Tagged: bonus points

“Easy, Pal”

  • by Kentshall find its way into the pockets
  • twenty people on the lawn. With guns.
  • lay upon his belly beside a limpid brook
  • pull at me with her little hands
  • spread by a bug sprayer

Tune in next time part 280                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Easy, pal,” I said. “Nobody needs to get kicked.”

“Untrue! A remark not in accordance with the facts (read: a fib). Much kicking is needed, which you know full well, ere a farthing of my wealth shall find its way into the pockets of your taskmasters.”

“Who do you think I am?” I looked at Tesla, who hadn’t stirred. I hoped she was okay, but hoped she remained unconscious long enough to be spared the vile atmosphere of the sewer.

“Oh I know just who you are. You’re chemtrails. You’re Project Bluebook. You’re twenty people on the lawn. With guns.” He thrust out his palms. “In Dallas? The motorcade? That’s you.”

“Ah, guess you’re on to me,” I mumbled, hoping that humoring him would work better than arguing. “But that was a long time ago. People change.”

But he turned away from me on the boat ramp, and then, as though he lay upon his belly beside a limpid brook in a sun-drenched meadow, he lay on his belly on the slimy boat ramp and reached out over the surface of the filth to give the swan boat a shove.

Before I knew I had moved, I was airborne en route from my boulder to the ramp. In another bound I overflew the prostrate figure in the cloak and landed in the boat. My arrival jostled Tesla severely and imparted a considerable speed boost to our elegant vessel. I sat down and started pedaling. The propeller agitated the thick fluid we sailed through, liberating and invigorating the sulfurous fumes.

Some combination of the jostling and the horrid smell woke Tesla. She looked around, wild-eyed, and began to pull at me with her little hands. “Where are you taking me?”

“Um, back to the ramp? To get us out of this shit river?”

“But you don’t understand,” Tesla wailed.

“No argument about that.” I looked ahead and saw the man in the cloak was standing, brandishing something that looked like a wand. “Now what is he doing?”

Tesla gripped my arm. “Turn us around. Stay back! There’s nothing more potent than a magic spell spread by a bug sprayer!”

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I Tried to Psych Myself Up

  • by jenthere will be bubbles
  • adjacent to the boat ramp
  • rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee
  • broadcasting their raw footage
  • (read: your crotch)

Tune in next time part 279                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tried to psych myself up for my upcoming swim in the sewage. “When you stir the shit there will be bubbles,” I muttered. “It’s inevitable.”

Before letting go of my leather strap, I clenched every orifice I had.

I counted to three and released my grip.

I fell about two feet before my heels jarred on a narrow metal catwalk that spanned the mineshaft. My breath gushed out and my feet stung from the impact. At least I wasn’t swimming in shit.

I looked to one end of the catwalk where it seemed to disappear into a tunnel in the wall. I looked the other way and saw a dark-cloaked figure hurrying away from me, Tesla over his shoulder.

I gave chase as quickly as my sore feet would allow. When I reached the wall I encountered steep metal stairs leading down toward the poop smell, and a few flights ahead of me I could make out Tesla’s abductor/rescuer. I followed.

We descended for several minutes, the stench growing with each step. At the bottom I stood on an algae-covered boulder adjacent to the boat ramp where the cloaked figure was lowering Tesla’s unconscious form into a fanciful, swan-shaped pedal boat. That task completed, he stood and rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee. He preened for the security cameras along the ceiling that were broadcasting their raw footage of the raw sewage to who knew where.

The cloaked figure spotted me and said, “Don’t come any closer or I’ll kick you in your tender giblets (read: your crotch).”

As if I didn’t know what tender giblets were.

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A Trapdoor In The Shag

  • by KentWhat passions, what greed, what crimes
  • nods of assent were exchanged
  • lowering myself to the end of my leather strap
  • (although it is not clear whose poop it was)
  • as though by magic

Tune in next time part 278                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

A trapdoor in the shag carpet popped open and a skinny man sprang up into the room. I almost didn’t recognize him without his bathrobe, for he now wore a zebra-striped body stocking.

