Tagged: bonus points

The Groom Turned his Masked Face Back to Me

  • by jenapplied a laser wand
  • “Dad? Daddy?”
  • each guest puts on a pair of pajamas
  • gracious meals and gourmet tastes
  • pretty bananas

Tune in next time part 701      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The groom turned his masked face back to me, threw open his green tuxedo jacket, and gestured extravagantly at the aquarium belt encircling his waist. Muddy green eels swam in circles through his belt loops, past colorful strands of fake plastic seaweed.

“Very nice,” I said. If I understood the tradition correctly, this little show-and-tell meant that I wasn’t going to be stabbed. It was the best I could hope for under the circumstances.

The rest of the ceremony took place in total silence. No music. No speaking. The officiant and the happy couple did the whole thing in pantomime. This was very unlike any of my own weddings. Contrarian rites and ceremonies have dozens of sub-variants depending on multitudinous factors. If I was remembering correctly, a silent wedding meant that neither the bride nor the groom were native-born Contrarians.

After Mother and her beau exchanged earrings, they each applied a laser wand to the wedding certificate, drawing a stick figure man and woman. The officiant took the wand and drew a heart around their doodles, making it all legal.

Fleur appeared beside me. “Are you going to call him Father?” she whispered. “Dad? Daddy?”

“None of the above,” I whispered back.

The officiant glared at us to be quiet. Then he mimed changing his pants while eating something held in his fist. Fleur translated. “Now is the part where each guest puts on a pair of pajamas for the reception. It will be a grand party, in Contrarian tradition, with gracious meals and gourmet tastes, and a table piled high with bunches and bunches of really pretty bananas.”

“Bananas!” A banana buffet at a Contrarian wedding reception meant that the groom was an old friend of the son of the bride, and also bad at cyphers. “It can’t be!”

“I’m afraid it is,” said John, pulling off his mask. “And don’t even think about calling me Papa John.”

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Was Mother Really Marrying This Man

Time is broken. Somehow the adorable little chain story we brought home from the hospital what feels like merely a few months ago is now a moody 700-part teenager! Loyal readers know how we approach these centenary increments: Jen and Kent share the keyboard and alternate the prompt phrases. Also, instead of our awesome writing prompt generator (which you should really check out), we choose all of the prompt phrases from a single source.

To celebrate this chain-a-versary, Jen bought a Tesla.* So it only seems appropriate to coordinate everything by pulling our prompts from “The Inventions, Researches and Writings of Nikola Tesla.” Jen pulled the phrases, Kent randomized them, and voila!

* Jen got the Tesla because she needed a new car. She ordered it back in December. It’s just a fun coincidence that it arrived in time for the platinum jubilee.

  • that fascinating little book
  • the lowest organism we know
  • convey the vibration through my body
  • touch the keys of an instrument with unerring precision
  • I take in my hand a simple
  • changed the destiny of nations
  • A single ray of light from a distant star falling upon the eye of a tyrant
  • confined to the neighborhood
  • an expensive vacuum pump
  • might meet the fate of St Polycarpus

Tune in next time part 699 & 700      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Was Mother really marrying this man in the beaked mask, or was this merely another of her espionage exploits? I’d found her diary when I was a child and the stories in that fascinating little book were quite alarming to read. Of course they’d been written in code, a code I was quite proud to crack at the time, but one which I suddenly realized must have been meant for me to break. She’d placed a hint about the key right inside the front cover: “to read this book, think like the lowest organism we know.” Naturally I knew who she meant by that. Bookworms had no eyes. They sensed their surroundings through vibrations. That meant that in addition to reading the words on the page, I had to run my fingernail across the indentations her pen had made in the paper, like a stylus on a stereo, to convey the vibration through my body. My keenly trained mind would combine the two sources of input into a single coherent message. Just as a concert pianist is able to touch the keys of an instrument with unerring precision, even as a child I could read such codes with ease. In order to prepare myself I thought, “I take in my hand a simple nail file and with it sharpen the nail on the pinkie of the opposite hand.” And by this humble means I unlocked secrets that had changed the destiny of nations. A single ray of light from a distant star falling upon the eye of a tyrant, where that ray of light’s name was Zsa Zsa and that tyrant was her first mark, was merely the first of many lurid tales in that cursed manuscript. Her diary made it seem that all of Zsa Zsa’s secrets were romantic, if only in a visceral, unsentimental way, and that the partners in her assignations were confined to the neighborhoods of politics and espionage. By the time I was done reading (and vibrationally interpreting), I felt like I wanted an expensive vacuum pump to suck all the images from my brain. And I wanted to believe that Mother’s disturbing little book might meet the fate of St Polycarpus, to protect future readers. But the tales were so sordid I felt sure the very ashes of the diary would retain the power to convey them. I shuddered at the memory.

