Contrarian Pickle Brine

  • by Kentlittle piles of salt
  • located at the base of your spine
  • suitcase full of raw meat
  • meant to be a group experience
  • I have held my tongue

Tune in next time part 784      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Contrarian pickle brine is extremely volatile and evaporates rapidly, leaving little piles of salt to mark each place where it has dripped. The air inside St Mungo’s was mostly brine fumes, and Tessa was less adapted to such an atmosphere than the bartender or myself. She giggled and her eyes had become a bit glazed, but she spoke distinctly. “I want you to have a three-pointed tattoo, and I want it to be located at the base of your spine,” she said.

That was a welcome change of plans.

“…in the front,” she finished belatedly. Even through the haze of Contrarian pickle-brine vapors, the look on her face made me feel like a suitcase full of raw meat in a tiger cage.

Tessa summoned the barkeep with her finger. When he leaned close, she said loudly, “Help me take his pants off.”

Intimate tattooing is not, in my opinion, meant to be a group experience. The bartender sized me up, then muttered something about needing to arrange the gherkins as an excuse to go back behind the bar. Tessa seemed undeterred, brandishing the skewer and shaking the ink bottle. Please understand that I wasn’t afraid of tattoos in general. I have applied ointment by the quart to my chest. I have held my tongue between ice cubes. There’s a lot I’m willing to go through, but we all draw the line somewhere. And I draw the line at where I’ll let anyone — even Tessa — draw the line.

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Mincers and Bustlers Alike

  • by jenroom to enjoy pickles
  • drunk and frisky
  • gathered there in St Mungo’s
  • I kept a toothbrush there
  • wiping the perspiration from his forehead

Tune in next time part 783      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Mincers and bustlers alike were tripping over their feet far more than even the scathing reviews had led me to expect. When I realized where they had just come from, it all made sense. Every Royal Contrarian Airship has a Pickle Chapel (a room to enjoy pickles in), and Contrarian pickles have a very high alcohol content. Spending time with high-octane phallic objects had left the dancers drunk and frisky, and promised to make their next show quite interesting. I wondered why they were gathered there in St Mungo’s Pickle Chapel. It was nowhere near the auditorium.

“Let’s go in,” I said to Tessa. The pickle chapel was one of my favorite places. I spent so much time in St Mungo’s, I kept a toothbrush there. Once Tessa tasted the pickles, she’d forget all about giving me a tattoo.

We dodged around the inebriated dancers and entered the hush of the chapel. The bartender looked exhausted, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with one hand while refilling the pickle barrels with the other.

The sting of vinegar and alcohol in my nostrils made my eyes water. Tessa seized a pickle skewer from the tray on the bar and grinned. “I was looking for something sharp to give your tattoo with!”

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Worth the Wait – Czech Republic

Last stop Prague! A beautiful city we’d visited once before, but we had our son with us last time and there are certain sites that aren’t the sort of things you want to visit with your child (see the red photo below).

Between Budapest and Prague we drove through Slovakia. Sadly the only stop we made was at the border. We saw Bratislava from a distance, and hope to visit for real some day in the future.

Our trip was quite long, and we didn’t even pretend that we were going to do any writing while we were gone. We didn’t even take our laptops. We’ve been writing As Yet Untitled Ghost Novel #1 for about a year now, and it was really nice to look away. We came back refreshed and ready to put fingers to keyboards. As writers, we use the world around us as inspiration for our stories. Travel is a magnificent way to broaden our scope and add novelty to the idea bank. A certain location in the Ghost Series is in Eastern Europe, so if the IRS asks, this was a research trip. Our location is made up, but being able to see the landscape in person was a great help.

A good writing partner is someone you enjoy sharing a hotel room and every meal with, and someone who loves to look at your vacation photos.

Prague Astronomical Clock, St Vitus cathedral, Good King Wenceslas atop his dead horse
Two views of Prague TV tower covered with giant babies, the Museum of Sex Machines, Tyn Church
Franz Kafka’s head performs a 15-minute choreographed dance every hour

Tessa Slipped My Grip

  • by Kentput the paper back into the envelope
  • Come, girls, bustle about.
  • all the feathers were in their correct positions
  • “throwing ice cubes at a parade”
  • bag of greenish-brown sludge

Tune in next time part 782      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa slipped my grip and took hold of my briefs-weasel once more. “You know you want it,” she purred. Her fingers performed an elaborate shimmying dance in there.

