Tagged: effervescent concoction

I Asked the Offensive Waiter

  • by jencutting off the wrong guy’s head
  • a monkey chaser
  • flowers in their hands
  • in which a mustachioed man holds two tomcats
  • I hope they jammed their fingers into him

Tune in next time part 709      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I asked the offensive waiter, “What’s your name?” I needed to know so that later when I complained to the Royal Contrarian Event Planner about his lack of respect, I wouldn’t be cutting off the wrong guy’s head-waiter promotion chances.

“Percival,” he improbably replied.

I twisted the cap off the soda bottle as I committed the name to memory, then I tipped my head back and chugged the whole thing. In my experience, Mountain Dew is always accompanied by a monkey chaser, but Percival hadn’t brought one. As I swallowed and swallowed, my eyes darted around the room in search of something, anything, to counteract the sugary burn. I saw women with flowers in their hands, which were of no use to me. The beverage hit my system hard and I experienced that classic Dew-induced hallucination in which a mustachioed man holds two tomcats above his head. Without a monkey chaser to dull the effects, I was in for a hell of a ride. I cursed Percival’s negligence. With the time-warping powers of the Dew I vowed to make his whole life until this moment a misery. I hope his schoolmates teased him. I hope they jammed their fingers into him and tickled him mercilessly.

The bottle was drained. I tossed it aside and perused the lyrics once again, and it was only as I opened my mouth to sing that I realized this was not Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Major-General’s Song.” It shared the same tune, but the lyrics were all specific to me and my life in the Contrarian military. The words tumbled out.

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To My Dismay, the Lyrics

  • by jenleaping for this dazzling incomparable adventure
  • bright green carbonated beverage
  • If I could promise you just one thing
  • spearheaded by a magician
  • only I can see her

Tune in next time part 707      Click Here for Earlier Installments

To my dismay, the lyrics taped to the stage were those of the “Major-General’s Song” from the Pirates of Penzance. A younger version of me, the me from drama club, would be leaping for this dazzling incomparable adventure, the singing of such a challenging tune in front of a rapt audience. That starry-eyed thespian was long gone, though, and the only way for me to tap into his enthusiasm, and power through this ordeal was to drink a large quantity of every teen’s favorite bright green carbonated beverage. A pianist ran through the intro several times while I flagged down a passing cater-waiter and ordered him to bring me a 2 liter bottle of Mountain Dew. I may not actually be a Major-General, but I am a general General. He took one look at the medals on my sash and darted off to the kitchen. The pianist was quite irked by the delay. Her playing became brisker and pointier and she threw me looks that said, “If I could promise you just one thing, it’s that if you don’t start singing soon I will murder you in your sleep with a stick spearheaded by a magician‘s magic dagger.” Such an outlandish threat! And yet, I thought, underneath the hostility she behaves so wantonly I can see her complete lack of undergarments, even when she’s seated behind the piano.

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The Alleged Beverage Harry Handed to Me

  • by Kentexcept for their own wives
  • and it caused… issues
  • First of all, go fuck yourself
  • mementos of that intimacy
  • I had stuff to do.

Tune in next time part 372      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The alleged beverage Harry handed to me had a strange, vaguely medicinal aroma. The froth made a snakelike hiss. The glass seemed to be growing colder in my hand.

“Tell me about this drink, Harry.”

“The world-renowned Inimical Gin and Tonic,” he proclaimed promptly, like he’d hoped I would ask. “The bartenders share the exact recipe with no one except for their own wives, who had to be let in on it by decree because the bartenders otherwise had to keep secrets from them and it caused… issues.”

“But the approximate recipe would be gin and tonic?” I pressed.

“First of all, go fuck yourself, sir. And second of all, that’s inimical gin and inimical tonic, in mysterious yet precise proportions. Each night, the bottles are stored together in a particular geometry according to ancient tradition, a secret stacking method that brings them nearer to one another. The richness of the flavors and the crispness of the effervescence are mementos of that intimacy.”

“Sounds very strong,” I said. Harry smiled thinly. “And I’d hate to start issuing commands with my judgment impaired.” I set the glass on the table. Harry seethed at me, but I couldn’t worry about that right now. I was a general, and I had stuff to do.

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“You Need a Hat”

  • by jenwith a turned-up nose, and rather turned-in legs
  • got to the edge of a very big wood
  • Oh God, Paul. Elevators!
  • a circular muddy mark
  • We can have the ceremony at once

Tune in next time part 371      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“You need a hat,” Fleur said. “Contrarian generals always have hats.” She deftly folded her white linen napkin into an origami hat that rather resembled a paper boat. “Perfect!” She held it aloft. “We can have the ceremony at once.”

