“Hey!” I Cried. “You’re Not a Baby!”

  • by jen“Ta-ta, love!”
  • zillionaire bedlam
  • especially if you keep it in its wrapper
  • Of all the underwear I’ve worn in my adult life,
  • bro-ier and more duplicitous

Tune in next time part 831      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Hey!” I cried. “You’re not a baby! Get off the stage!”

“Ta-ta, love!” Tessa shouted at him, and that opened the floodgates. Tensions were high. Every mother there wanted their child to win the talent show, and every last one of us was on edge from sitting patiently through so many “adorable” acts. I’m not saying that everyone in the theater was filthy rich, but the place erupted into zillionaire bedlam. Women yelled, babies howled and filled their diapers with angry poops, someone threw a banana, which is very dangerous, especially if you keep it in its wrapper, because when the banana inevitably splits open, you’ve got twice as many slipping hazards.

Jim leaned close and whispered, “I bet you don’t recognize Bruce Pamplemousse in that crazy get-up, do you?”

Of all the underwear I’ve worn in my adult life, none were less sweat-absorbing than the ones that came as part of my scientist costume. At the news that Bruce Pamplemousse, the even bro-ier and more duplicitous brother of evil disco king Deuce Pamplemousse, was in the same room as my many children, I started to sweat profusely and my briefs did not perform well.

I had no idea what to do next.

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The Prophesied Day Hath Arrived

At long last, Kent is officially retired from dayjobbery!

This means Rune Skelley can pivot to a daylight schedule and Jen and Kent can both finally find out what having weekends and evenings is like.

A writing partner is someone who’s been waiting for this for a long time.

I Knew it Was Lazy and Cowardly

  • by Kentthe aforementioned vile little fish
  • technically speaking, you could share a hot dog
  • souvenir DVD for no extra charge
  • Sushi on a Shingle
  • constant flatulence

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I knew it was lazy and cowardly of me to say that my children were better off not knowing me, but that didn’t make it incorrect. Television shows are filled with sappy scenarios where the offspring love their decrepit father despite his constant flatulence, and respect him even though his “job” is serving up expired anchovies on stale saltines at a gas station where it’s listed as Sushi on a Shingle. And too often it’s the kind of show that does cheesy stuff to break the fourth wall, like giving the gas station’s customers a souvenir DVD for no extra charge — a DVD of its own previous season. And while, technically speaking, you could share a hot dog with such a dad on his lunch break, you wouldn’t because his fingers would perpetually stink of the aforementioned vile little fish.

Jim was nudging me in the ribs, calling me back from my introspection. I blinked at the stage, realizing I did not recognize the talent show’s next contestant.

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As the Last Notes of the Regis St Oink Oink Theme Song Died Away

  • by jenthe “wheezing and clapping” kind
  • you buoyant balloon of happiness
  • lashing us to our seats for well over two hours
  • lively, voluptuous brunette
  • casinos in the middle of the Andes

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As the last notes of the Regis St Oink Oink theme song died away, Fleur bowed. The audience, knowing what was expected in the presence of the Warlord’s daughter, cheered and applauded. We were all so exhausted by now that it was more the “wheezing and clapping” kind of ovation than the “shouting and fist pumping” kind, but Fleur didn’t seem to care. With a smile on her face she adjusted the microphone stand as low as it would go and then said to our son the Duke, “It’s your turn, you buoyant balloon of happiness. Make Mommy proud.”

I was regretting my decision to give each child the spotlight, and I wasn’t the only one. While my son caterwauled into the microphone, Jim leaned over and whispered, “This is worse than Father lashing us to our seats for well over two hours that time so we wouldn’t interfere with his date with the lively, voluptuous brunette. Remember?”

I nodded sadly. Of course I remembered. Mother had been away, gambling at her favorite casinos in the middle of the Andes, and she’d left Father in charge. I wanted my children to have better childhoods than I and my siblings had. Would that be more likely to happen if I were an active parent, or if I stayed the hell away?

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Au Revoir Red Envelopes

While we’re on the subject of stone-age technology, let’s talk about DVDs. Jen and Kent are big proponents of old school media. We like owning physical copies of the things we love. We buy books and albums, subscribe to a small number of print magazines and even (gasp!) the local newspaper. And we still have a DVD subscription from Netflix. At least for the next month until they kill the service. During the early days of the pandemic we started a project to watch all the classic movies we’ve never seen. That expanded to include spooky movies for research as we write the As Yet Untitled Ghost Novels.

Now that Netflix is cutting us off we’ve been looking around for a way to scratch the same itch. We haven’t made a final decision yet, but it seems like we’ll probably add a couple of channels to our stable of streaming services, like the Criterion Channel, NightFlight, and AMC+.

A good friend of ours was an early adopter of Netflix, a million years ago, and when she told us about how this company would just send you DVDs in the mail, as many as you could watch, we were sure it must be some sort of scam. And now here we are at the end of an era, wishing it didn’t have to stop.

It Was Borderline Seditious

  • by Kentwatched my brothers fly kites
  • houseboat puttering toward international waters
  • risking frostbite
  • you know that’s not allowed
  • odor resistant

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It was borderline seditious for a Contrarian Warlord’s daughter to lead a sing-along of a Harmonious song, so Fleur must have felt quite sure of the loyalties of all aboard her airship. Direct translation of the lyrics would be borderline impossible, let alone one retaining the rhyme scheme and meter, but in the case of the theme song from a cartoon an approximation should suffice.