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As The Music Started

  • by Kentwith a professional eye
  • “One of your lovers?”
  • hiding the salami, and not with any degree of deftness
  • talking about your wife’s pussy in public
  • stroked the back of her hand over its rough surface

Tune in next time part 698      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As the music started, I gazed with a professional eye — an eye trained in espionage — at the door at the far end of the aisle. A man in a green tuxedo, his face obscured by a long-beaked medieval doctor’s mask under a top hat, entered and began a stately march in my direction.

I traced an imaginary beak in front of my own face, then gestured to the stuffed vulture above the altar. “One of your lovers?” I quipped. I knew it wouldn’t count as enough of a joke, but it did seem to loosen up the room a little. I launched into the first zany story I could think of before I lost my nerve. “On the way here I stopped for a sandwich, but the clerk at the deli was hiding the salami, and not with any degree of deftness. His pants were too tight.” I had no way of knowing what the groom made of that, but there were a few chuckles from other guests. The groom simply maintained his unhurried pace down the aisle.

“Does the bride happen to own a cat?” I asked, directing the question at the groom. “I hope so, because I’m looking forward to talking about your wife’s pussy in public.”

The creepy green-tuxed figure halted about an arm’s length away. He was utterly silent and still, which meant he could be neither laughing nor stabbing me. While I considered my impending fate, the music stopped and the veiled bride started her own steady advance toward the altar. The church was eerily quiet.

When she was near enough, I could recognize the bride’s face through the white lace that covered it.

“Mother?” I exclaimed.

The groom turned his head her way, swinging the pointy mask an inch from her nose. She reached up and stroked the back of her hand over its rough surface.

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Fleur Turned Me to Face Her

  • by jeneither stab you or laugh
  • I have become used to this propaganda
  • look at his new fish tank
  • apart from its odd shape
  • your telephone’s been ringing

Tune in next time part 697      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur turned me to face her, and took a moment to straighten my uniform. When the silver dove was dangling just so from the brim of my hat, she twisted its beak to switch on the light inside. A deep red glow emanated from the bird’s eyes.

“As the groom walks down the aisle, you must tell a joke. When he reaches the altar, the groom will either stab you or laugh, depending on how good the joke is.”

“Stab me?”

“I rather hope he laughs, but it all depends on the joke.”

“Fleur, I’d like to say I have become used to this propaganda, this ‘Contraria is so extra’ stuff you always say, but–”

“If the groom laughs, you’ll be fine. He’ll invite you to look at his new fish tank belt, which, apart from its odd shape, is just like any other fish tank. The eels swim in circles around his waist. It’s quite something. You will need to compliment it.”

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” a butler said, tapping Fleur on the shoulder. “Your telephone’s been ringing for nearly ten minutes.” He held out a silver tray with Fleur’s phone vibrating noisily on top. She reached for it.

“But who is the groom?” I asked, grabbing her hand. I needed to know how likely it was that the aquarium-belt man would try to stab me. I might be the new leader of the stand-up comedy battalion, but the emphasis was definitely on “new.”

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I Lost Count

  • by Kentmy hair color’s pretty unmistakeable
  • heart-shaped ravioli
  • looking at shirtless pics of dudes
  • roommates were not entertained
  • And those are just the women he married.

