Category: Stichomancy Prompts

I Sipped My Martini

  • by jenfinger communicated a nervous quivering
  • a thrill of hatred
  • undoubtedly incredible ceremonial attire
  • kissing my ass ever since
  • I don’t know anything about weather

Tune in next time part 567    Click Here for Earlier Installments

I sipped my martini and kept my eye on the exits, exuding as much swaggering braggadocio as was humanly possible in order to sell my Jason impression. It was going really well. Only my left little finger communicated a nervous quivering to those observant enough to spot it.

Jason slipped out of the bathroom, and a thrill of hatred ran through me at the sight of his ridiculous red wig. He ducked into the elevator to go up to the honeymoon suite and check out the bathroom. Would he first don the aquatic version of Arlo’s undoubtedly incredible ceremonial attire, or just dive in naked?

I noticed that Tessa was dancing her way toward the patio door. Trusting that she would make her own escape and meet me outside, I threw back the rest of my martini and ducked through the fire door.

And ran straight into Brady, whom I’d last seen at the fountain when I’d first arrived on this pirate-infested island.

“There you are!” he said. “Kabbadan Scrim has been kissing my ass ever since you ran off with the nurse and that bear, trying to get me to tell him the secrets of my weather control machine, but you and I both know I failed meteorology. I don’t know anything about weather control!”

“Then you picked the wrong scam, Brady.” I spotted Tessa lurking impatiently near the corner. “Good luck. I really have to go.”

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Did You Ever Have That Dream

  • by Kentmade up his own version
  • an alien noise emerging from my mouth
  • “You wouldn’t forget him.”
  • an absolutely filthy martini
  • like a skintight diaper

Tune in next time part 566    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Did you ever have that dream where you’re the guy who impersonated his twin brother, the guy who forgot the words and just made up his own version of that twin’s trademark rap in front of a bunch of wedding guests who were mostly snotty, entitled royalty from the snottiest, most entitled country on the planet? I wished I was having it right then, instead of all that being what was really happening to me. I danced under the floral arch on the stage, an alien noise emerging from my mouth in hopes that the audience — who no doubt knew the lyrics — would subconsciously fill in the proper rhymes.

By the time I found a way to end the performance, I was drenched in sweat. I stumbled to the bar amid a hemi-demi-semi smattering of applause. I felt bad for what this was likely to do for Jason’s career.

I overheard one of the wedding guests asking another if she’d ever met Viscount Arlo. She said something noncommital, to which the first replied, “You wouldn’t forget him.”

The bartender told me that whatever I wanted would be on the house, as part of my rider. I smiled. “Make me an absolutely filthy martini. I want it to be like a skintight diaper of a beverage.”

While I awaited my drink, I watched the Tessabot twirling amid the Svenborgians, wondering how we were going to get out of here.

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The Hand-Painted Pornographic Butterflies

  • by jenfigure out where to put my fingertips
  • “You’re in trouble Kemosabe,”
  • trip to Hot Topic could sort you out
  • he would learn of my sexuality
  • your feet were just innocent bystanders

Tune in next time part 565    Click Here for Earlier Installments

The hand-painted pornographic butterflies flitting around my head were such a distraction I had trouble picking up the microphone. I couldn’t figure out where to put my fingertips, or my thumb. Svengorgian AV equipment is very confusing.

“You’re in trouble Kemosabe,” Tessa said with a smirk.

My palms got sweaty, making the microphone even harder to grip. “You’re in trouble, Kemosabe” was Jason’s fastest, most tongue-twisting rap, and now that the bride herself had requested it there was no way I could get out of performing it. Why was she being so devilishly cruel?

I launched into it. “A trip to Hot Topic could sort you out. You could freshen up your wardrobe without a doubt. The clerk — he would learn of my sexuality, and, Kemosabe, he would give you all those clothes for free!”

That was the easy part. The warm up. I started to feel the flow, and was rapping smoothly until I got to the part about trying on boots and forgot what rhymed with “your feet were just innocent bystanders.”

I tried to improv it, but the whole wedding crowd was staring at me. Which they had probably already been doing since I was performing on stage, but I couldn’t be sure. Did they look more hostile than usual?

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Back in the Banquet Hall

  • by Kent“Yeah we could, I know we could.”
  • with a butterfly garden
  • of the more risque variety
  • nothing wrong with eating cake barefoot
  • unexpectedly racy

Tune in next time part 564    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Back in the banquet hall, I took my seat beside Tessa before I remembered that I was no longer wearing the Arlo disguise. All the noises in the room — the clinking of silverware on china, the murmur of conversation, the slurping of cheap champagne — died away.