“What passions, what greed, what crimes against decorum will you not stop at?” he exclaimed. “Human sacrifice I could have countenanced, as it’s for a noble cause, but such language! You’ve blasphemed in the temple! You don’t deserve to carry out the sacrifices!”

Clown faces were turned to face one another. Nods of assent were exchanged. Carla and her tragi-comic compatriot reared, throwing off their ringmasters and rising to their feet. They charged the zebra man and pinned him to the wall.

While the clowns were thus occupied, and before my brothers could recover, I seized Tesla’s wrist and dashed for the trapdoor. “You first,” I told her. She seemed more dazed than ever, making no moves of her own volition, so I guided her into the opening in the floor.

She dropped like a stone, vanishing silently into darkness.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, climbing down and holding onto the edges of the hole as Jupiter and Jove scrambled in my direction and the skinny man moaned disconcertingly. There was no ladder or stairs below the trapdoor, just something like a belt dangling there. I grabbed onto it and slammed the door, sealing out all light from above.

As I descended, my eyes accommodated to the dimness and I could see that if it was a belt I was hanging from it was for someone with at least a 50-foot waistline. Down I went, lowering myself to the end of my leather strap but still nowhere near the bottom. I held on, exerting all my senses for a clue about what to do next. I could see rough stone walls like a mineshaft. I heard dripping water that belonged to stalactites, and distant clicks that belonged to cave crickets. There was a pungent smell, definitely poop (although it is not clear whose poop it was).

There was no sign of Tesla. She had disappeared as though by magic, or as if down a shaft so deep that I hadn’t heard her hit the bottom.

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From My Many Prophetic Dreams

  • by jen(whoops, was that a spoiler?)
  • sold it for $500 in December
  • the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment
  • “Couldn’t do it but one time.”
  • our typography does not allow such a character

Tune in next time part 277                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fom my many prophetic dreams I knew that my death would not come from being sacrificed by, or to, clowns. My eventual death would not involve clowns at all (whoops, was that a spoiler?). Tesla’s death I was less sure of.

“I recognize your altar, Jupiter,” I said. “And I know that there should be another just like it. A twin, if you will, belonging to your twin.”

Jove gave his whip a lazy crack and Carla turned around so they were facing me. “I sold it for $500 in December so that I could buy tickets to see my favorite band, the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment at their farewell concert.” He looked wistful. “Couldn’t do it but one time.” With a glare at Jupiter he said, “Even though we had two altars.”

“As I explained at the time,” Jupiter sniffed, “they were only playing one concert. There was no reason to sell both altars. You got to see your ridiculous band and now we’re still able to carry out the necessary sacrifices.”

“I could have gotten better tickets, you $&!!@#”

I’m afraid that our typography does not allow such a character or group of characters to adequately capture the depth and breadth of the foulness of Jove’s language. My diversion was working quite well, unfortunately Tesla was so stunned by the barrage of filth flowing from my brother’s mouth that she did not make a break for it.

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Carla Sank Into a Fetal Ball

  • by Kentlong legs and fierce eyes
  • “It’s very interesting.”
  • baby gorilla devours her first birthday cake
  • Boom.
  • and gloves without fingers

Tune in next time part 276                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Carla sank into a fetal ball on the coffee table, with Jove still perched on her back. He plucked his monocle and fogged it with his breath.

“Ahem,” Jupiter said.

“Oh. Right.” Jove snapped his whip again, and Carla backed off the coffee table. Another snap, and she pressed a small button in the carpet. The table flipped over, disappearing under the floor as another piece of furniture rose to replace it. The new object was possibly a bizarre chair, or maybe just a sculpture. What it most resembled was a bat with long legs and fierce eyes.

“Do you like the altar?” Jupiter asked.

Tesla spoke calmly. “It’s very interesting.”

Jupiter scowled down at us. “I haven’t felt so unappreciated for my genius since Jove barely cracked a smile when I showed him ‘baby gorilla devours her first birthday cake.’ That was hysterically funny, but you’d never guess from his stoic reaction.”

