I Put All Thought of the Wastewater Treatment Plant Out of My Mind

  • by jenglimpse of a red sweater
  • I have had little experience of women
  • capable of forgetting that he had ever been married
  • until the helicopter came
  • Whenever she wore pants

Tune in next time part 193                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I put all thought of the wastewater treatment plant out of my mind and delved back into the juicier part of my flashback. I recalled Tessa in her scarlet Academy uniform, and how after she rescued me from the frozen rugby pitch, and in the process saw me naked, I blushed at every glimpse of a red sweater.

You must remember that in this flashback I am a teenager and I have had little experience of women. I don’t like to think of myself as a man who is capable of forgetting that he had ever been married, but again this is a flashback, and the time period being flashed back to predates my marriage to Fleur. I just want to be clear about that. I wasn’t a virgin or anything, but I also wasn’t participating in orgies until the helicopter came in for a landing, as they say. That part came later, but I doubt we’ll get to that in this flashback.

Whenever she wore pants with her red sweater, Tessa got in trouble. Girls at the Academy were expected to wear either skirts or the occasional wetsuit, just as we boys were required to wear kilts when we weren’t training for underwater missions.

Underwater missions! Of course! That held the key to getting me out of this terrible situation.

I quickly stopped my flashback and stared into the face of the fusillade of rockets aimed at my body. There were enough to make any Independence Day celebration envious, and now I knew just how to escape their surgical fury.

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Wasn’t This Supposed to Get Easier?

It’s been quiet around the Skelley Compound, relatively speaking.  Our kids are both out of the house, the dog’s manic episodes have mostly faded away. We should have more time than ever available for writing.

Ha.

We haven’t been able to diagnose the cause, but our writing time has shrunk instead of growing. Somehow it always ends up being pretty much ten p.m. by the time we settle in at our desks in the Writing Cave. Which would be fine, if certain of us didn’t have to be out of bed at oh-shit-thirty the next a.m.

At least we’re still writing every day, so it’s not as bad as it could be. We’re just not writing as much as we should be every day.

We blame the dog. (We always blame the dog. I mean, look at this beast, isn’t that the face of someone who means us all harm?)

A Faint Tingling

  • by Kent(slate-colored is a better term in frosty weather)
  • standing there shivering and looking shell-shocked
  • the splendor of his funeral clothes
  • tuna croissant
  • commencing a thorough search of the palace

Tune in next time part 192                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

A faint tingling told me my paralysis was wearing off by the time Dr Absinthia Belladonna finished aiming her dozens of razor-tipped projectiles. She aimed them at every part of me, including all my favorite parts. Then she lit the fuse and retreated behind a steel blast shield. I still couldn’t move.

The fuse hissed, emitting sparks and rank, sulfurous fumes. I tried to get up, or roll off the table, but although the tingle was stronger than ever my muscles were still powerless.

It felt like a flashback to my years at the academy. And then, it was a flashback.

Snowflakes settled onto my skin, staked out on the frozen rugby field. Dr Belladonna was teaching a lesson, teaching me not to talk back. Her grayish (slate-colored is a better term in frosty weather) eyes barely registered my presence as she dismissed the rest of the students and I was alone, naked in the snow. It took Tessa an hour to sneak out and release me, but as I was standing there shivering and looking shell-shocked she gave me her coat. We were two normal teenagers, for about nine seconds.

The next day, the headmaster turned up dead. Dr Belladonna took over running the academy, and her first official act was to give her predecessor’s eulogy. It was five minutes of observational humor based around the splendor of his funeral clothes, while she nibbled a tuna croissant.

Her second official act was to announce that the phys ed department was commencing a thorough search of the palace, which was our semi-ironic nickname for the wastewater treatment plant next door. It had never been brought online, making it an irresistibly attractive nuisance to us cadets.

We never learned what they had been searching for.

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Inside the Rocket Surgery

  • by jenskating together and holding hands
  • then dissolved in acid
  • “You obstinate fellow!”
  • strings of a balalaika being plucked
  • kept the last of my clothes on

Tune in next time part 191                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Inside the rocket surgery I heard two thumps and a rattle, followed by precise, clicking footsteps. I was pretty sure I knew whose footsteps those were, and it made my heart feel like it was skating together and holding hands with its sweetheart. The doorknob turned and those sweethearts in my chest fell through the ice and then dissolved in acid because the lake upon which they had been skating was not composed of water.

The door swung inward and there she was, Dr Belladonna, the former headmistress of the Academy.

“It’s you!” she cried, happier to see me than I had dared hope. “Unless it’s Jason.”