“I’m about to do my set,” I told her, knowing everyone in the place could hear me. “You and your new hubby couldn’t take off on your honeymoon without letting me serenade you.”

She blinked robotically and said, “Yeah we could, I know we could.”

“Don’t be a party-pooper,” I lisped, reaching for her hands. “Come up on stage.”

She put up only token resistance as I drew her over to the raised performance area, which as per Svenborgian tradition was fitted with a rostral column and also with a butterfly garden of the more risque variety. The Tessabot had slipped out of her shoes, and she reached back for one last morsel of the awful cake. Normally I would say there’s nothing wrong with eating cake barefoot, but this stuff was a culinary crime.

We stood under the flower arch together, and butterflies alighted on our heads. I studied their wing patterns up close, and what I saw was unexpectedly racy.

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“There You Are, Arlo”

  • by jenit’s not really hypnosis
  • makes choo-choo noises
  • famous for being stubborn
  • in ill-fitted clothes
  • both sucking on lollipops

Tune in next time part 563    Click Here for Earlier Installments

“There you are, Arlo,” the new arrival said, looking at Jason who was now dressed as me dressed as the Viscount. It was the best man who had earlier given the roasty toast. “That was some bachelor party last night! If you’re lucky, I won’t tell Tessa all the details. But you know what they say, it’s not really hypnosis unless someone makes choo-choo noises when he hears the magic word.” He sneered and said, “Avocado!” while pointing at Jason.

My brother is famous for being stubborn about only making train sounds when they were integral to his raps, and for a moment I thought we might be found out. But with a painful-looking eyeroll he began hooting like a steam engine in ill-fitted clothes and a ridiculous red wig.

The best man guffawed.

Jason might not get an opportunity to check out the honeymoon suite’s bathroom, but that was his problem. As long as he had this guy distracted I could make my getaway. As I ducked through the door the locomotive breathing stopped. I glanced back over my shoulder at the ersatz Viscount and his attendant and saw them both sucking on lollipops.

I shuddered. That was not something I would want to do in a bathroom.

Now all I had to do was steal the bride away from her wedding reception and find a way off this pirate-infested island.

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Jason Slunk Away

  • by Kentgrey stucco urinal
  • able to give him a bath
  • before I put down this shot glass
  • merely the substitution of one piece of nonsense for another
  • a gathering you weren’t invited to in the first place

Tune in next time part 562    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jason slunk away, winking heavily at me over his shoulder and pointing to the sign for the restrooms, then waving for me to follow. Nobody paid any attention to him. It was a stunning display of Contra-Buffoon, a tricky form of tradecraft where your actions are so clumsy that they come all the way around to be subtle again.

I excused myself, picking up my drink and heading for the gents so I could swap disguises with Jason. I found him using a grey stucco urinal. The nearby terracotta toilet was so large, I would have been able to give him a bath in it.

“Stop that,” I said. “And come take the wig before I put down this shot glass and then we’ll trade shoes.” Swapping our outfits would be merely the substitution of one piece of nonsense for another, and then another, and so on until all the articles had been transferred. A good disguise is essential to sneaking out of a gathering you weren’t invited to in the first place.

We had just completed the process when I heard the door open. We both froze.

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“Just how drunk are you?”

  • by jenthe kind of tipsy where I should want to hug everyone
  • I’ll be using your name
  • filled a room with balloons
  • suspended above that giant cocktail glass
  • “Oh, it *smells* like chocolate, too!”

Tune in next time part 561    Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Just how drunk are you?” I asked my brother.

He lisp-whispered back, “I’m not drunk. I’m the kind of tipsy where I should want to hug everyone, but have you seen these guests? No, thank you!”

“When will you take the stage?” I hoped to be able to make my getaway while he had everyone entranced.

“I won’t be,” he lispered. “Instead, I’ll be using your name, Arlo, to check into the honeymoon suite. The hotel staff filled a room with balloons for the happy couple, all of them inflated with air from the Svenborgian Alps. In the bathroom there is a bathtub shaped like a martini glass, and suspended above that giant cocktail glass is a bubblebath dispenser. It might seem a little weird, because the liquid is brown and looks like chocolate syrup. But it makes you look like you have a great tan.” He grabbed a forkful of my dubious dessert. “Oh, it smells like chocolate, too!”

