planned interruption, but in his haste impaled his foot on a salmon bone from the bear’s earlier meal. He shrieked in pain, which certainly derailed any further talk of weather control devices. Blood spurted from his injury, and mascara stains streaked his cheeks as he began to cry.

Marnie took advantage of the distraction to hoist the bear out of the fountain. She hopped onto his back like a bareback rider at the circus, and he carried her away into the garden at a fast waddle.

The yowls still coming from Brady were ear-splitting. I leapt out of the fountain and went to see about shutting him up. I grasped the fishbone and tugged it out, then wrapped my soggy mountaineering shirt around the wound as a bandage. Brady whimpered.

“You impress me, Thunderboom,” Scrim said. “What are you doing working for a clown like Brady? You should join me and the Tap Dancers if you want a taste of real power.”

“A clown like Brady?” I scoffed. “I guess you hadn’t heard, but the only clown license Brady has is an expired clown license. He traded his greasepaint for that tattoo on his chest when he joined up with Jorgensen’s pirate crew.”

Kabbadan Scrim gasped.

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Brady’s Use of the Glassblower’s Code

  • by jencroak out a honking little cry
  • his subtle middle finger
  • “Get him!”
  • Were they plotting against me?
  • “Go! GO!”

Tune in next time part 511      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brady’s use of the Glassblower’s Code startled me so thoroughly that all I could do was croak out a honking little cry of surprise. I tried to pass it off as a reaction to the nurse’s not-so-tender ministrations. Brady signaled me further with his subtle middle finger (not in the way you’re imagining). The message he conveyed was that there were enemies all around and their orders were merely “Get him!” — meaning me. I looked at the nurse, who was busy undoing the many buttons of my mountaineering uniform’s vest, and the bear. Were they plotting against me? Was the bear not really a bear?

“I only have a moderate understanding of weather control devices, from tinkering with my brother’s,” I said, warily watching the nurse and the bear. “I’ll be fine for casual bluffing, but if Scrim asks any detailed questions, I’ll be out of my depth.”

Brady merely shrugged. Perhaps he wasn’t passing signals after all. Perhaps he was just weird.

“No weather control devices that I’m aware of use etching paste,” I added.

Brady twitched his right ring finger, which if he was using the Shadow Puppeteer’s Cypher would mean, “Go! GO!” But nothing about his demeanor suggested urgency.

Should I let the nurse continue to undress me, or make a break for it?

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The Himalayan Snowcock is Not an Especially Terrifying Bird

  • by jensoiling his opponent’s pants
  • telling you she loves you
  • none of the children believed their father
  • and a haggis
  • touch the marks on my arms

Tune in next time part 477      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Himalayan Snowcock is not an especially terrifying bird. Due to traumatic events in his childhood, though, my nemesis John feared them so violently that hearing their call would often lead to him soiling his opponent’s pants in addition to his own. It was nearly as frightening as my mother telling you she loves you, which my siblings and I all dread. She only says that when she wants something from you, and the things she wants are always terrible. In my family, none of the children believed their father when he told them that their mother was a misunderstood, kindhearted soul. We all knew she was as ruthless as a wolf that ate both a haggis and a haggis maker.

As I took a moment to touch the marks on my arms left by my mother’s tattoo artist when I was just a boy, I hoped that neither she nor John would appear at this auction.

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“What a Magnificent Periscope!”

  • by jenrecently found love for the colloquialisms
  • and six half-brothers
  • hoped it was a prank
  • your crazy-ass granddaddy
  • cats are not a rare species

Tune in next time part 471      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“What a magnificent periscope!” Oksana squealed.

For one chilling second I thought I’d been spotted, until I realized she was utterly fixated on what she’d found in Jim’s leather trousers. I had no interest in watching their libidinal activities, so I put my own (actual) periscope away. I could still hear them, though.

Jim purred, “Your recently found love for the Colloquialisms is adorable.”

“Colloquilia is a beautiful country,” Oksana said, her voice breathy. “And their figures of speech even more so.”

“I used to spend summers there with my twin sisters and six half-brothers,” Jim drawled.

That was a lie. With our father and mother both being president at various times, travel to the enemy nation of Colloquilia was strictly forbidden. I didn’t know what Jim was up to, but I hoped it was a prank as opposed to treason.