“It’s me either way.”

“You obstinate fellow!” She stood aside and ushered me into her operating theater. I had no choice but to enter.

The room was well-lit and swelteringly hot, and it smelled of hydrocarbons. Whatever music she was listening to sounded like the strings of a balalaika being plucked with an eggbeater.

“What are you doing in Harmonia, Dr Belladonna?”

“Oh please, we’re not at the Academy anymore. Call me Absinthia.”

“What are you doing in Harmonia, Absinthia?”

“It’s not rocket surgery!” She laughed. “Well, actually it is. I’ve developed a marvelous new technique that turns the whole field on its head. Instead of performing surgery on rockets, I have devised a way to use rockets to perform surgery!” She laughed again, with a triumphant gleam in her eye. “Perhaps I should say ‘developing.’ I’m always looking for new test subjects, and you suddenly appear at my door! I’d say that’s a sign!”

I edged back toward the door, but not quickly enough. Absinthia sprang at me and injected me with some sort of paralytic. I was helpless as she laid me out on the operating table and stripped off my crocs and snowpants. I suppose I should feel grateful that she kept the last of my clothes on, but the calico pinafore was easy for her to pull up to my neck, exposing my entire torso to this madwoman and her collection of surgical rockets.

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Prosing Has Commenced

Grandson of Science Novel is underway!

As we talked about a while ago, we rainbowed and outlined the two sequels in tandem. The first draft of Son of Science Novel is complete, although we are still tinkering with it. But for the immediate future, our focus will be on book three of the series.

Jen has been a stubbing maniac. She set herself a target of writing stubs up through a certain point in the plot, and this week she attained it. Yay! The word count just for this first wave of stubs is over 18,000. Yowza.

Meanwhile, there were enough stubs stockpiled for Kent to jump in and begin writing actual scenes. He had some leftover assignments in the other two Science Novels, but now all that’s cleared away and the first couple of scenes are in the can.

The trick, at this point, is to get ourselves into a good rhythm to keep cranking the words out. Real life and Netflix have a way of interfering with our good intentions, but we will see it through. As a team!

The Brontosaurus Had Been Growing

  • by Kentdidn’t want to waste the batteries
  • almost super-human tolerance
  • even if the word “Surgery” had not been inscribed
  • dive into the unknown
  • the long-legged Englishman

Tune in next time part 190                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Brontosaurus had been growing for as long as I could remember, becoming more ponderous and complicated all the time. It reached a point where I no longer considered Mother’s ambitions much of a danger to the world at large, simply because there was no way such a tangled mess of a plan could ever succeed.

But, what if? What if the Brontosaurus was a distraction from her real initiatives? It would explain so much. Were all of her obsessions mere pantomime, or did she really feel that way about the long-legged Englishman who cleaned the pool? He had an almost super-human tolerance for chlorine, which could qualify him for certain kinds of clandestine missions.

I had to escape this alley and its rats. I had to find Tessa and warn her, before Mother found me. I had to do it without my flashlight, which I stupidly stopped carrying with me because I didn’t want to waste the batteries. I started digging through the heaps of charred swimsuits in the dumpster, hoping something more useful had been thrown away. When I got to the bottom of the pile, I saw a pull ring attached to the floor of the dumpster. It had a trapdoor! I decided it was better to dive into the unknown below the garbage receptacle than face down the swarming rodents outside it.

Especially after I stole Yoda’s flashlight.

The stairs curved and twisted, descending for what felt like miles. Finally I stood at a door. I knew where I was, and it chilled me. I would have known even if the word “Surgery” had not been inscribed on the knob, even if the plaque beside it didn’t say “Rocketry.”

I swallowed hard, and rang the doorbell.

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When I First Saw Yoda

  • by jendeeply involved in this deadly charade
  • I’m not sure I agree with her
  • lips parted in a delighted smile
  • human hair was tangled in the knot
  • I have a new theory about the brontosaurus

Tune in next time part 189                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

When I first saw Yoda perched atop his dumpster, I had no idea he was deeply involved in this deadly charade my life has become. Tessa always said that I like trouble the same way fruit flies like a banana. I’m not sure I agree with her most of the time, but lately I think she must be right. I can picture her saying it, her lips parted in a delighted smile as she holds out a knotted rope for my inspection. As I recall, human hair was tangled in the knot, but it wasn’t Tessa’s hair. Not that time anyway.

Now, crouched in this Harmonious dumpster, my feet shoved into Yoda’s crocs, surrounded by fire-damaged bikinis, I decided that Tessa was completely right. Much like fruit flies and bananas, I’m always hovering near trouble, drawn by the scent. It’s in my blood.