“But a white hat,” said Harry. “Surely not.”

“Quiet, Harry,” Fleur said. “You’re just upset because my husband will outrank you.”

Harry pouted froggily under Isolde’s doting gaze.

Fleur directed me to kneel, plopped the napkin hat on my head, and used coffee grounds to make a circular muddy mark on my lapel. “This insignia shows your rank, General. Congratulations.”

I bowed my head to kiss her hand, careful not to let my hat slip off. I felt rather ridiculous in my new getup, like a country bumpkin arriving in the big city for the first time. The type of rube who would be amazed by the most mundane things. “Oh God, Paul. Elevators! Like in the movies!” That sort of thing.

“Ooo Harry!” Isolde cooed. “You should buy your commanding officer a drink!”

With a prodigious scowl, Harry stood from the table and marched across the restaurant until he got to the edge of a very big wooden bar that was on the opposite side of the fountain from where we were seated. He returned shortly with a turned-up nose, and rather turned-in legs that accentuated his toad-like qualities. With a curt salute he handed me a tall glass full of a frothy green substance. It didn’t smell like anything I’d ever encountered before. Could I trust that he wasn’t trying to poison me?

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John Wriggled Out of the Duffle Bag

  • by jentalking about his hang gliding
  • when no one’s watching
  • raising exotic fish
  • “Lactose intolerant? Swell.”
  • smelling my feet?

Tune in next time part 297      Click Here for Earlier Installments

John wriggled out of the duffle bag and lay on the floor of the hut while Tessa cooed about how happy she was to see his face and his equipment, and I’m not talking about his hang gliding gear.

“You gonna put some pants on or what?” I asked.

“I usually only do that when no one’s watching,” he said, and stayed naked.

Jason leaned in and lispered in my ear, “I haven’t seen a worm like that since I was at the Contrarian National Aquarium, raising exotic fish.”

The mud pool continued to churn and burp up thick bubbles. “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “That thing seems lactose intolerant.”

Jason laughed. “Lactose intolerant? Swell.” He started for the door.

Before I could follow, John rolled across the floor to where I was standing and buried his nose between my toes. Was he smelling my feet? If so, that could only mean one thing.

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“I Don’t Care That You’re Married, Genevieve”

  1. by jenCharacter – cheating wife
  2. Setting – witch’s cottage
  3. Object – sequined handbag
  4. Situation – I smell smoke

“I don’t care that you’re married, Genevieve,” cried Wilhelm. “So am I, and I won’t let it keep us apart.”

The beautiful raven-haired woman behind the cauldron nodded and held out her hand, and Wilhelm handed over her gift. As she opened it, Wilhelm admired the pale green undertones in her silky complexion and the way the firelight danced in her deep black eyes. Those lovely dark orbs sparkled with delight when she saw the sequined handbag under all the layers of tissue paper. Or was it the smoke that made them glisten?

“Thank you darling, it’s lovely,” Genevieve purred. She pulled a ladle from the voluminous folds of her long black gown and scooped up some of the liquid from her bubbling vat. The fumes made Wilhelm’s head spin. Genevieve carefully poured the effervescent concoction into a vial and handed it to Wilhelm.

“Have your wife drink this and our troubles will be over.”

“What about your husband?”

Genevieve smiled lazily. “Let me worry about him.”

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Uncle Timothy Despairs

  • her father’s protege in the city
  • choked with seaweed
  • (she called it fizzy)
  • a great deal of reviewing
  • I slithered to the chemist
  • Uncle Timothy despairs
  • sometime between 1887 & 1889

“Uncle Timothy despairs of finding the antidote in time,” Salome wept. Timothy was not her real uncle, but a longtime family friend; her father’s protege in the city.

The inundation had remade the city, and its dwellers. Avenues choked with seaweed, corner vendors selling sea cucumber sandwiches to lithe, scaly pedestrians.

My preparations for a sojourn had remade me likewise. I slithered to the chemist, the love of my life, Salome, and tried to console her. I knew she would be my salvation — she already had an effervescent concoction (she called it fizzy) that had almost worked.

Sometime between 1887 & 1889, the comet had grazed our atomsphere… the answer was in the Farmers’ Almanac, but finding the right pages would entail a great deal of reviewing.

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