Tagged: bonus points

Fortunately the Arms Merchants

  • by Kentlight on the android-cyborg banter
  • wiped clean with a tissue
  • Farming, basically.
  • I fantasize about the hospital
  • very well-defined chin

Tune in next time part 126                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fortunately the arms merchants I was suddenly dining with didn’t expect a lot of conversation from me, and had the decorum to at least pretend not to notice the tantric pulsations of my tuxedo jacket. The man with the blueprints began a meticulous explanation of the weird machine depicted in them, then apologized for forgetting to go light on the android-cyborg banter. “For what it’s worth,” he summed up, “this thing’s a little of both and a little something extra.”

Tallulah squealed and shuddered. I thumped my chest, which was actually her back, and said, “Excuse me.” She ground against my lap, and I could hear her panting. I faked a coughing fit to cover both her noises and my own climactic moment. When I regained my composure I felt myself being wiped clean with a tissue. It was consideration I wouldn’t have expected from Tallulah.

The man to my right said, “That’s a nasty case of Contrary Lung you’re working on. God, I hate this country. There’s nothing to do. Everybody spends all their time on subsistence. Farming, basically. It’s depressing!”

As the next blueprint is discussed, I fantasize about the hospital where all of these jerks would end up when their battle-monkeys turn against them. Then dessert arrived, served by a waiter with a very well-defined chin. He gave me a puzzling look, a knowing kind of stare, careful not to let the weapons dealers notice. I felt like I should recognize him, but I was sure I’d never seen him before in my life.

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You Know How a Guy is Supposed to Think About Baseball

  • by jenexcept his penis
  • you know that’s not allowed
  • applying his left thumb
  • four-limbed, ape-inspired robot
  • blue-gray eyes suddenly keen

Tune in next time part 125                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

You know how a guy is supposed to think about baseball to distract himself? I was like that guy, except his penis (my penis, if we’re being honest) didn’t cooperate. Tallulah didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as I crossed the last few yards to our table, she wriggled almost imperceptibly in time with my waddling stride and suddenly I was engulfed.

I whispered down into my jacket, “You know that’s not allowed!”

Tallulah’s only reply was a tightening of her grip. Her arms clenched my shoulders, her legs squeezed my waist, her… well, you get the picture.

I took both a steadying breath and my seat at the table, hoping Tallulah wouldn’t be too much of a distraction.

The man to my left said, “Your mother sent us.” He pulled a roll of blueprints from his briefcase and spread them out on the table, applying his left thumb to the corner to hold it down.

As Tallulah clenched and unclenched, I tried to make sense of what I was looking at. It seemed to be plans for some sort of crazy four-limbed, ape-inspired robot. And then I remembered Mother and Fleur’s father plotting at my wedding. They wanted to build an army of killbots, all designed to look like the deities of Contraria’s ancient enemies.

I caught my reflection upside-down inside a spoon, my blue-gray eyes suddenly keen. I was surrounded by arms dealers, and, thanks to Tallulah, in a very awkward position.

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As I Lumbered Around the Table on My Way to the Loo

  • by jenan extremely rare bluish black color almost unheard of in the US
  • all five of them
  • Boom.
  • when I first let Nathaniel move in
  • in a series of digital manipulations

Tune in next time part 123                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

As I lumbered around the table on my way to the loo, I was compelled to exchange greetings with a great many people. I knew that Tessa’s bladder was about to burst, so I shook hands in a series of digital manipulations so blindingly fast I got cramps in all of my fingers.

At last I burst into the little gentlemen’s room. After ejecting the attendant, Tessa and I had the space to ourselves. Tessa let go of my neck and slithered out the bottom of my jacket to stand on her own feet again. Her eyebrows rose when she took in the room.

“This reminds me of when I first let Nathaniel move in and he brought his porcelain doll collection,” she said. “Their creepy eyes follow you everywhere.”

As she peed she went on talking about how creepy Contrarian bathroom design is, but I couldn’t follow her. At her mention of Nathaniel my mind broke. Boom. Just broke.

“I thought you hated Nathaniel and all his brothers,” I interrupted. “Last I knew, all five of them were your mortal enemies.”

The person on the toilet, who I was now convinced was not really Tessa after all, stopped talking. She blinked, dislodging one of her tinted contacts and allowing her natural eye color to show through. The eye told me everything I needed to know. It was an extremely rare bluish black color almost unheard of in the US and it could only belong to one person. The most dangerous person I’d ever met. Tessa’s sister.

“Tallulah,” I breathed.

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“Yes, Please Explain”

  • by Kenttoo much Kafka
  • slightly off the perpendicular
  • my irrational optimism
  • tradition would dictate cod here
  • the one who’d peed all over everything

Tune in next time part 122                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Yes, please explain about my son,” I said, hurrying up the avenue to avoid any further encounters with people who might recognize me.