I was familiar with Svenborgian fauxcocoa and its mildly hallucinogenic properties. If the woman beside me had been the real Tessa, I would have been disappointed not to partake with her. As it was, Jason was welcome to it. As long as as I had an opportunity to escape the island.

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The Goose Peered Around

  • by Kentin a single Windsor knot
  • sneaking away from the party to suck face
  • eating a bite of the brown-and-white lumpy food
  • worry about clothing more than a thirteen-year-old girl
  • unable even to remember the name

Tune in next time part 560    Click Here for Earlier Installments

The goose peered around at all the wedding guests, apparently unaware it was supposed to be our dessert. I considered it poor form for Jason to bring the animal in here alive, but I also thought a mouthful of feathers would be a vast improvement over that bite of cake.

The tartan frocks they wore were, in fact, a single tartan frock, which Jason had arranged to cover both himself and the bird on the platter. He’d used the garment’s belt to join them up in a single Windsor knot. He bowed deeply to deposit the platter on the floor, and the goose spread its wings. Jason kept his head bowed, so it appeared to be the goose who lisped, “Wouldn’t want anybody sneaking away from the party to suck face, not when dessert is almost here!” And with that, the goose shook off the frock and dashed out of the room. It waddled back a moment later, towing a trolley laden with desserts.

“Ohhh,” people around the room murmured, “dessert goose.” The trolley made the rounds, and soon we all had our treats. I didn’t know what mine was, and glanced around suspiciously before eating a bite of the brown-and-white lumpy food.

Jason flounced up to the high table, stroking the tartan fabric of his frock. The Tessabot said, “You worry about clothing more than a thirteen-year-old girl. Did you make that one yourself?”

He laughed. “No, it’s a very exclusive designer’s work. But, silly me, I’m unable even to remember the name.”

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All This Talk of Limericks

  • by jentantamount to intellectual masturbation
  • big buttery buns
  • it would be embarrassing
  • you experience rapid hair growth
  • in a tartan frock

Tune in next time part 559     Click Here for Earlier Installments

All this talk of limericks reminded me that the woman beside me was not the real Tessa, but merely a robot duplicate. The real Tessa hates limericks. She considers reciting them tantamount to intellectual masturbation. No matter how much the Tessabot looked like the woman I loved, I couldn’t forget the truth. The big buttery buns beneath this wedding costume were not the big buttery buns I pined for, and it would be embarrassing to be so caught up in surface appearances that I forgot that.

I squared my shoulders and cut the “cake.” I closed my eyes and opened my mouth so the Tessabot could feed me a bite. I shuddered. The cake tasted like some foul concoction that would make you experience rapid hair growth in places where you don’t want hair. I was able to spit it into a napkin unchewed, but my tongue was now numb. The Tessabot happily chewed and swallowed her mouthful, more evidence that she was not the woman I loved.

At that moment Jason arrived in a tartan frock, carrying a platter upon which rested a goose, also in a tartan frock.

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“If You Have Nutella”

  • by Kenthas been immortalized
  • not in any way compromise your sister
  • my trembling subsided
  • Some say he’s dead, some say he never will be.
  • If you have Nutella

Tune in next time part 558     Click Here for Earlier Installments

“If you have Nutella, that’ll make my job much easier,” I said. The Tessabot elbowed me in the ribs. The sight of the cake was making me shake with revulsion.

I was granted a brief reprieve from putting any of the alleged cake into my mouth when one of the random Svenborgian nobles stood up and raised his glass. I surmised this was the best man about to deliver his speech.

“Is there anything left to say about marriage?” he declaimed airily. “The bride is lovely, and so let us say nothing further about her, because it would all have to be nice and where’s the fun in that? Now, the groom is a different story. This groom in particular, but by Svenborgian tradition all men pass, in marriage, into a realm of mystery as they become, evermore, ‘The husband.’ Some say he’s dead, some say he never will be. I say he’ll be fine as long as his lovely bride never finds out about last October!”

Was it also Svenborgian tradition to do a roast rather than a toast? Regardless, my trembling subsided as I mentally rehearsed the sleight of hand I would employ to avoid tasting that foul confection. I leaned to Tessa and whispered, “You know I would not in any way compromise your sister.”

She laughed, plausibly at something the best man had just said. She looked into my eyes, hers twinkling with merriment. “That’s not how she tells it. Her taste in ‘compromise’ with you has been immortalized in a limerick. Now cut the fucking cake before I recite it.”

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