“Stoic? You’re embroidering.” Jove snapped his whip twice, and Carla turned so he faced Jupiter. “And, the video clip of a baby gorilla is hysterically funny, but your dance interpretation of it is merely odd. Boom. There. I said it.”

“Why must we squabble? Especially at a time as important as this?” Jupiter bowed deeply from atop his clown.

“Don’t fret. Brothers without squabbles are like Martinis without olives and gloves without fingers.”

“Déclassé?”

“Exactly. And, now that the altar is prepared…”

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“Ladies and Gentlemen!”

  • by jengot to the edge of a very big wood
  • He and Carla never had sex
  • she found in the basement
  • on file with the DMV
  • she sank into my uncle’s arms

Tune in next time part 275                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Jupiter cried. “Direct your attention to the center ring!”

Of course, this being a shack, there was only the one ring. Jove cracked his whip and both of the clowns lifted their rainbow-bewigged heads from the carpet. With my brothers perched daintily on their backs, the clowns crawled on hands and knees until they got to the edge of a very big wooden coffee table.

A crack of Jove’s whip motivated his clown to climb atop the coffee table, and I saw for the first time that under the big red nose and oversized bowtie, this clown was a female. Seconds later I realized it was Jove’s wife Carla. From the letter that accompanied their Christmas card every year, I knew far more than I cared to about Jove and Carla’s marriage. He and Carla never had sex on the trapeze she found in the basement until they were both properly licensed and those licenses were on file with the DMV. That sort of thing.

Jupiter rose to his feet atop his clown. His shiny knee-high boots were obscured by colorful ruffles, and his black silk top hat brushed against the balloon animals along the ceiling. I wondered if he was married to his clown, too. Jupiter’s first wife, Juno, was out of the picture. Their marriage hadn’t even lasted through the reception. Uncle Jinx skipped the ceremony, and arrived at the reception looking quite debonaire in his tuxedo. Jupiter introduced the two, she sank into my uncle’s arms, and that was that. But perhaps he had remarried.

“Jove and Carla will prepare the altar for the sacrifice!” Jupiter announced, looking pointedly at Tesla and myself.

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“Look,” Jupiter Said

  • by Kentthe gentleman bowed
  • started to snake upwards
  • “Oh, my dear! Must we then all die of hunger?”
  • sitting there, all puckered up
  • key phrases to use on their children

Tune in next time part 274                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Look,” Jupiter said, “it’s our brother.”

“Jason?” Jove asked, adjusting his monocle. The top hat and red tailcoat would be overkill on most people, but he really did look quite the fetishistic gentleman.

“Don’t be silly! Jason won’t set foot on this island.” The gentleman bowed knowingly, which sent his monocle to the floor. Jupiter munched on his marshmallow for a few seconds, his gaze intent on something just behind my ear. “And if he does…”

Jove laughed, still hunched over searching for his fallen eyewear in the dense carpet. Then his torso started to snake upwards. Soon he was standing to his full height of just over seven and a half feet. His laughter stopped.

“Our brother came without sandwiches,” he said. “Sans crudités. Bereft of biscuits.”

Jupiter affected a swoon, draping himself over his clown and onto the green shag. “Oh, my dear! Must we then all die of hunger?”

The pair of ringmasters erupted into shrill cackles. Tesla hid behind me.

“Hey!” I barked. Jupiter and Jove fell silent. They synchronously seated themselves on their prostrate clowns with prim precision, looking attentively at me. “You play innocent all you want, sitting there all puckered up, but I know you’re behind some of the troubles that have plagued me. You’re not even trying to hide it!”

“Oh no,” Jupiter said. “We needn’t. This goes right to the top.”

“The big top!” Jove said, giggling. He made a squinty face and his monocle popped out.

Tesla tapped my shoulder. “The circus is a dying form, isn’t it?”

I shook my head. “That’s the myth. It’s what they want the world to think. But it’s actually a prime location for operatives to learn key phrases to use on their children. Theirs, and everybody else’s.”

