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Soon the Hammock Held Four Fire Eaters Sitting Side By Side

  • by jen“It’s stuck on something.”
  • hiding in the foliage
  • and rubbed it
  • you know I look like a woman
  • much of it will be excruciating

Tune in next time part 291      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Soon the hammock held four fire eaters sitting side by side, all young women dressed in skintight mylar. “Push us!” they cried in unison, heat shimmers accompanying their words.

The burly male fire eater behind them struggled to get them moving. “It’s stuck on something.”

I could tell that the real problem was that the four of them together weighed too much for the Mizzenpriestess’s flimsy hammock. It had stretched until their bottoms touched the ground.

The rest of the fire eater clan seemed shier. They hung back around the edges of the village, hiding in the foliage, although their mylar suits made hiding quite difficult.

Something didn’t seem right about all this foliage. I could have sworn it was much closer to the solar panel huts than when we arrived. I took Tessa’s hand and rubbed it, imparting a message to her through my thumb motions. “We are surrounded by ninjas camouflaged as jungle plants.”

The Mizzenpriestess reached the end of her dance and turned to the fire eaters in her hammock. “You know I look like a woman, a harmless old woman” she said in an affronted tone, “but I’m much more than that. I am the Mizzenpriestess of this village!”

The fire eaters looked unimpressed and continued to try to make the hammock move.

Jason grabbed Tessa and me each by the hand and started to rub out his own message. Somehow even his thumbs lisped. “Shit is about to go down, and much of it will be excruciatingly tedious negotiations for the proposed Fire Eater-TechnoPagan alliance.” He waggled his greasepaint-smeared eyebrows at Tessa. “Why don’t we conclude our ritual?”

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“If You Really Are Married”

  • by Kentwhere is your finger?
  • questioning under sodium amytal
  • Now dance for me
  • it was a satisfying moment
  • flung themselves savagely upon it

Tune in next time part 290      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“If you really are married,” the old woman asked, “then where is your finger? Show me the ring.”

I didn’t wear a ring, but just when it looked like I’d have to endure questioning under sodium amytal to explain why not, Tessa spoke up.

“The fertility rite has been completed satisfactorily.” She glanced at me. “Numerous times.” She rounded on Jason. “And we have more important matters to deal with, such as open war between the mimes and the fire eaters, right here on this island. So,” she concluded in a booming voice, turning back to the old woman, “show me your ring! Prove that you are the Mizzenpreistess.” The crone held forth her right hand for inspection, and Tessa nodded at the brass-and-torquoise scorpion clinging to her middle finger. “Very good. Now dance for me!”

It could just be that I so seldom get to see nude female clowns ordering anybody around, but it was a satisfying moment indeed when the Mizzenpreistess did the funky chicken at Tessa’s command.

The sound of dozens of people crashing through the jungle set my heart racing, but neither Tessa nor Jason seemed alarmed by the onrushing fire eaters. She put a hand on my arm to steady me as they erupted into the village. They converged on the hammock where the old woman had been sitting, and flung themselves savagely upon it. The first few flipped it right over, but they soon got the hang of it.

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The Leader of the Mimes

  • by jenDying men rarely scream.
  • with a perverted mind
  • kissed hers with exceptional vivacity
  • their treatment is baloney
  • “Married,” repeated the old lady.

Tune in next time part 289                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The leader of the mimes straightened his imaginary mortarboard. He pushed his imaginary glasses up on his nose and unfurled a scroll that was nothing but a figment, readying himself to deliver the verdict. For several moments he stood in deep concentration, making notes and doing some sort of complicated math to tally our scores. Just as he readied his pointing finger to indicate whether Jason or I was the winner, he let loose a horrific strangled shriek and toppled to the ground. A flaming arrow protruded from his back. Dying men rarely scream. Dying mimes, on the other hand, make the most godawful racket, like every sound they’d kept bottled up throughout their careers all tried to escape at once.

“It’s the fire eaters!” Tessa cried.

You can say I’m a man with a perverted mind, but seeing Tessa in nothing but clown makeup was really doing it for me, even with the Guild of Fire Eaters on the attack. I sprang  between Tessa and Jason, pinched Jason’s lips shut with my fingers, and kissed hers with exceptional vivacity. They were slimy with greasepaint, but it was kind of sexy.

