Tagged: saliva

I Was Almost Positive

  • by Kentcall it “getting the twisties”
  • Big, beefy, never takes off the helmet.
  • one of the gents
  • Specifically, a chilled fork.
  • slanderous biography

Tune in next time part 682      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was almost positive it hadn’t been an Underduchess who slobbered on my fingers, but I didn’t see any nearby lambs or other baby livestock to take the blame. I wiped my hand on my pantleg, resolved to track down the furtive licker at a later time.

For now, there was the immediate concern of how to deal with my panda-suited brother. We huddled together on the sofa, expecting Jim to dance his way over. Dance he did, but on a chaotic, spiraling course. The impaired visibility and limited oxygen offered by the panda head combined with the sheer bulk of the costume were creating a syndrome. Mascots call it “getting the twisties” and speak of it in hushed tones. Legend has it that the Jousting Emu of Soiux Falls succumbed so totally that he’s twisting to this day, somewhere in the wilderness, and travelers who encounter him always give the same account: “Big, beefy, never takes off the helmet. Spinning around in a crazy circles and knocking shit over everywhere.”

We realized that Jim might be putting the children in danger. None of the gents employed at the petting zoo were on the scene, so it was up to Cleopatra, Esmerelda, and me.

Esmerelda, being married to him, thought she had the best chance of bringing Jim’s gyrations under control. But you can’t simply seize someone with the twisties to halt them — you’ll be drawn into the madness yourself. I was too slow imparting my warning, and Esmerelda found herself clinging for dear life to the whirligigging blue beast.

“I know what we need,” Cleopatra announced. “Cold silver. Specifically, a chilled fork. Run to the bistro above the print shop and hurry back with one!”

With a nod, I raced off on my mission. The only tricks I knew for dealing with Jim’s predicament had come from the slanderous biography of a mascot from a cricket team in far-northern Canada, so I had little faith in their efficacy.

As I ran, I had to wipe my hand on my pants again. The salivary sniper had struck a second time.

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So Far Nobody had Noticed the Three of Us on the Sofa

  • by jenmesmerizing fiddle music
  • he moved in a kind of circle
  • graced by his peacocking presence
  • upgrade your underwear
  • But who had licked them?

Tune in next time part 681      Click Here for Earlier Installments

So far nobody had noticed the three of us on the sofa, which was surprising given the garishness of my new uniform. But my sartorial crimes paled in comparison to those of the individual who strutted in behind the children, dressed in a blue panda costume. The panda went to the record player and managed, even with his big furry paws, to turn it on. From speakers all around the petting zoo came mesmerizing fiddle music, the sort often played at haunted carnivals. The panda clapped his paws four times to the beat while he moved in a kind of circle around the lambs. I knew immediately who was inside the costume. He’d been wearing one not unlike it on a blimp not unlike this one in the not-too-distant past. Plus, I’d recognize that dancing anywhere.

“It’s Jim!” Esmerelda whispered frantically.

That was the conclusion I’d come to, too. Jim. Her husband, my brother. The way he moved showed that he expected us all to feel graced by his peacocking presence.

Esmerelda tried to climb over the back of the sofa to hide, but Cleopatra stopped her. “It’s time to upgrade your underwear to big girl panties and talk to him.”

Panda Jim was still dancing his shamanic dance with the livestock. From the tilt of his head I thought perhaps he was eavesdropping on us.

Suddenly I noticed that my fingers were wet. I was so intent on reading my brother’s body language that I didn’t notice how it happened, but they were certainly wet, and it was certainly saliva that made them so. But who had licked them? One of the Svenborgian Underduchesses? One of my children? One of the animals? Or something worse?

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Poet, Sir?

  • by jenPoet, sir?
  • lie festering in the crowded alleys
  • inherently disturbing but not gory
  • a jar of warm sputum
  • concentrating on my landlady’s cat

Poet, sir? You dare call me a poet? Do I have the look of one who would lie festering in the crowded alleys of Paris, drunk and penniless? The insinuation behind your “casual” inquiry is inherently disturbing but not gory, much like a jar of warm sputum. It tells me much about you, this assumption of yours in regards to my occupation. You presume I am concentrating on my landlady’s cat in preparation of writing an ode or a sonnet or — shudder – a limerick, when that is not the case at all. I am concentrating on my landlady’s cat so that I might learn to read his thoughts and gain valuable intelligence about my landlady’s comings and goings. Good day to you, sir. I say, good day!

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Behind Half-Closed Lids

  • k-avatarwith their burning eyes and saliva-spun lips
  • Behind half-closed lids
  • infecting several people
  • spring glibly from his tongue
  • the Actor-Robot’s overwhelming hate
  • once through his nose

Behind half-closed lids, the Actor-Robot’s overwhelming hate for the Director-Robot and the Wardrobe-Robot, with their burning eyes and saliva-spun lips, seethed and roiled like the caustic wit that would spring glibly from his tongue, and emerged once through his nose, when he took the stage to mock the President-Robot who, through neglectful hygiene, wound up infecting several people with degenerative robotism.

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He’s the Kind of Guy Who Keeps a List of Judicial Candidates

  • by jenhas her gargle with salt water
  • a jar of warm sputum
  • judicial candidates with humorous names
  • and then he’d wave
  • the Swiss bank account of a total stranger

He’s the kind of guy who keeps a list of judicial candidates with humorous names to choose his aliases from. The kind of guy who takes his date to an orgy, but then has her gargle with salt water before he’ll kiss her afterwards. He probably collects it so that he has a jar of warm sputum to remember her by. And then he’d wave and send her off into the night on her own so that he could sit at his computer and try to hack his way into the Swiss bank account of a total stranger. In other words, he’s just like all the rest. OKCupid sucks.

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