Category: Stichomancy Prompts

The Nunchuks Made Me Nervous

  • by Kenthas a kick on it like a mule
  • until the forklift was encased in ice
  • Boris has just given me a summary
  • you could lose a finger otherwise
  • for all of our reenactments

Tune in next time part 506      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The nunchuks made me nervous for a second, until I recognized them as the foam-rubber replicas we used for all of our reenactments of kung fu movie fights back when we were kids, before the Sacher Torte fiasco. It was crucial to use fake weapons, particularly swords; you could lose a finger otherwise.

Furry Boots announced, “Boris has just given me a summary of the auction’s expected outcome, and we’re falling behind schedule.”

“Call him back,” Jason said. “Tell him I have a plan.” She left.

“Wait, aren’t you supposed to be languishing in Oksana’s damp jail cell?” I demanded of my twin.

He sneered. “Everything was under control. You’re as confused as the Academy hockey coach. Remember when he substituted a forklift for a zamboni, and he refused to admit his mistake and forced the crew to use it until the forklift was encased in ice and the rink’s surface was too rutted and rough for skates and the visiting teams started bringing hobnail boots to wear instead?” He twirled the nunchuks faster, shaking his head. “Anyway, yeah. You’re like him.”

“Stay away from my kids,” I said, taking a step toward him.

I heard a faint ‘thwip’ noise and felt the sting of a dart in my neck. Then another. The plush yetis were spitting them. I staggered.

“Just lie down” Jason advised. “The trank in those things has a kick on it like a mule.”

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When Jason and I Were Young

  • by jenbask in the sugary afterglow
  • with bleach and everything
  • every fake-tanned, acrylic-nailed, selfie-taking woman
  • going to do “the fetish stuff”
  • near the twins, swinging

Tune in next time part 505      Click Here for Earlier Installments

When Jason and I were young, we once raided the White House pantry and ate an entire Sacher Torte that had been intended as the desert at an important State dinner. We had no time to bask in the sugary afterglow, though, because our mother discovered us and was enraged. She made us clean the entire kitchen, with bleach and everything, and then made us bake a replacement. Our skills were nothing compared to the staff bakers, but our cake was good enough to charm every fake-tanned, acrylic-nailed, selfie-taking woman at the party, so Mother was satisfied.

Furry Boots somehow knew this story. She whispered its details in my ear, thus proving she had a connection of some sort to my family. Perhaps she really was Jason’s lover. That didn’t mean I could trust her.

“Come with me,” she said, gripping me by the lapels of my climbing uniform. She explained that she was going to do “the fetish stuff” with me someplace private, which really didn’t narrow down her intentions much.

At the pace the auction was going, it wouldn’t be over anytime soon. I could afford to step away for a bit. And in private I might be able to figure out who Furry Boots was and what she was after.

We traveled through several rocky passages before entering a cavern decorated with plush yetis. A single crib held my newborn children, and near the twins, swinging a pair of nunchucks lazily, was Jason.

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Furry Boots Could Have Learned About Jason’s Tongue Tattoo

  • by Kentchandelier hanging from a brass pole
  • the more exotic and outlandish the names
  • they believe that their teeth would fall out
  • except for their own wives
  • unlimited foot massages

Tune in next time part 504      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Furry Boots could have learned about Jason’s tongue tattoo in any number of ways, or just guessed. It proved nothing. But her use — well, misuse — of the bog-roll cipher showed that she did have some connection to the biz. I had to find out more about her.

“What’s your angle?” I asked her.

“Timmy and Mabel swung on the chandelier hanging from a brass pole,” she recited confidently. It was another code, of course, and again she was taking liberties with deploying it. According to protocol, there should be an actual chandelier present, with nametags dangling among the crystal beads. The message itself is conveyed in the tags, and the more exotic and outlandish the names the larger the squad of assassins targeting the recipient. Being in Timmy-and-Mabel danger didn’t worry me too much.

I opted to turn the tables. “Colloquillian men never cross their eyes, because they believe that their teeth would fall out if they did.” Would Furry Boots be able to decode my message?

She replied, “And they won’t look at anyone’s feet, except for their own wives‘, which they gaze at all night long.”

I looked her up and down. Her response was, at best, inconclusive. The proper countersign would have referenced toenails, but she had seemingly grasped that I was talking about the traditional Colloquillian wedding vow of unlimited foot massages.

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I Did Not Kiss the Yeti

  • by jendude deserves a crown
  • should have been written on toilet tissue
  • be a couple publicly
  • “I actually looked at it
  • , not just snow.

Tune in next time part 503      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I did not kiss the yeti.

I would have been willing to if it would make the damn auction move faster, but the yeti wasn’t into it. She recoiled. While she argued about propriety with the furry-boots woman, I ducked under the buffet table and retrieved her headband. She snapped it back in place and stomped off. The furry-boots woman said to me, “If she’s married, dude deserves a crown for putting up with her.”