Tune in next time part 696      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I lost count of how many decks we climbed as Fleur frog-marched me up to the wedding. I tried to get more details about the couple, tossing off inquiries such as, “Is this husband-to-be someone who’d say something like ‘my hair color’s pretty unmistakeable‘?” but she ignored all my questions.

In keeping with Contrarian tradition, the reception was being held first. But because I was late, I got frog-marched right past my place setting with its bowl of heart-shaped ravioli. In the zeppelin’s wedding chapel, the bridesmaids huddled at the altar looking at shirtless pics of dudes on someone’s phone. Amazingly, not one of them was a mother to any of my children. I was the last groomsman to arrive, the others gathered here in a loose ring around the maids, craning for a glimpse of those pics. But they all wore bored expressions, like they were the shirtless dudes’ roommates and the roommates were not entertained by exhibitionism. Quite keen to look at the pics, though.

The priest came in with several Contrarian nobles. He seemed to be concluding a long story of some kind, saying, “And those are just the women he married.” The nobles laughed raucously.

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While Jim Waxed Rhapsodic about Agriculture

  • by jendo you really want to be the groomsperson to a deeply unreasonable person
  • spanked me on two nonconsecutive occasions
  • random forks lying around
  • glorious carnality, rapturous eroticism
  • so they can watch him peel his jeans off

Tune in next time part 695      Click Here for Earlier Installments

While Jim waxed rhapsodic about agriculture, I was finally able to work my thumbs deep into the blue fur and release the child safety lock on the panda head. A prerecorded message came from a speaker somewhere deep in the panda suit, a woman’s calm voice saying, “Witnessing a surprise mascot unheading can be traumatic. Please make sure no children are in the vicinity.”

We were in a petting zoo full of children, and Jim couldn’t wait. He had to get that head off. The zoo staff were quick to react. They summoned all of the mothers, and together they formed a human wall to screen the children and all the baby animals from any view of Jim. And just in time! He popped the panda head off and dropped it to the floor. He was exceedingly sweaty. Esmerelda unzipped the fur suit and he stepped out of it, steaming and dripping.

The mothers of all my children suddenly inched closer, attentive. “Ah,” I thought. “Jim’s a good-looking guy. They’re doing that so they can watch him peel his jeans off.”

And that’s just what he did, in an act of glorious carnality, rapturous eroticism, and decadent sensuality.

Just then Fleur strode up. She kicked the chilled fork out of her way, and said, “Why are there random forks lying around the petting zoo? And why is Jim naked?”

“Would you believe me if I told you those things were related?” Jim asked with a smirk.

Fleur ignored him and turned to me. “Why aren’t you at the wedding? You’re supposed to be the groomsperson.”

“Wedding?” I asked. “Who’s getting married?”

“A man who spanked me on two nonconsecutive occasions.”

Before I could ask any questions she took me by the arm and marched me away from Jim and the women. I asked myself, “Do you really want to be the groomsperson to a deeply unreasonable person, the sort of person who spanks a warlord’s daughter?” The answer was no, I did not want that. But did I have a choice?

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“Don’t Listen to Him”

  • by jenvery, very politically embarrassing
  • certainly a bold claim
  • now is not the fucking time
  • doled out like gold nuggets
  • “Monkeys?”

Tune in next time part 693      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Don’t listen to him,” Esmerelda said. “He’s jealous of Jim, and is trying to arrange a very, very politically embarrassing photo op.”

“That’s certainly a bold claim,” I said, “but since when does Jim care about what’s politically embarrassing?”

“If I may interrupt,” interrupted Mr Carousel.

I glared at him. “Now is not the fucking time, dude.”

“I was just going to say that in the Royal Contrarian Icecapades, monkeys are doled out like gold nuggets at the Fort Knox gift shop.”

“Monkeys?” Jim asked from inside his panda head. “Tell me more.”

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I Knelt To Assist Jim

  • by Kentrunning towards us with a test-tube in his hand
  • just for the hell of it
  • with thick lemon frosting
  • remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue
  • and sequins in a plastic bag

Tune in next time part 692      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I knelt to assist Jim with his panda-head, but just then I spotted a man in a white lab coat running towards us with a test-tube in his hand. “Don’t remove that head!” he shouted. “The man in that costume is infectious.”