“But, um,” I stammered, “that’s just it. I’m not sure, but what I do know is that you can’t, uh, put the paper back into the envelope. Or something. There’s no going back.”

Just then a nearby door burst open. A dozen people trooped into the corridor, last of all a woman in jodhpurs who barked, “Come, girls, bustle about. Boys, keep mincing. Good, good. We don’t need a repeat of the matinee, when not all the feathers were in their correct positions!”

Some of the bustlers and mincers glanced our way, but no one fully acknowledged our presence. The sudden crowd did distract Tessa long enough for me to escape. If I was not mistaken, we were witnessing a rehearsal for the show one Contrarian critic described as how it would look if a troop of wombats began “throwing ice cubes at a parade” and less enjoyable than “drinking an entire bag of greenish-brown sludge.”

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A Tattoo in the Shape of a Triangle

  • by jen(who is awesome)
  • I like seeing the diving board go boi-oi-oi-oi-oing!
  • potential discombobulator
  • small, stumpy feet
  • returning to my spider-infested college

Tune in next time part 781      Click Here for Earlier Installments

A tattoo in the shape of a triangle didn’t sound too bad, all things considered. I started to relax. Tessa (who is awesome) said, “Not so fast. I like it better when you’re tense.” She ran her hand down into my white lab pants. “I like seeing the diving board go boi-oi-oi-oi-oing! If you know what I mean. It makes the tattooing much easier.”

I didn’t want to be the potential discombobulator of Tessa’s dreams, but there was no way I was going to get a tattoo on my junk. Not even from someone as awesome as (or with such adorably small, stumpy feet as) Tessa. I grabbed her wrist and shook my head. “Not there.”

She pouted, and my heart broke. I felt as if I was returning to my spider-infested college years — a wretched stretch of time bereft of Tessa. It was during those years that she’d learned the art of tattoo, when she’d been a captive of the mimes. I had missed her terribly, but she’d had it far worse. Now that we were finally together again, for keeps, could I deny her anything?

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Worth the Wait: Hungary

The penultimate stop on our whirlwind tour of Eastern Europe was Hungary. Our Budapest hotel was centrally located on the Pest side of the river, and if the Chain Bridge had been open it would have been perfect. Alas, the Chain Bridge was closed for construction, which meant a lot of added walking for us when we wanted to check out the Buda side. Ah well, it keeps us fit.

Buda is the hilly side. We rode the funicular to the top and explored the Castle District at ground level, underground in the labyrinth (complete with subterranean fog), and high up in the towers of Fisherman’s Bastion (with a cup of mulled wine).

Budapest has tons of thermal hot springs. We visited Gellert Baths, a classic that opened in 1918. It has co-ed changing rooms, about a dozen pools, inside and outside, at various temperatures, and gorgeous architecture. We don’t have pictures of it because we didn’t want to dunk our phones, but you can do an image search if you’re curious.

Don’t fret. We have pictures of other things.

Hungarian parliament by night, Buda Castle as seen from our hotel room
War tubas, Fisherman’s Bastion
Run!! aka an amusing construction site, stained glass Lenin at the Museum of Communism, women’s restroom at the Museum of Communism, Monkey Bistro advertising truck, outrageous meat concoction, the horse that stole Kent’s heart

Tessa’s New Zoot Suit

  • by KentI don’t know if you can tell or not, but
  • yoga at gunpoint
  • –in a coffin
  • visionary, fantasist, poet, and painter
  • the term “Bermuda Triangle”

Tune in next time part 780      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa’s new zoot suit had many pockets, but none of them had any money in them. For a moment I thought that would put an end to the tattoo peccadillo, but she simply told the roving tattooist, “I don’t know if you can tell or not, but this man is a general, and he’s commandeering your ink bottle on official business.”

“No sweat,” the man replied. “That just means I get to knock off early!” He pedalled away.

Tessa hauled me around a corner and asked me what I wanted my tattoo to look like. We didn’t have a needle, but I knew from experience that wouldn’t slow her down. Her talent for improvisation had allowed her to write a lengthy coded message on my chest, and the prospect of going through something like that again was about as relaxing as doing yoga at gunpoint — in a coffin — so I couldn’t even begin to offer design suggestions.

