Tagged: bonus points

Tessa Steeled Herself With Another Chomp of Pickle

  • by Kenta lot of maraschino cherries
  • giggling under inappropriate circumstances
  • flirting with my husband forever
  • never done anything more musical than cupping his armpit
  • usually requires special eye drops

Tune in next time part 786      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa steeled herself with another chomp of pickle and continued her tale.

“They knew my mission was hopeless, but they sent me in anyway. They sent me in there for answers, knowing it’s impossible to make mimes talk. Well, I tried my best and all I did was make a bunch of very important enemies. It didn’t take long for them to catch on that I was up to something and lock me up. At first it wasn’t so bad, because they just put me in one of their invisible boxes. But I got sloppy and they figured out I was escaping, so then they used an actual cell.”

“You mean like in a jail?” I asked, smirking.

“It wasn’t jail!” Tessa grumbled. She bit into the pickle again. “You know what this needs? A nice garnish. Most bars have a lot maraschino cherries and shit like that. Can we get some?”

I signalled the bartender while making a rolling gesture to tell Tessa to go on with the story.

“Anyway, it was technically solitary confinement because I was the only one there. And being alone too much made me act weird, like giggling under inappropriate circumstances and hallucinating that I had a husband and then hallucinating that my sisters were flirting with my husband forever. Which, of course is what they would do. But giggling is against the rules, as is shouting at hallucinatory siblings, so my punishment kept getting extended. That’s why I was still there when another malcontent got put in the slammer and suddenly I had a cellmate. His crime: singing.”

I whistled. “That must be verging on treason in the mime community.”

She nodded, then shook her head. “It was a total frame-up. He had never done anything more musical than cupping his armpit, which they all do. It’s why their hands smell.” She glanced around. “Where the hell are those cherries? Whatever. The new guy’s name was Timmuth-E, which he told me in one of the many notes we passed back and forth. We wrote them on thin air with our fingertips, and reading them usually requires special eye drops but we got good at it. Eventually, he shared the information that enabled me to escape.”

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“Don’t Be a Baby”

  • by jenLast I heard, you were in jail.
  • chew it a little if needed
  • know that you are very rude and are also now my enemy
  • throw the glove in her face
  • You got guts, kid.

Tune in next time part 785      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Don’t be a baby,” Tessa cajoled. “You can take it. You got guts, kid.”

“What I have, Tessa, is the need for you to listen to me. You can’t give me a tattoo there, and if you don’t stop pushing my boundaries, I won’t let you give me a tattoo anywhere.”

I knew I was being blunt, but sometimes that sort of thing is called for. I did not intend to metaphorically throw the glove in her face, but she took it as an insult anyway.

“If that’s how it is, then know that you are very rude and are also now my enemy,” she huffed. She turned her back on me and crossed her arms.

The bartender approached obsequiously, with an oversized pickle on a tray. The fumes wafting from it were eye-watering. He murmured, “This will calm the lady down, sir. She can sniff it, or lick it, maybe chew it a little if needed. The mix is very potent.”

“Thanks.” I took the pickle from him and he scuttled back to the bar.

I laid my hand on Tessa’s shoulder. When she whirled around, I offered her the alcoholic vegetable. “Maybe we should slow down,” I said. “We spent so many years apart, it’s hard to jump into a relationship, much as we both might want to. We need to get to know each other again. Tell me your story,” I coaxed as she eyed the pickle warily. “Tell me what happened to you all those years we were apart. I lost track of you when you went to South America. Last I heard, you were in jail. Mime jail.”

“It wasn’t jail.” She took a hefty bite of the pickle. “At first I was undercover, and then I was their prisoner.”

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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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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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“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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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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Fleur Was Convinced

  • by Kent“dancing till all hours” as my grandmother put it
  • Is it me? My refrigerator?
  • but it’s kind of a secret
  • as fast as my brain can tell my finger to
  • bemused drawl and conman grin

Tune in next time part 776      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur was convinced that this was a Tessabot, but I felt certain she was the real thing. But, had my sister let my wife in on some hidden info? Was I deluded? Did infatuation have my brain “dancing till all hours” as my grandmother put it? Why do such imponderables keep interfering with my life? Is it me? My refrigerator? Is it time to throw away that old pickle relish?

“I asked you,” Tessa said, “which sister you talked to. It’s important!”

“It is important, yes,” said Fleur, still hauling me down the corridor by my collar. “I get that, but it’s kind of a secret. And I wouldn’t tell a robot anyway.”

While she was distracted, I was undoing the buttons on my jacket as fast as my brain can tell my finger to poke them through their holes. That brain must not have done too much dancing, for in seconds, Fleur was holding the empty garment and I was dashing with Tessa down a side passageway.

“Sure, run away,” Fleur said with a bemused drawl and a conman grin. “You gonna run right off the airship?”

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I Edged to the Right

  • by jenthat sister of yours
  • a fleeting intensity in his look
  • too much truth serum
  • sent a handwritten note
  • New York’s elite muckety-mucks

Tune in next time part 775      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I edged to the right, gripping Tessa by the elbow. We could sneak away while Zeus and Fleur had each other distracted. On a vessel as large as a Contrarian Royal Airship there had to be some private place where we could talk uninterrupted.

“I should have listened to that sister of yours,” Fleur said, snagging me by the collar. “She warned me you’d try to slip away.”

Which of my sisters had she been talking to?

“Which of his sisters have you been talking to?” Tessa asked. “Most of them are liars.”

“Go away, Pamplemousse,” Fleur said. “I have business with my husband.”

A fleeting intensity in his look told me Zeus Pamplemousse was greatly vexed to be dismissed like this. “Too much truth serum is poison for a relationship, Fleur,” the giant man grumbled. “You really ought to spare my feelings.”

“If I wanted to spare your feelings I would have sent a handwritten note, and being the daughter of the Contrarian Warlord, it would have been a thing of calligraphic wonder. Now go.” She flapped her hand at him.

“This isn’t over!” he roared. “New York’s elite muckety-mucks will hear of this! You’ll never be invited to another polo match!”

Fleur tightened her grip on my collar. “Come with me. And bring your robotic Ultra-Druid.”

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“Fleur!” Exclaimed Zeus Pamplemousse

  • by KentThat poem is unforgivable.
  • “I say no!”
  • with a grip on his throat
  • time for someone else to be touching your body
  • I thought you were in Africa

Tune in next time part 774      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Fleur!” exclaimed Zeus Pamplemousse. He fell to one knee and recited:

“Of all that ever once did bloom,
you were the sweetest flower on the moon.”

My wife scowled at him. She folded her arms and replied:

“I do not forget.
Go away. That poem is
unforgivable.“

“They say time heals all wounds,” simpered the Moon Monarch.

“I say no!” Fleur shot back, lunging forward to emphasize her words with a grip on his throat. “Eternity wouldn’t fix what you did.”

Zeus stood up, unperturbed by Fleur’s nails gouging his neck. “I understand, now, that it was time for someone else to be touching your body. But at the time, I was unprepared for what I walked in on. It surprised me.”

Fleur released her choke hold, mainly so she could stop standing on her tiptoes. “You say you were surprised when you walked in? I thought you were in Africa.”

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