“That’s been said about my bonhomie,” came Jim’s muffled drawl. “Now unlatch this thing.”

I stalled, buying time for the lab-coated man to arrive. I wanted to hear him out. It didn’t seem he’d be charging around with a test-tube just for the hell of it.

At the same moment, we were accosted from the other side by a roving exhibit from the petting zoo. It looked like the set from a baking competition show had been converted into a parade float. A large parrot wearing a chef’s toque perched over a cake with thick lemon frosting.

“I baked a cake, I baked a cake!” proclaimed the parrot. “Pretty bird, remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue!”

The man with the test-tube skidded to a halt. “He was spinning around in circles, wasn’t he? That’s an advanced symptom. The test confirms the diagnosis!” He waved the test-tube around so violently I was amazed the stopper stayed in.

“But we already know what happened,” I protested. “It’s not contagious, and it’s under control. The chilled fork did the trick.”

“Ohhh!” the alleged scientist jeered. “That won’t hold for long. A permanent cure can’t be achieved without the proper therapy. And for that, you need nine pairs of used false eyelashes and sequins in a plastic bag.”

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All This Attention from Mr Carousel

  • by jenwhen I used to ride a motorcycle
  • tequila anyhow
  • imagine a new color
  • biggest mittens he could find
  • Nepotism!

Tune in next time part 691      Click Here for Earlier Installments

All this attention from Mr Carousel reminded me of when I used to ride a motorcycle. I was approached weekly by talent scouts, people who would offer me anything my heart desired if only I would sign on with the Asphaltcapades. They made so many promises: Bathtubs full of champagne! (Or tequila anyhow.) A new bike in any color I could imagine, a new color for my leathers, too. One particularly odd fellow offered to buy me the biggest mittens he could find if I would only sign a contract. I turned them all down, just as I was trying to turn down Mr Carousel.

“I’ve got to check on my brother,” I said, gesturing at the blue panda. Jim was trying to undo the child safety lock on his big blue head.

“Nepotism!” cried Mr Carousel. “I love it! That’s the perfect theme for your routine!”

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The Storm Outside

  • by Kentcelebrate by dancing
  • left school at sixteen
  • “Mr Wilmerdings is an accomplished pianist.”
  • make the standard criss-cross pattern
  • just blink twice and we’ll know what you mean

Tune in next time part 690      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The storm outside threw the craft in the opposite direction, causing me to twirl and wave my arms to keep from toppling. Mr Carousel clapped, and exclaimed, “Everyone loves the tiaras, but few celebrate by dancing when I mention them!”

I just kept running, hoping Jim could hold out. Hoping the fork would still be cold enough. Wondering if I’d be in this predicament if my brother hadn’t left school at sixteen to travel full time with a waltz trio. I remembered the day he told Mother of his plans, her disparagement of the troubadour life. All Jim could say of the bandleader was, “Mr Wilmerdings is an accomplished pianist.” Mother hadn’t been impressed.

Finally I arrived back at the zeppelin’s petting zoo, where the situation appeared to be unchanged. Jim, in the blue panda suit, was still gyrating hectically with Esmerelda hanging onto the fur in his armpits, her body flung straight outward by centrifugal force. Cleopatra said, “Hurry! The nose, the panda nose. Use the fork to make the standard criss-cross pattern, like on a traditional peanut butter cookie!”

I edged forward, ducking under Esmerelda each time she swung by. With quickness and precision that a ninja would be proud of, I reached up with the fork on two successive revolutions, scoring the rubbery snout from different angles. On the next swing, Esmerelda landed in my arms. And after two more rotations, Jim stopped spinning and sat down heavily.

Esmerelda scrambled over to him, calling, “Are you okay?” The panda head was wobbling. She held it still and peered in through the eyeholes. “If you’re okay in there, just blink twice and we’ll know what you mean.”

“Splendid!” cried Mr Carousel. “We’ll make that the centerpiece of your act!”

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