Tagged: car

Before My Mind Melted Completely

  • by jenbetween the invisible man and the tramp
  • in response to the touching of tiny buttons
  • as if they were his own
  • I don’t know whether Stephanie
  • started pointing fingers

Tune in next time part 245                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Before my mind melted completely I managed one coherent thought: those ninjas must have been covered in some sort of contact hallucinogen. I’d foolishly fallen right into their trap. The walls around me rippled like water.

When I came back to my senses I was bound hand and foot, and a good deal of drool was leaking from my mouth onto the floor where I lay. I seemed to be in the back of a van. There were two people in the seats up front. I kept my eyes closed and listened to their conversation.

“We’ll be lucky to get the full bounty on this asshole,” the driver said. He had a gravelly voice and a Contrarian accent. “And our expenses are through the roof. I mean, between the invisible man and the trampoline he bounced in on, we’ll be lucky to break even. That guy doesn’t come cheap.”

Who were these guys? I cracked my eyelids open and watched the portly guy in the passenger seat lean forward to fiddle with the radio. In response to the touching of tiny buttons, the vehicle filled with Contrarian hip hop. Portly guy knew his way around the sound system controls as if they were his own, suggesting that this van was not a rental.

Portly cranked the volume, and we drove on for hours. The music and the accents suggested my captors were working for Fleur. Or maybe her warlord father. I wasn’t sure which idea scared me more.

Much to my surprise, though, when the van stopped and the doors opened, I found myself face-to-face with Viscount Arlo. He looked at me with his one eye, and sniffed. “I don’t know whether Stephanie forgot to mention,” he said in his precise Svenborgian cadences, “or whether you’re utterly incompetent, but I wanted both him and Jason.”

The driver and Portly immediately started pointing fingers at each other, making excuses for their failure.

Arlo turned to me and sniffed again. He ran one hand back over his bald head. “I’ve been enjoying your wife’s company ever so much,” he said. “She’s currently my favorite lover. Would you like to see some pictures?”

That guy is such a dick.

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Svetlana Used Her Nimble Toes

  • by jencarried the corpse away with them
  • with an energy peculiar to excited females
  • “faddish” and “exaggerated”
  • Russia at its most bizarre
  • could not be locked from the inside

Tune in next time part 72                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Svetlana used her nimble toes to try to prevent me from bringing her along, but fortunately for me Jerry’s car could not be locked from the inside. While she writhed around and tried to hold all the doors closed with her feet, flailing and contorting her limbs like an acrobat from Russia at its most bizarre, I reached in through the open window and grabbed her by the ankle.

Some might call her struggles “faddish” and “exaggerated” but I knew that in her mind she was fighting for her freedom, if not her life, and doing so with an energy peculiar to excited females. I also think she had a crush on Jerry who stood nearby, still beating the ground with his stick.

I hauled Svetlana through the window by her ankle, narrowly avoiding being caught up in a headlock with her other leg. While she dangled from my fist, I said, “You can either walk, or I can carry you. If I carry you it won’t be fun. It’ll be like when John and Lyudmila killed that feral ninja and carried the corpse away with them, and you’ll be the corpse.”

She glared at me.

I gave a hard smile. “You won’t be dead, but you might wish you were.”

 

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The Pathetic Noises

  • by Kentbut you grab it between finger and thumb
  • struck the ground emphatically with his stick
  • asked Jerry for a gun
  • sell you a chainsaw in the desert
  • is biological in nature

Tune in next time part 71                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The pathetic noises came from a dilapidated station wagon limping along the dirt road, chuffing and squeaking and dragging several of its body panels along the ground. The man at the wheel wore a moldy top hat and sunglasses made of gummi worms.

He rolled down his window as the car crept alongside us. “Name’s Jerry. Can I give you folks a ride?” Svetlana coyly allowed him to see that her wrists were bound with electrical wire. Jerry didn’t seem to mind.

“Sure,” I said. I put Svetlana in the back seat and went around to the front passenger door. Jerry didn’t ask us any more questions. As he drove he told us about his thrilling career as a race car driver, and how he spends his time in retirement inventing edible eyewear. “The design inspiration is biological in nature, i.e., worms. It’s just like normal glasses, but you grab it between finger and thumb and off comes a snack!” He demonstrated. He boasted about the many high-class boutiques that bought his designs, saying, “I’m the kind of guy who could sell you a chainsaw in the desert.” Like that was a thing. At one point Svetlana interrupted and asked Jerry for a gun. I thought I might need to take the pistol out of my pocket, but he ignored her.

Predictably, the station wagon wheezed to a halt and wouldn’t move despite all of Jerry’s swearing, even when he got out and kicked dust on it and threatened it with a stout tree limb that he brandished like a club. Even when he struck the ground emphatically with his stick.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said. “We’ll leave you to it.”

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These Ninjas Were Even More Deadly

  • by jenboarded the 7 train
  • spoon in hand
  • locked away in a gunmetal gray filing cabinet
  • the hole where their feelings used to be
  • It was infinitely pitiful

Tune In Next Time Part 16                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

These ninjas were even more deadly than your garden-variety ninjas. Their overlords, Ninja-Vision, had a wicked and ruthless indoctrination technique which left them with hyper-sensitive senses and an impenetrable blackness in the hole where their feelings used to be. All of their secrets were locked away in a gunmetal gray filing cabinet in Michiko’s office. She’d shown me the training manual once when I asked how she stayed so fit.

“Show them we’re unarmed!” Tessa cried as the leader bounded onto the hood of the car, spoon in hand.

“Show them we’re not Michiko!” I yelled back.