Jim went on, “Why did your crazy-ass granddaddy abdicate the throne?”

“He didn’t have a choice, if he wanted to live,” Oksana replied. “Now, Jim, I want you to stalk me like a Paradoxica Snow Panther.”

Oksana was Colloquilian? Snow cats are not a rare species here in the mountains, but exiled Colloquilian royalty certainly are.

What was Jim up to?

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I Had to Conduct the Remainder of the Scampering Ceremony

  • by jenwhile wearing a lizard mask
  • running with scissors wasn’t smart
  • the enduring glow of a tender and true love
  • his skill as a porcelain painter
  • physically could not remove her engagement ring

Tune in next time part 445      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I had to conduct the remainder of the Scampering ceremony while wearing a lizard mask to personify the Great Sun-Iguana, a Contrarian folkloric figure somewhat akin to the Tooth Fairy or Easter Bunny, whose job it was to teach Contrarian children that running with scissors wasn’t smart. After I delivered my anti-scissor-running moral, Mr and Mrs Hedgehog reconciled and were left to bask in the enduring glow of a tender and true love that can only come when a poor writer agrees to forgo further attempts at novelry and concentrate instead on his skill as a porcelain painter.

The ceremony concluded with all the local children scampering in the snow, only there were no children at Enigma Fortress. In their place, the garrison under my command marched about in formation while whooping.

As I removed my lizard mask, YoYo whispered into my ear. “You should be proud. Yesterday is quite sure she’s pregnant. When she showered this morning she physically could not remove her engagement ring or her wedding ring because her finger was so swollen.” She planted a green kiss on my lips. “And I’m quite certain that I’m pregnant, too.”

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It was Snowing Harder

  • by jenthree or four of the thickest
  • wiped them, and put them on again
  • hardly even go to the toilet alone
  • sluggish and contented
  • works hard and plays thoughtfully

Tune in next time part 439      Click Here for Earlier Installments

It was snowing harder outside than three or four of the thickest snowfalls I had ever seen, combined. And I was born at the North Pole!

“How can the Spring Scampering take place during such a blizzard?” I asked the groundskeeper.

He reappeared from under my bed with Rodney in his arms. The fox licked the man’s face, glasses and all. “This storm is the first sign of spring in the Paradoxica Mountains, General,” he said, tucking Rodney under his arm. Noting the fox slobber on his spectacles, he removed them, wiped them, and put them on again. “In deepest winter we can hardly even go to the toilet alone for fear of getting lost in the snow. We form a human chain several times a day to reach the privies.” He saluted in the complicated Contrarian fashion. “Of course, being a General, you have your own private loo, and you don’t even have to go outside to reach it.” Turning, he marched out of my chambers with Rodney held high.

I laid back on my bed, sluggish and contented at the thought of my fancy private bathroom. I’m the sort of guy who works hard and plays thoughtfully. And as soon as I could rouse myself to shower, I would be the kind of guy who is no longer covered in ceremonial sex glitter.

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The Elaborate Calligraphic Numerals

  • by jenshe washed it
  • something was lurking in the shadows
  • These guys can kiss my ass.
  • She’s a beautiful angel
  • um… yesterday

Tune in next time part 433      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The elaborate calligraphic numerals tattooed in gold on the lurker’s cheek identified him immediately as my brother-in-law. “So, William Penn XII, we meet at last.”

“I would have been at the wedding,” he replied with shrug, “except that I have a sworn blood feud with both my father and Fleur. My mother filed all the paperwork when I was but a babe in arms, and you know how Contrarians are about rituals and formalities and all that.” He stroked his cheek. “Mother also gave me this tattoo when I was too young to object.” When he saw my horrified expression he rushed to add, “She washed it first, of course. My cheek, I mean. She was very hygienic, my mum. I’ll give her that.”

I heard a rustling noise. Something was lurking in the shadows behind this man who had been lurking in the shadows.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“I’m sure you’re aware of how highly in demand your ‘exotic substance’ is. I’m afraid that’s my doing.”

The fox appeared from under the bed just long enough to give us a look that said, “These guys can kiss my ass.” He then disappeared again.

“What a lovely fox,” said William.

“Forget about the fox,” I said. “What’s this about you being the one who wants my semen?”