(singing:)

As a piglet, I watched my brothers fly kites in the salty breezes
from the deck of a houseboat puttering toward international waters.
My brothers’ kites flew over the icebergs, my snout risking frostbite so I could watch.
Mother scolded me, “You’re spying, and you know that’s not allowed.”
But I loved to spy, and it is allowed if you become a detective.
I never had a kite to fly, only jars of molasses which are my means of solving crimes.
I miss my brothers on their houseboat, but now I live somewhere more odor resistant.

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Outlandish Though They Were

  • by jenfor four hot, grueling days
  • as a last resort he sat on her
  • the same ratty t-shirt he’s worn all week
  • “Sing it with me!”
  • with the pretentious subtitle

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Outlandish though they were, the little girl’s shoes were not the whole act. The mother wheeled a miniature synthesizer in front of the child, and she began to play. Her song stretched on and on, for four hot, grueling days, or so it seemed. The other babies grew restless, most especially my son with Fleur. He toddled onto the stage and tried to pull the keyboard away. When that failed he attempted to wrest his half-sister’s chubby hands from the keys. And as a last resort he sat on her. The crowd applauded weakly.

Fleur strode onto the stage and bowed, then waved vaguely at our son. “Please overlook that the Duke is still wearing the same ratty t-shirt he’s worn all week. Regis St Oink Oink is his favorite show, and he refuses to wear anything but his beloved Regis shirt.” The other mothers all nodded knowingly.

My son the Duke stood up and said, “Sing!”

Fleur smiled dotingly. “The Duke would like us all to sing the Regis St Oink Oink theme song.” She pulled a pitch pipe from her pocket and blew a note. “Sing it with me!” she shouted at the audience.

And to my amazement, the entire crowd burst into song, singing the ridiculous ode to the Transylvania Homicide Detective with the pretentious subtitle. It went a little something like this.

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Vinyl Fantasy

The Auxilliary Writing Cave has lots of nice features, such as a fireplace and big, comfy furniture. A thing there that we haven’t brought up is our vinyl collection and — hold onto your butts — functional turntable. Lately we’ve made it a project to listen to all our albums (and EPs and rare 12-inch singles and everything else that the turntable can handle).

Music during writing sessions is something that brings out strong opinions. For us, the formula is that music is always good, but if what we’re doing is editing rather than composing or discussing then it has to be instrumental. For some weird reason, the lyrics don’t interfere with our ability to make up new sentences, yet they very much impede us when we’re trying to make adjustments to existing ones.

Our library of vinyl won’t be setting any records (ha!) but it is pretty big. Takes up about four feet of shelf space. It’s also a blend of Jen’s and Kent’s collections, reflecting their sometimes diverging musical interests. That divergence is actually highlighted when we consider what we have on vinyl specifically, because that format aligns with our teenage phases.

So, in an effort to devise a fair method of going through the whole stack without either or both of us going bonkers, we chose to select from alternating ends of the shelf. Currently we’re in the middle of the Star Wars soundtrack, which was preceded by the rather distracting Looney Tunes collection. We do own actual albums by actual bands, honest. Apparently our filing system has a sense of humor.

A writing partner is someone who’ll flip the record for you once in a while.

Only A Few People

  • by KentThey are afraid of me.
  • unusual, suggestive colors
  • baby, I’m your man
  • conceived by the devil himself
  • wearing a pair of “shoes” so befuddling

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Only a few people have ever tried to get between me and a candy bar, and none of them will make that mistake again. They are afraid of me. They should be.

Inside the first wrapper was a slab of chocolate that swirled with unusual, suggestive colors and released unusual, suggestive aromas. It was a candy bar that said, “hey hey baby, I’m your man.” I wrapped it back up and ate the other, boring ones instead. This was a candy bar to hold onto until I could take my time with it.

The naptime intermission came to a close as one of the mommies strode out to introduce the next act. “All you need to know about this contestant is that she was conceived by the devil himself.” That stung a little.

While I was still trying to remember the woman’s name, the baby took the stage wearing a pair of “shoes” so befuddling that I wondered if they might be her whole act.

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The Infants Tired Themselves Out Laughing

  • by jenthoughtfully curated selection
  • attempting to reenter the United States
  • celebrities promoting the toad medicine
  • referred to it as “defensive cooking”
  • provides the optimal angle for all kinds of

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The infants tired themselves out laughing, so Talent Show Part 2 had a lengthy intermission for nap time. I perused the thoughtfully curated selection of international candy bars at the refreshment stand, some of which I hadn’t tasted since my chocolate smuggling friend got picked up attempting to reenter the United States after being deported. It wasn’t even his blackmarket sweets that got him in trouble, but rather a snake oil scheme he’d promoted years earlier. Instead of snakes he got his juice from toads, and he even had celebrities promoting the toad medicine, which is what drew all the attention. The health department raided the lab where he did what they referred to as “mad science,” while he referred to it as “defensive cooking” because he was often high on his own supply. His slogan was “Toad Butter provides the optimal angle for all kinds of fun!”, which was a terrible slogan, in my opinion.

I excitedly chose a half-dozen candy bars from countries I’d never even heard of and unwrapped the first one with a smile on my face.

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