I froze. It was a coded message that should have been written on toilet tissue and passed discreetly between dance partners. Hearing it spoken aloud I wasn’t sure how to respond. Was it just a coincidence, or was this woman really saying that she wanted to be a couple publicly with me? I’d never met her before, but perhaps she and Jason were engaged in a secret romance.

Furry Boots herded me into the corner. “I can tell by your tongue that you’re not Jason,” she murmured. “I actually looked at it really closely and saw the golden tattoos.”

I didn’t want to admit to not being Jason. “How do you presume to know so much about the tongues of my brother and myself?”

“I know so much about Jason’s tongue because he licks many things off of me, not just snow. Jason’s tongue has a blue tattoo, but none in gold.”

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I Moved Through the Crowd in the Cavern

  • by KentThe one thing I think I know about German
  • I’m not fucking Rembrandt.
  • enough sharp medals to slit my throat
  • did not have a telephone herself
  • “Go ahead, kiss her.”

Tune in next time part 502      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I moved through the crowd in the cavern, trying to look casual and avoid stepping on any toes either figuratively or literally. My climbing boots could do some real damage.

The reason for the lackadaisical bidding revealed itself as I mingled. The auction of my brother Jim was, for many attendees, merely a pretext under which to meet for other forms of business. I overheard arms deals, drug deals, and stolen-art deals. The one thing I think I know about Germany’s art scene, I learned by eavesdropping on two men who were both wearing eyepatches and monocles. And that thing is, German collectors will never give a fuck about my paintings because I’m not fucking Rembrandt.

Even in my uniform, wearing enough sharp medals to slit my throat if I sneezed wrong, I felt a bit underdressed in this crowd. But not compared to the next individual I bumped into, the yeti midwife who was no longer even wearing her rainbow headband. In fact, that was what she was looking for, somehow recognizing me from our chat in the break room even without my yeti costume. She didn’t seem too mad, maybe a bit embarrassed to be interrupting me about it, explaining that she would have called but she didn’t know my number and actually did not have a telephone herself. I stalled, trying to work out what was going to happen when she looked under the buffet table. Could I just flat-out tell her, since the discarded costume apparently wouldn’t matter to her? It felt risky.

So, my conversation with the yeti midwife continued awkwardly, each of us seeming equally flustered and unsure of ourselves, until a woman in a green satin gown and thigh-high furry boots leaned over to me and said, “Go ahead, kiss her.”

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My Yeti Costume was Uncomfortable and No Longer Necessary

  • by jengiven as a a gift to assorted emperors
  • playful gleam in his dark eyes
  • you are rubbing your shin
  • hardly the strangest or rudest
  • only one manservant

Tune in next time part 501      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My yeti costume was uncomfortable and no longer necessary now that Tatiana had given birth. Everyone here thought I was Jason anyway. I wiggled out of the sweaty fur sheath, which was a difficult thing to do underneath the buffet table. I snatched up my mountaineering boots and put them back on, then crawled to the far end of the table and emerged surreptitiously from my hiding place.

The bidding was up to $2,256,004, and creeping higher.

I heard a very pompous voice that I recognized as King Woody say, “Gherkins like these were given as a gift to assorted emperors and empresses, such as my mother Empress Holly.” He had a playful gleam in his dark eyes, and was standing far too close to Maxine.

“Excuse me,” Maxine said. “But you are rubbing your shin against my thigh and I would like you to stop.”

Woody laughed. “I’m sure it’s hardly the strangest or rudest thing to rub up against you, my dear.”

Maxine alerted a yeti security guard, and it took only one manservant to escort the rude, blustering royal from the auction.

With one fewer bidder, maybe things would move more quickly now.

“Two million two hundred fifty six thousand and five!”

I sighed.

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“And Why Are You Barefoot?”

  • by Kent“There was, like, a big puddle.”
  • It is a crepuscular melange
  • questionably fashionable folk costumes
  • and octopus finger
  • no need to dress up

Tune in next time part 498      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“And why are you barefoot?” John demanded of Troy.

“There was, like, a big puddle.” Several seconds passed in silence before Troy continued. “So, like, my yeti feet got all wet. I wouldn’t have walked through it, but I needed to take the shortcut so I wouldn’t miss the crepes suzettes. The ninja union gets these guys really good craft services, especially for breakfast. I saw the descrtiption of it posted in the breakroom — ‘It is a crepuscular melange of sweetness to greet the dawn.’ But you have to be near the front of the line to get any.”

“Two million two thousand two hundred and twenty!” John yelled. To Troy he said, “These renegade garrisons and their questionably fashionable folk costumes. The fur is simply impractical.”

“It’s great for keeping warm in the snow,” Troy disagreed amicably. “The catering for lunch is good, too. Stuffed pork wings and octopus fingers.”