“Don’t bounce me so much,” Tessa complained from inside my borrowed tuxedo jacket. “I had too much Kafka this morning.” It was an old inside joke between us. From back when we were partners. I sympathized with her plight, my own bladder being what she currently used as a saddle. But it was hard to maintain smooth locomotion when my concealed passenger threw my posture slightly off the perpendicular, in more ways than one.

“Talk, it’ll distract you,” I suggested, hoping it would distract me too. “Explain everything.” She drew a deep breath, as if to begin a lengthy monologue.

My irrational optimism about learning about my so-called son was thwarted when a man dressed even more resplendently than I launched himself from the doorway of a bistro. The fussy maitre-d steered me into the establishment and directly to a table with other diners already consuming a complex feast.

“Tradition would dictate cod here,” said the lady at the head of the table. “But you know how it is with Contrarian traditions!”

As the entire table erupted in mirth, Tessa hissed up at me, “Get us to the restroom, unless you want to be remembered as the one who’d peed all over everything.”

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“I Don’t Have a Son, Tessa.”

  • by jeneating a bite of the brown-and-white lumpy food
  • on such gleaming skin
  • this wasn’t the Paul Gruber he knew
  • clasping her hands together in dismay
  • she periodically scrunches as she talks

Tune in next time part 121                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I don’t have a son, Tessa,” I said, pinching my nose to stop the bleeding. “At least not yet. Are you talking about one of the children Fleur is carrying?”

Tessa has these muscles in her pelvis that she periodically scrunches as she talks. I’d never been aware of them before, but our current intimate embrace made them very obvious, even with our clothes separating us. Picture someone clasping her hands together in dismay, only, you know, not her hands. I tried to ignore it and focus on what she was saying.

“I’m not talking about your wife’s babies, dumbass. How would I know if they were boys or girls? I’m talking about your son.”

Before I could get her to explain, we were approached by Harry, the amphibian-faced object of Isolde’s affections. “Paul Gruber!” he shouted. “Where is Isolde?”

Paul Gruber was the name of the bodyguard whose jacket I was wearing as a disguise. Harry stomped up to me and his greasy visage underwent a remarkable transformation when he realized that this wasn’t the Paul Gruber he knew. It was as if no expression could gain traction on such gleaming skin.

I tried to run away before he regained his composure, but Tessa clinging to me like a baby marsupial slowed me considerably. Harry stumbled after me down the street, spluttering.

“You are practically useless,” Tessa grumbled, pelvic muscles clenching. “Why do I even bother with you?” In one fluid motion she detached herself from me and vaulted over my head to land on poor, hapless Harry. By the time I turned around she had him in a headlock and, much against his will, he was eating a bite of the brown-and-white lumpy food she always kept in a zipper baggie in her pocket. It had an oatmeal-like consistency, and I knew from personal experience that it was laced with strong narcotics.

She tucked Harry, now snoring, into the space between two storefronts and, quick as the wind, resumed her place under my jacket.

Her muscles rippled again as she said, “Now, about your son…”

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I Waddled Out of the Store

  • by Kentthe blood came out like a balloon breaking
  • Such a generous nose!
  • dismissed the possibility of terrorist involvement
  • “… it’s interesting.”
  • — during an election year, no less.

Tune in next time part 120                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I waddled out of the store, head swimming.

“What about my son?” I muttered. “What do you mean?”

“Not now,” Tessa scolded from under my borrowed tux.

“Now’s the perfect time,” I said. “If anyone notices me talking, they’ll just think I’m some fat, crazy man mumbling to himself. I’m not going to put up with –”

Tessa’s hand moved with invisible speed, striking me on the schozz. The blood came out like a balloon breaking.

“Such a generous nose!” she cooed as I tried to contain the crimson spillage. A pair of Contrarian policemen watched the whole thing from across the street and then resumed their patrol, having evidently dismissed the possibility of terrorist involvement.

“I’b nod kiddig,” I insisted. “Tell be what’s doe ibbordand.” I paused to clear my nasal passages. “What’s this about my son?”

“Well,” Tessa sighed. “He,” she started, then paused for a long time. “… it’s interesting.” She paused for a longer time. “It’s not what you’re thinking. But we’re lucky it’s happening when it is — during an election year, no less.”

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My Wife’s Bodyguards Lurched Toward Us

  • by jengymnastics for the monkeys
  • with a patience and a calmness entirely German
  • inside the pocket was a receipt
  • such a quantity of gorgeously colored feathers
  • I need to talk to you about your son

Tune in next time part 119                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My wife’s bodyguards lurched toward us, their large, hairy hands curling into fists. Tessa smirked. “Allow me to perform gymnastics for the monkeys,” she said, then backflipped toward the hulking quartet.