Jason’s lips slipped out of my grip. “Hey! Stop it!” he lisped. “This is my ceremony!”

Flaming arrows rained down around us. I tried to tell Jason to buzz off, but Tessa wouldn’t let me break our kiss until three more mimes were hit and their greasepaint ignited. Their comrades charged, wrapping them in invisible blankets to smother the flames. One of them pulled out a tube of burn cream.

“Oh ugh,” Tessa said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s get out of here. Their treatment is baloney-scented. It’s really gross.”

I trusted Tessa’s knowledge of all things mime. She’d been their captive for months, years ago.

I allowed her to pull me into the dense jungle, with Jason on our heels. The fire eaters’ ire seemed concentrated on the mimes and they didn’t follow us. Soon we tumbled out of the dense foliage and into a small village of houses made from solar panels.

An old woman was reclining in a hammock, strumming a guitar. As soon as he saw her, Jason began to complain. “Can you believe this? I’m supposed to be having a fertility ritual with Tessa right now, but she can’t stop kissing my brother. And he’s married!”

“Married,” repeated the old lady. “How bourgeois!”

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“Oh I Might Have Guessed”

  • by Kentdrank from watermelon cups
  • got worse, but not loquacious
  • , unless you’re talking about economics,
  • (regular showers for example)
  • inclined his head towards his leader

Tune in next time part 288                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Oh, I might have guessed you were messed up in this!” Tesla hissed.

Tessa laughed. Being directly between them, I wasn’t seeing anything funny about the situation. Tesla advanced with murder in her eyes, and my only thoughts were to protect Tessa. But she just laughed again. Tesla reached my position and I barred her way, but she just didn’t stop walking and I was pushed backwards helplessly. Her strength was inhuman, yet the target of her wrath kept giggling.

Mimes staggered in random directions in the leaping firelight, arms flung out, all of them having forgotten to take off their imaginary blindfolds. It looked like we had desecrated a secret mime burial ground and triggered its ancient protective curse.

“Tessa, run!” I grunted.

Instead, she cleared her throat and chanted, “The penguins wished for bamboo tusks until they drank from watermelon cups.”

Tesla stopped and stood as if at attention.

“Meet the Teslabot,” Tessa said. “She built the Tessabot.”

“You mean Tesla built the bots?”

“No. The Teslabot built the Tessabot. I don’t know who built the Teslabot. I just know some of its verbal commands.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now that the sisters are under control, maybe the brothers should figure out their deal. Jupiter and Jove would be shocked to know you’re here, Jason.”

“I bet they’re disappointed they didn’t get to sacrifice you,” he lisped back at me. “Come to think of it, this whole ritual is pointless if you’re still alive. But the scrying scrolls are quite clear about what must happen now. A rap battle. The final rap battle.”

“Ah shit, Jason. Don’t say it.”

“Rap-narok!”

“He’s right,” Tessa said unhelpfully.

Jason launched his attack, the zombified mimes laying down his beats with their plodding footsteps.

“Makin’ friends all around because I’m always vivacious,
while your solitude got worse, but not loquacious,
with no one to talk to and nobody for a chat,
you’re a hopeless case with a ridiculous hat.”

I countered instinctively, and although my voice was strong, terror gripped me at what might happen if those scrolls somehow proved accurate.

“My hat is nonexistent, just a rumor you started
and as I’m sure you know this rhyme is only half-hearted.
There’s no way you’ll win, not with all your hand-me-down tricks,
I already lost interest, unless you’re talking about economics,
Your list of defects goes on and on and your delusions are ample.
It’s stuff most people find easy (regular showers for example).”

We slung such cumbersome insults back and forth for an hour, our couplets gaining syllables with every exchange. I couldn’t stop. The words used me as their gateway into the world, and I was exhausted from the strain. Jason and I both panted, awaiting some indication of the verdict. The mimes abruptly halted their rhythmic shambling. They all reached behind their heads to untie their blindfolds, and in perfect unison each mime inclined his head towards his leader.

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Jason Folded His Arms Flamboyantly

  • by jenchocolate ice cream on his upper lip
  • “No, that isn’t elegant.”
  • only I can see her
  • the rat-faced one
  • I’m pissed off and grossed out

Tune in next time part 287                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jason folded his arms flamboyantly across his chest, but his posturing was ruined by the chocolate ice cream on his upper lip. Not that the mimes noticed or cared. They all pretended to clap.