“Shut up about the food,” John snapped. “Let’s just finish this job and go home, and there’ll be no need to dress up like creepy alpine apes anymore.”

“I might stick with it,” Troy said, using his left foot to scratch his right ankle.

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An Expensive Snakeskin Jacket and a Notoriously Bad Memory

  • by jenon her face and neck
  • “Look at that thing, man.”
  • strange suction-cup-shaped marks
  • sees my face
  • nickname was Cookie

Tune in next time part 497      Click Here for Earlier Installments

An expensive snakeskin jacket and a notoriously bad memory? There was only one person John could think he was talking to, my brother Troy. Troy, whose nickname was Cookie, looked exactly like his twin Trent, but he didn’t look much like me. “As soon as John sees my face and its total lack of strange suction-cup-shaped marks, he’ll know I’m not Troy,” I thought. “Or Trent for that matter, but Trent is known for his exceptionally sharp memory and his ludicrously expensive but little-worn crocodile skin jacket. It’s easy to tell them apart.” Worse than John discovering that he was not talking to Troy would be having John discover he was not talking to Troy by discovering the real Troy. I needed a distraction so I could get away from John and observe from a distance.

“Look at that thing, man.” I pointed to a woman on the other side of the cavern with a large tattoo on her face and neck. When John turned away, I ducked under the buffet table. And none too soon. Almost immediately a pair of bare feet approached, sticking out of white yeti pants.

“Why are we bothering to bid on Jim?” Troy asked. He didn’t even try to do a yeti voice.

John’s voice was exasperated. “We just talked about this! Your memory is a shambles!”

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“Why Spend a Dime on Jim”

  • by Kentrearranged her hair
  • green plastic frog goggles
  • Thirteen people have been arrested
  • $1,100 snakeskin jacket that you never wear but like to tell other people you have
  • secret society of possibly murderous, mega-wealthy hedonists

Tune in next time part 496      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Why spend a dime on Jim,” I asked, maintaining my yeti voice in case John didn’t already know my identity, “if it’s the clarinet we care about? We just need to find it first.”

John shook his head violently. “We discussed this!” So, he thought I was someone else. “The map to its location was the wig on the mannequin at Blinkie’s Overalls, but someone rearranged her hair to obscure the coordinates. The only clue about who did it was the green plastic frog goggles found at the scene. We bribed the local constabulary to do our dirty work. Thirteen people have been arrested, including the guy who stole that $1,100 snakeskin jacket that you never wear but like to tell other people you have, but we’re no closer to our real goal. And for that reason, we are trying to infiltrate this secret society of possibly murderous, mega-wealthy hedonists.” He squinted at me. “I’m continually surprised by how poor your memory is.”

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The Silver Serving Tray Upon Which Tatiana had Given Birth

  • by jenonce I was barefoot
  • someone else’s eyebrows?
  • Brodie did the calculation
  • a clarinet of his own design
  • some unlikely and very large costars

Tune in next time part 495      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The silver serving tray upon which Tatiana had given birth was whisked away along with her and the infants, and soon the auction had returned to normal. Or at least as normal as the auctioning of a hallucinating man to the highest bidding secret agent, in a cavern entirely staffed by yeti can be. My instincts told me to either halt the sale of my brother, or simply leave. But Jim had told me, pre-hallucinogens, that he wanted the auction to proceed. And Tatiana, mother to my newest children, had told me to keep bidding. Meanwhile, Fleur and my other infants were back at Enigma Fortress, vulnerable to whatever plan her husband Harry and that dick Arlo had cooking, and my own wife had demanded my presence back in the capital as soon as the skies were clear enough for my war-zeppelin to fly. It was a lot to think about.

The bidding continued at a leisurely pace around me as I tried to work out my next move, but my feet were too hot and I couldn’t concentrate. Under my big hairy yeti feet I was still wearing my clunky wooden hiking boots. No wonder my feet were so sweaty. I ducked into a corner, stripped from the ankles down, and, once I was barefoot, felt much better.

John sidled up to me, fully recovered from his Snowcock freakout, and gave me a shrewd look. I tried to give it right back, but I was wearing a yeti mask, and, have you ever tried to wiggle someone else’s eyebrows? It was like that.

John leaned in and said into my mask’s earhole, “Brodie did the calculation, and we ought to be able to outbid everyone here, assuming we can stay awake long enough. I know you don’t think he’s worth the expense, but Jim has a clarinet of his own design, and we need to get our hands on it before some unlikely and very large costars do.” He nodded meaningfully at the other yeti.

This was all extremely interesting, but just who did John think he was talking to? A ninja-yeti? A yeti-ninja? Did he think I was Jason? Did he know I was me? Or was there someone else specific he expected to meet at this auction, disguised as a bald-footed yeti?

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