In no time the lead ninja used his spoon like a can opener to remove the pink and white roof from our Hello Kitty mobile. Just as he was about to end our lives with that same commonplace utensil, he noticed that neither of us was the Harajuku girl from the self-storage place, the rebellious daughter of their leader. He checked his attack just in time, the spoon landing harmlessly between Tessa and myself.

“Flee,” he whispered in my mind’s ear.

I scrambled out of the car, dragging Tessa with me. We barely had time to rescue the underwater digging apparatus from the backseat before the rest of the ninja swarm set about destroying the Lincoln as a message to Michiko.

As we fled down Elliptical Avenue, I took one last look over my shoulder at the remains of the car. It was infinitely pitiful to behold, and the ninjas were already gone, along with their giant mobile TV headquarters.

“This way!” Tessa pulled me down the stairs to the subway where we boarded the 7 train.

“But Tessa,” I said. “This train doesn’t go to the pier.”

“I –hic– know,” she purred.

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Tessa’s Hiccups Persisted

  • k-avatarthe man with the severed leg
  • just another Tuesday
  • couldn’t actually read the sweatshirt
  • (just “Uncle Terry” being Uncle Terry)
  • partially tattooed on his elbow

Tune In Next Time Part 13                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa’s hiccups persisted as we cruised the darkened back streets of the city. I knew Michiko had enemies, and her unsubtle car might draw unwelcome attention on the boulevards. I was grateful for the narrow lanes I had to guide the huge car through, because the tight quarters demanded my attention, kept me from becoming too distracted by what those hiccups meant.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered.

“The parade,” Tessa said.

Where our tiny side-street debouched onto the main thoroughfare, sawhorses and hay bales blocked our path. I approached the barrier slowly, thinking we might be able to shift things aside and sneak through before the parade began.

And in any other town that might have been reasonable. But the weekly Macabre Misfits parade was in full swing, as it would be for 24 hours. To the double-M, this was just another Tuesday.

There wasn’t room to open the car door, so I rolled down the window and climbed out. Jugglers were passing, throwing mannequin limbs back and forth. I hoped. The man with the severed leg in his hand glanced at me, and although I couldn’t actually read the sweatshirt he wore I did notice a subversive slogan partially tattooed on his elbow.

Tessa had emerged as well, and the man seemed surprised to see her.

“Hi, — hic — Terry. Sorry we’re late,” she said, dropping me a wink. “Think your troupe can sorta — hic — vamp for a while so we can get our — hic — float out of this alleyway?”

The man bowed to us, then rallied the rest of the jugglers to hold a space in the parade while we got the barricade out of the way.

“He — hic — does this every week,” Tessa explained. “My third cousin or something, but he’s older so — hic — I always thought he was my uncle. The — hic — limb-juggling is his passion (just “Uncle Terry” being Uncle Terry). Shall we?”

The parade was even heading in the right direction. But it was so slow.

Tessa’s hiccups persisted.

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I Led Tessa Outside

  1. by jenCharacter – Harajuku girl
  2. Setting – behind the wheel of a large automobile
  3. Object – keys
  4. Situation – hiccups

Tune In Next Time Part 12                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I led Tessa outside and balanced her on the handlebars of my stolen bicycle as I pedaled through the dark city to the self-storage facility where my excavation machine was stored, along with the rest of my inventions. Things were improving between us, but I didn’t fully trust Tessa. I couldn’t imagine letting her get a look at the contents of my storage unit, so I left her in the office, talking to the night manager, a Japanese woman with bright pink hair, cat ears and a parasol.

The submersible digging machine was far too bulky to carry on the bike, so when I hurried back to the office I asked Michiko if I could borrow her car. She charged me $200 and tossed me the keys. Tessa hadn’t run off during my brief absence, which both pleased and frightened me. The two of us climbed into Michiko’s Hello Kitty-bedazzled Lincoln Continental, me behind the wheel, Tessa riding shotgun but twisted around to stare at the mechanical wonder in the back seat.

As I navigated back to the pier, Tessa gave a loud hiccup, and then another. She turned around to face front and hiccuped again. I knew those hiccups well. Tessa always had an attack when she was horny.

“Now’s not a good time, babe,” I said.

“I — hic — know,” she said. “And that only makes it — hic — worse.”

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We Are Certain The Contaminant is Biological

  • k-avataris biological in nature
  • the gentleman bowed
  • indicated the formation of the first crystals
  • certain dark and dirty chambers
  • but the Impala is a spacious automobile

“We are certain the contaminant is biological in nature,” I was advised, and the gentleman bowed as he told me the news and indicated the formation of the first crystals in certain dark and dirty chambers of the passenger compartment, “and, we fear, quite virulent,” the dapper mechanic went on, “but the Impala is a spacious automobile, so just stay out of the affected zones and you’ll be fine.”

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The Collision of the Two Vehicles

  • by jensome unlikely and very large costars
  • straighten out those dents
  • But when medicine isn’t available
  • fit for a Gothic melodrama
  • a gigantic sunflower

The collision of the two vehicles left a gigantic sunflower-shaped bruise on Harriet’s upper thigh. The only acceptable remedy was ice and a large dose of Vicodin. In Harriet’s mind even minor inconveniences spun themselves into operatic agonies fit for a Gothic melodrama in which she played the gloriously set-upon tragi-romantic heroine. She gazed with contempt upon the other participants in the unfortunate accident, pouting a bit at having to share her time in the spotlight with some unlikely and very large costars. Narcotics might make everything better for Harriet, it was true. But when medicine isn’t available, like for instance when the patient is a Volkswagen, Harriet conceded that she would have to find some other way to straighten out those dents. A mechanic, perhaps.

 

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