And suddenly I have a new theory about the Brontosaurus, which is what Tessa and I called my mother’s colorfully illustrated plans for world domination. A new theory that explains everything.

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MST3K

We were so excited to participate in the Mystery Science Theater 3000 Kickstarter! We got swag, and emails from Joel, and everything! But now that the new episodes are available on Netflix, they’re something of a drain on our productivity. The urge to binge them all is strong, but we’ve been taking a somewhat slower approach so that we can savor each one, and to make them last. But now we’re almost done. Sniff.

Somewhat to our horror, we had each seen two of the movies in their non-MST form. We have a soft spot for Copenhagen, and so had actually watched Reptilicus on purpose. For those of you who aren’t familiar, Reptilicus is basically Godzilla in Denmark, and it’s the first movie tackled in the new season by Jonah and the bots.

Avalanche was the surprise. Jen and Kent have been married seemingly forever, and it’s hard to remember sometimes that we actually had separate childhoods. But we did! And those separate childhoods each included the viewing of the Mia Farrow/Rock Hudson classic Avalanche. Fate.

A few nights ago we finally reached the episode where we are listed in the credits, and it’s a doozy. Wizards of the Lost Kingdom 2, starring David Carradine for some reason. The fight choreography is stunningly inept, the “humor” even more so. Do yourselves a favor and watch it! Be sure to stay for the credits where you can pause it and see Rune Skelley’s name. I’m sure you’ll be almost as excited as we were!

But seriously, you should watch the whole series. It’s awesome!

Mother’s Diabolical Machinations

  • by Kentmetropolitan police with a difference
  • I can see I’m not your type
  • the ice-master caught the first sight
  • either rented or borrowed a baby
  • why the hell should I stay awake?

Tune in next time part 188                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Mother’s diabolical machinations filled my mind so completely that I forgot where I was and what was happening around me. Her agents would be everywhere by now, like metropolitan police with a difference: animal cunning. I snapped out of it when Yoda tumbled into the dumpster beside me.

“Let go!” I yelled. He had latched onto my ankles. “What makes you think you’re my type? I can see I’m not your type.”

“To say is hard, what type you are, hmm? Odd your clothing is, shoe-thief.”

“Here, take them back.” I dropped his crocs, which I hadn’t had time to put on. But he still held onto my ankles. “What now?”

“Long ago it was, when the ice-master caught the first sight of the airport, when either rented or borrowed a baby the fire-master did.” As he spoke, he slipped off my sodden espadrilles and put his crocs on my feet.

Then he burrowed into the scorched bikinis and curled up like a hamster in cedar chips.

“Is that it?” I asked. “Are you just going to lie there?”

“Done now my job is, so why they hell should I stay awake?”

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Rats. Why Did it Have to be Rats?

  • by jenstruck by lightning a month ago
  • hundreds of identical bathing suits
  • over the 4th of July weekend
  • and downright durable
  • “Do you know to whom you speak?”

Tune in next time part 187                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Rats. Why did it have to be rats? The only thing worse than their slithery hairless tails was their enormous testicles. Even if they didn’t manage to devour me, I’d waste precious time fighting them off. And that meant I’d have to touch them. Ugh.

“Move it,” I said to Yoda. From his dumpster-perch I’d be able to reach the roof and make my escape.

“Yourself you should blow,” the horrible little man said.

“Do you know to whom you speak?” I’m embarrassed to admit that was my best attempt at mimicking his backwards syntax.

An obnoxious giggle came from behind the rubber mask. I grabbed the ears with both hands, and tugged. The mask was stretchy and downright durable. I gave up trying to tear it off and instead used the ears as handles to yank the guy off the dumpster and fling him onto the filthy alley pavement. His giggles turned to shrieks as I vaulted up onto the garbage receptacle. The lid sagged under my weight like I was the winner of a hotdog eating contest over the 4th of July weekend. I reached for the roof, but the lid collapsed, dumping me unceremoniously into the trash.

I expected to find myself wallowing in rancid food, but the smell wasn’t any worse inside than it had been out in the alley. Digging around for something solid to stand on to help me climb out, I found nothing but hundreds of identical bathing suits, all singed around the edges.

I suddenly knew where I was. The Contrarian news had been wall-to-wall coverage of a bikini store that was struck by lightning a month ago.

Cold dread trickled down my spine. A notorious fire, swimwear, a strip club, a nearby airport. If Mother brought me to such a location, it could only mean one thing.

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