I laid Tesla in the underbrush and moved rapidly to a position in the shadows, but still near enough to Jason that I could pounce on him if necessary.

The woman who had been singing before Jason’s arrival started up again, a bastardized version of Frosty the Snowman this time. As she sang she stepped into the firelight. Her face was obscured behind a thick layer of whiteface and a big red rubber nose. She approached my brother, holding out the ruffled muff of a clown as if it were a lei.

Jason shook his head. “No, that isn’t elegant.” He took a step backward when she insisted. “It will ruin the lines of my cape.” He couldn’t retreat any further without stepping into the fire.

The woman worked her reply into her song. “Remove your cape, you won’t need it anyway.”

Oh shit. This was some sort of mime/clown fertility ritual. I recognized the trappings now that it was too late to do anything about it.

Jason dropped his cape beside the bonfire. The mimes all tied imaginary blindfolds over their eyes. The woman slipped out of her rainbow striped leotard, exposing the robotic unicorn tattoo on her ass.

Tessa!

I murmured to myself, “With the mimes all blindfolded, only I can see her true identity.”

One of the mimes, the rat-faced one on the far right, cocked his head like he’d heard me. And suddenly I didn’t care.

As Tessa and Jason embraced in a greasy smear of makeup and squeaking nose noises, I strode out and said, “I’m pissed off and grossed out in equal measure. What the hell do you think you’re doing, Tessa? I thought we meant something to each other, and here you are naked with my brother!”

Unfortunately my tirade woke Tesla, who jumped to her feet, suddenly reminding me that I’d slept with several of Tessa’s sisters and probably didn’t have any grounds for my outburst.

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Jason Started Rapping

  • by Kentthis only happens in the movies
  • Maybe. With a capital M
  • Matthew Clemens is a tool
  • gives me that slimy smile of his
  • we watched professional bowling

Tune in next time part 286                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jason started rapping. Which, bad as it was, still came as sort of a relief considering all the alternatives. His routine kept the mimes mesmerized long enough for me to open the gate and carry Tesla out into the fresh air. His flow was not mad, more like peevish. Either there were nuances in it that I couldn’t pick up on, or mimes are just easy to please.

I paid attention to every word, in case he was sending someone a coded message.

Matty mighta said this only happens in the movies.
And to get real we’re gonna hafta remove these
idealized betrayals and the stars who portray them.
Too cynical? Maybe. With a capital Mayhem.
But once upon a time the lessons we learned in school
showed all of us that Matthew Clemens is a tool, fool.
I freak whenever he gives me that slimy smile of his
and I just wait for the day I can get outta the biz.
Until that day arrives I can only keep on rolling
And fondly recall the times we watched professional bowling.

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Before the Unseen Singer Could Begin Her Song Anew

  • by jen“El Matador,” they whispered
  • all the legitimacy money could buy
  • uncle was the curator of the museum of mineralogy
  • 1200 pounds of high-grade marijuana
  • put down the syphon

Tune in next time part 285                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Before the unseen singer could begin her song anew, a caped figure stepped into the circle of light around the bonfire. The mimes all noticed at the same time. “El Matador,” they whispered not with their voices, but with their fluttering finger motions. And they were right. It was El Matador, which was the name my twin brother Jason used before he became America’s #1 wedding rapper. When he’d first left the spy game, Jason tried to make it big in Cancun’s underground hip hop scene, relying on all the legitimacy money could buy at the current exchange rate, and counting on the fact that our uncle was the curator of the Museum of Mineralogy of Quintana Roo to lend him copious street cred. It worked surprisingly well during spring break, when all of the American college students were in town. He’d have huge concerts where he passed around 1200 pounds of high-grade marijuana as party favors. It was enough to get the frat boys to put down the syphon and the beer bong, but it was economically unsustainable.

Was he here today to rap? Or something even worse?

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I Could No Longer Smell the Sewage We Were Adrift Upon

  • by jenbut because of the fog
  • “We can work this out.”
  • smell the woodsmoke
  • the tune was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
  • aspect of Wikipedia that I dislike

Tune in next time part 283                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I could no longer smell the sewage we were adrift upon, but because of the fog that rose from it I was unable to forget it was there. When we finally escaped I would have to take, just, like, all the showers.