She made me take off the white lab coat. With a faraway look in her eyes, she said, “How about something in the style of visionary, fantasist, poet, and painter Melvil Dewey…” I resigned myself to my fate, knowing Tessa was in a creative fugue state where no appeal to reason could penetrate. “Yes,” she gasped, “I can see it now! A symbol, a shape, that will rehabilitate the term ‘Bermuda Triangle’ for future generations!”

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“There are no squids in the aquarium”

  • by jenThe most extraordinary thing about the man
  • The red uniform
  • undergarments, sneakers
  • Clearly, this man is a fuckwit.
  • equipped with a single, huge gold-plated

Tune in next time part 779      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“There are no squids in the aquarium,” I said, feigning sadness. “No squids means no squid ink, and that means no tattoos for us.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Tessa pointed across the concourse to a man on a bicycle. The airship’s official roving tattoo artist, I realized. What were the odds he’d be right where we were when Tessa got the urge?

The bicycle sported a striped umbrella and a large box on the front like an ice cream cart. The most extraordinary thing about the man, though, was not his mode of transportation. The red uniform, visible undergarments, sneakers, and sunglasses were quite arresting. His mobile tattoo kiosk played an inane chiming tune on a loop.

I turned to Tessa in puzzlement. “Clearly, this man is a fuckwit. All of the roving tattoo artists are. We can’t get tattoos from him.”

“Of course not. We have to give them to each other. We’ll just get the ink from him.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me along as she flagged the artist down.

We didn’t have a choice as to color, for the artist was only equipped with a single, huge gold-plated bottle of ink, and it was as red as his uniform.

“Perfect!” Tessa cried. “I’ll buy the whole bottle.”

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Worth the Wait Part 4: Croatia

Next stop: a very rainy Croatia!

In an attempt to stay dry, we hit up a grocery store in Vukovar and raided the snack aisle. Unfamiliar foods make great holiday gifts, just ask our family!

We visited Osijek Fortress, and walked around the old town where many buildings have bullet damage from the war in the 1990s. It was a sobering reminder of the current atrocities in Ukraine.

It was very interesting and educational to experience this different side of Croatia (literally). Previously, we’ve been to Dubrovnik and Split, which are full of palm trees and Adriatic zephyrs. We did see some bullet holes on that trip too, though.

To end on a lighter note, we met an orange chonker of a cat named Garfield. He was very sweet.

Sexxy church dude, pagan-looking straw rabbits and dragon, the scariest doorway in Croatia
war memorial in Vukovar, bullet damage in Osijek, Vukovar plaza
Osijek sports complex, Osijek window detail, Osijek Fortress

Tessa Couldn’t Have Known

  • by Kentone blissful month
  • you have long, elegant toes
  • clowns that had been said to be lurking nearby
  • the legendary “Zoot Suit Riots”
  • debunk the theory that two pizzas would be smashed together to create

Tune in next time part 778      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa couldn’t have known how her suggestion affected me, because she knew nothing of that one blissful month I’d spent living in the islands as an ink harvester, diving for squid all day, and sleeping on the sand every night. Or, did she know more than I realized? It was unwise to underestimate her investigative skills. Did she know what I’d said to Gladys, my dive master (“you have long, elegant toes“)? Did she know that I fled that tropical paradise to escape the clowns that had been said to be lurking nearby?

In any event, even a giant squid couldn’t have restrained me from jumping into the aquarium, so fervid was my nostalgic dive-lust. It turned out there were no squid in the aquarium, but by the time I figured that out Tessa was done rummaging in the costume closet and had selected us matching outfits in which we would look like participants in the legendary “Zoot Suit Riots” — but, even dripping wet, I was determined to choose something a bit more timely.

A white lab coat was an easy choice. Instant credibility! As I shrugged it on, Tessa asked who I was supposed to be. “I’m Professor Trattoria, whose life’s work is to build the Large Calzone Collider and debunk the theory that two pizzas would be smashed together to create the universe as we know it.”

Tessa smirked, shaking her head. She said, “You do know we’re still doing those tattoos, right?”

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