William sighed. “It’s the only way for me to break the blood oath. Well,” he tilted his head and pursed his lips, “the easiest way.” He could see my confusion so he went on. “The easiest way for a Contrarian second-born to nullify a blood feud with the firstborn and heir is to present the firstborn their own firstborn.”

“What?” asked YoYo, which meant I didn’t have to.

William explained, “If my sister’s husband gets my wife pregnant and we give the resultant offspring to Fleur to add to her royal brood, then this ridiculous blood feud will be declared null and void and I will be free to enjoy the life of leisure I am entitled to as prince.”

“Wait,” I said. “You want me to get your wife pregnant?”

“I was hoping to do it without bothering you overmuch, which is why I sent agents to collect samples. I envisioned an in vitro conception. It seems, though, that my orders became garbled.”

“Does Fleur know about this?” I asked.

“Does it really matter?” He waved a hand toward YoYo. “I know you and Fleur have an understanding. Here, meet my wife.” He reached back into the darkness and pulled forward the second lurking figure. “She’s a beautiful angel, wouldn’t you say?”

She truly was lovely, with dark skin and black hair. “What’s your name?” I asked her.

“Um… Yesterday,” she said, licking her lips.

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Alone in My Mountain Fortress Chamber

  • by jenfell into a troubled sleep
  • brushing her wine glass
  • save it, asswipe
  • I thought about the gradient
  • three-legged races, dunk tanks

Tune in next time part 429      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Alone in my mountain fortress chamber, I fell into a troubled sleep. I woke to a squeaking noise, like that a woman makes by brushing her wine glass rim with a damp finger. As my sleep-clouded eyes cleared, I saw that it was merely the fox rubbing his nose on the windowpane. “Save it, asswipe,” I grumbled, throwing my pillow at the beast. “It’s the middle of the night.”

The fox looked at me smugly and curled up to sleep on the pillow, leaving me with nothing to rest my head upon. Would I be able to capture the animal? I could grab it and throw it out into the snow and finally sleep in peace. But then I thought about the gradient of the slope, how the Paradoxica Mountains were practically vertical, and I knew such a toss would likely be fatal to the poor creature. I sighed and laid back on my feather mattress. Surely there were things more uncomfortable than sleeping sans pillow. Things like circuses, three-legged races, dunk tanks…

I tucked my arm under my head and drifted off.

In the morning, blinding sunlight flooded my quarters. YoYo stood at the foot of my bed. When she saw that I was awake, she said, “I have an urgent message from your wife.”

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Clyde’s Reputation Preceded Him

  • by jenthis is for right now
  • that prisons cannot hold
  • quasi-religion
  • or in this case, the gold medal
  • used a digital camera

Tune in next time part 417      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Clyde’s reputation preceded him. He was, allegedly, a mime-dog. I had always assumed that he was a rumor, that such a creature could not actually exist, and yet here he was in my lap: a silent dog trained by mimes. The wretched thing had letters painted on its teeth, letters that spelled “woof.” My mind was still reeling from the knockout gas and all I could think was, “This is, for right now, my only worry in the world.”

An average mime could not accomplish something like the training of a mime-dog. No, this required the sort of mime that prisons cannot hold, the sort who sees mime as more than a quasi-religion. The mime who trained this dog must have won the grand prize, or in this case, the gold medal in mime-fuckery. But what the hell were my siblings doing with a mime-dog? They clearly were not mimes. Were they using the mimes, or were the mimes using them?

I sure am using the word “mime” a lot, I thought, as Jim moved in front of me and used a digital camera to take what I presume were blackmail photos.

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The Blue Panda Rolled Onto His Back

  • by jenlike pickets in a fence
  • shimmered like a pigeon’s neck
  • I have always been fond of animals
  • neatly riveted and soldered
  • Dream scientists already know

Tune in next time part 333      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The blue panda rolled onto his back and stared up at me with enormous googly eyes. The teeth in his grin, once white and straight like pickets in a fence, were scuffed and dented from the gondola’s floor. A smudge of oil on his cheek shimmered like a pigeon’s neck. I have always been fond of animals, but not animal mascots, and certainly not mascots that have the heads neatly riveted and soldered into place to prevent their removal.

Dream scientists already know how this encounter in the zeppelin played out, because they can often see the future through the eyes of their slumbering subjects. I, though, was still in the dark.

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