Tesla napped, curled up on her side of the swan boat’s bench. I wanted to wake her up and work with her to figure out a way out of our dilemma. I would say something really persuasive and motivating like, “We can work this out.” But Tesla was a sound sleeper and so I didn’t get a chance to even try before we rounded a long, lazy corner and I could finally see the light at the end of the sewer pipe. We were so close to freedom I could even smell the woodsmoke coming in through the grate.

Our swan came to a sludgy stop against the grate. I left Tesla sleeping while I peered out and tried to make sense of what I saw. We were still on my brothers’ island, of course, so I had to be careful.

The smoke came from an enormous bonfire around which danced a dozen mimes in ceremonial garb. The song was one I’d heard many times growing up. The lyrics, sung by someone I couldn’t see, were nothing you’d recognize, but the tune was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

I tried once to research this song, but all trace of it had been erased from the internet. That is the aspect of Wikipedia that I dislike the most, its willingness to delete any page that the Guild of Fire Eaters demands.

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“Why Did You Do That?”

  • by Kentthreatened to kill again
  • she had heard the very same story from her friends
  • similarities between Facebook’s rapid adoption and the proliferation of an infectious disease
  • left the embittered old bastard
  • among the ruins

Tune in next time part 282                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Why did you do that?” I screamed at Tesla. (Also, how? was my unvoiced follow-up question.)

While the slow but relentless flow of sewage carried us farther from the way out, she told me a lengthy tale involving the choir and their pact with the magic dweebs. I lost some of the details musing on what a great band name “The Magic Dweebs” would be, but the upshot was that Mr Bug-Wand allegedly murdered a teacher, and had threatened to kill again. Tesla had learned of all this by reading our rival school’s newsletter, but she knew it was true because she had heard the very same story from her friends in metal shop.

“But you didn’t take shop,” I said. “Your name was on the list of fugitives I saw while raiding the office files.” She gave me a calculating look. “I mean,” I stammered, “that’d be their album title. ‘Metal Shop,’ by The Magic Dweebs.”

The result of her calculations was giving me the silent treatment. So we drifted without speaking on a river whose odor brought to mind the similarities between Facebook’s rapid adoption and the proliferation of an infectious disease. The horrid stench battered my nasal passages like an illegitimate uncle banging on the front door in the middle of the night. Finally, after what seemed like hours, olfactory fatigue left the embittered old bastard among the ruins of my mucous membranes.

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Magic Spells Were Way Outside My Area of Expertise

  • by jenif they intend to keep their trousers on
  • he likes to sing along
  • army of gargoyle angels
  • astroturf vest
  • “I was very much surprised.”

Tune in next time part 281                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Magic spells were way outside my area of expertise. At the Academy that sort of thing is studied only by nerds, and only then if they intend to keep their trousers on until well after graduation. Tesla had never struck me as that sort of girl. It made me wonder where she got her information.

Whether or not there was magic involved, the weird, robed dude was waving a bug sprayer around and I really didn’t want to get a faceful of whatever he had on offer. I slowed my pedaling to a pace that kept us even with the boat ramp despite the current, but I didn’t approach.

“You know this guy?” I asked Tesla.

“Oh come on, you must remember him!” she said. “He was at the Academy at the same time we were. He likes to sing along with that group of students that sounds like an army of gargoyle angels.”

“You mean the choir?” The Academy was not known for its arts programs.

She snapped the fingers of both hands and pointed at me. “That’s what they called themselves! Remember how they always wore those astroturf vests?”

“The first time I saw them perform,” I said, “I was very much surprised.”

I squinted through the murk at the madman on the shore. He and his conspiracy theories and his fancy squirt gun were all that stood between me and an escape from the sewer. I decided to go for it. I didn’t believe in magic, and I could hold my breath for a really long time, at least long enough to get past him. With much determination I applied my feet to the swan boat’s pedals.

“No!” Tesla shrieked.

She reached down between my legs, and with surprising strength, twisted the pedal mechanism into a knot. We immediately began drifting with the current, away from the boat ramp.

It was then that I realized that I was up shit creek without a pedal.

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