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I Wanted to Stop the Man in the Pink Bathrobe

  • by jenthey castrated people all the time
  • no choice but to watch him go
  • the only dollar he had
  • stepped purposefully out into the living room
  • the blue of an equatorial sky

Tune in next time part 273                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I wanted to stop the man in the pink bathrobe and ask him if my brothers still ruled this island, and if — as they did a decade ago — they castrated people all the time, but he moved so quickly that I had no choice but to watch him go through the door like he was chasing the only dollar he had left in the world.

Tesla and I looked at each other, then turned to flee and ran straight into the arms of our beefy mime escorts. The two of them were utterly silent as they twisted our arms behind our backs and marched us through the door into the shack. Inside was a sort of cloak room, with another door at the other end. The mimes blocked the exit and glared at us until we opened the inner door and stepped purposefully out into the living room of the shack.

The walls were painted the blue of an equatorial sky, and the ceiling was obscured by multitudes of tropical birds fashioned from colorful balloons. Across the green shag carpet from where Tesla and I stood, my brothers Jupiter and Jove sat regally side-by-side on the backs of prostrated clowns, casually toasting marshmallows with their fiery exhalations.

But what made my blood run cold was their matching ringmaster garb. Things were much more dire than I had ever imagined.

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Jorgensen Put Two Fingers

  • by Kent“I don’t think so.”
  • reflection of its luminous rays
  • 7983 comparison tests
  • in a rapid and nervy voice
  • slipped inside

Tune in next time part 272                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jorgensen put two fingers in his mouth and emitted an ear-splitting whistle. William Sausage appeared at the hatch above us and said, “Yes, Captain?”

“Two uniforms for our new recruits.”

Tesla folded her arms, creating a shelf for her impressive bosom. “I don’t think so.”

Jorgensen just laughed and climbed the rope ladder. A minute later two gray bundles dropped through the hatch to land in the festive debris at our feet. Picking one up, I said, “At least it’s not black tights and a striped shirt.”

My uniform unfurled and I discovered that it was worse than mime garb. It was a gunny sack of rough, itchy cloth that would make the wearer sweat under the sun, and would give almost no reflection of its luminous rays. Donning it, I guessed that its designers must have done 7983 comparison tests to find something so demonically uncomfortable.

Tesla sullenly put on her own sack and we climbed the ladder. William Sausage awaited us, with two muscular mimes. “Take them ashore,” he said in his reedy voice.

We clambered topside and then into a rowboat. The beefy mimes made us work the oars while they stared in the kind of silence that only mimes know how to generate. I twisted my neck for a look at our destination. All I could really tell was that it was rocky.

At the dock, we were met by a skinny man wearing a pink bathrobe and white face paint. He waved for us to get out of the rowboat then led the way up the dock, stopping outside a shack. Leaning close, he said, “You’re the last ones to arrive, but there’s still time, if you hurry,” in a rapid and nervy voice. He spun on his heel, knocked elaborately on the door of the shack, and slipped inside.

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Jorgensen’s Mustache

  • by jenthe most fearful and astonishing grimaces
  • slithers with shadows
  • a silk ropeladder
  • confirmed the man was intoxicated
  • visiting me nightly

Tune in next time part 271                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jorgensen’s mustache often framed the most fearful and astonishing grimaces, but his smile was somehow worse. It was the sort of smile that slithers with shadows and menace, and it belonged to the sort of man who carried a silk ropeladder with him at all times.

The mustache twitched, revealing even more teeth. The size of the grin, the balloon parrot on his shoulder, and the eye-watering fumes coming from his mouth confirmed the man was intoxicated. Or — a terrible thought occurred to me — perhaps he was using his Pirate-Ninja Alliance affiliation as cover for a membership in the Guild of Fire Eaters. I had heard murmurings about a mime/fire eater treaty. Given Jorgensen’s predilection for employing mimes…

I shuddered. Visions of that monstrous confederation will be visiting me nightly.

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