Mere moments later all four were unconscious on the floor. Tessa searched them with a patience and a calmness entirely German, uncovering a not-so-small arsenal which she secreted away in the folds of her old man disguise.

She stripped the tuxedo jacket off of the largest of them and tossed it to me. It was many sizes too big, but I put it on anyway. Inside the pocket was a receipt from a pawn shop and such a quantity of gorgeously colored feathers that I was startled. Was this man an exotic bird smuggler?

Tessa put her hands on my shoulders and hopped up, wrapping her legs around my waist. “Button the jacket,” she said, meaning to copy the real Svetlana’s old trick of disguising herself as a man’s rotund belly. If there really was a real Svetlana. Perhaps it had always been Tessa in disguise. Which woman had seduced me on the train? Was it the real Svetlana, and if so, was she actually pregnant? Or had it been Tessa, and if so, was she pregnant? Was anyone besides Fleur carrying my child?

“I need to talk to you about your son,” Tessa said, then drew her head down inside the jacket like a turtle retreating into its shell.

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The Shopkeeper Unlocked

  • by Kentnearly a hundred
  • flick your eyes at mine
  • hat in hand, towards the partition
  • more remote than our cannibal ancestors
  • Nobody lives forever, so let’s roll!

Tune in next time part 118                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The shopkeeper unlocked the riding crop case, giving Fleur access to nearly a hundred of them. She snatched up a matte black one and said to me, “I’ll flick your posterior with this, each time you flick your eyes at mine. But first, we must try it out on your traveling companion.” Fleur, Isolde, and Myxolemia surrounded Svetlana, who had begun trying on men’s hats in a doomed effort to maintain the Uncle Vanya disguise. She was led, hat in hand, towards the partition screening off the changing rooms. I felt like a coward, my courage more remote than our cannibal ancestors, for standing there just watching them escort her to her torture, but they had us outnumbered and two of them were a warlord’s daughters. Shortly there came three sharp smacking noises followed by three muffled thuds. Svetlana came back with both the hat and the riding crop, grinning.

She hiccuped. Then she removed the fake beard, and with it a latex mask. Before me stood Tessa, the ninja, leering and waving a riding crop.

“What have you done?” I spluttered, unsure how I was going to feel about her answer.

She giggled, then hiccuped again and shook her head. “Nobody lives forever, so let’s roll!”

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We Turned Onto the Contrarian Equivalent of Rodeo Drive

  • by jenall of those are possibilities
  • trying to enjoy sex together
  • young, dashingly ill-disciplined Ambassador
  • The keen air made me giddy
  • venerable British saddle maker

Tune in next time part 117                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

We turned onto the Contrarian equivalent of Rodeo Drive and Svetlana pulled me into the overly air-conditioned showroom of a venerable British saddle maker. The keen air made me giddy, redolent as it was of rich leather and richer customers.

“This is not a good place to hide,” I said. “My wife’s family shops here all the time.”

Proving my point, young, dashingly ill-disciplined Ambassador Myxolemia strolled in, arm-in-arm-in-arm with Fleur and Isolde, all three of them laughing. Fleur’s cadre of bodyguards loomed behind them. So much for making my escape from Contraria.

“You’d better be on your way, Vanya,” I said to the disguised Svetlana. The last thing I needed was for Fleur to realize this ‘old man’ was really a young woman.

Fleur grabbed me by the hand and took me to a display case of riding crops. “Imagine we are trying to enjoy sex together but it has become boring. Which would you choose to liven things up?”

“That depends entirely on which of us would be wielding it,” I said.

Fleur turned to the obsequious shopkeeper and waved her hand at the crops. “All of those are possibilities. My husband and I will try them now.” She smirked evilly at me then. “I’m sure Svetlana will be happy to provide a surface upon which to test them in exchange for her freedom.”

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“Uncle Vanya!”

  • by KentWhat do you think of dusky pink?
  • News travels fast.
  • I’m sitting in my office
  • coming from Cuba
  • I have a good relationship with the Fahey family

Tune in next time part 116                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Uncle Vanya!” I called out as I hurried toward Svetlana and the agitated old woman. “There you are. Aunt Olga is worried to pieces.” I patted my ‘uncle’ on the shoulder and subtly straightened the false beard on Svetlana’s face. The elderly woman made another complicated hand gesture at me, which seemed more rude than superstitious. Steering Svetlana up the street I kept up the act. “Olga’s still at the car dealership trying to decide on a color. What do you think of dusky pink?”

A truck lumbered past us and a bundle of newspapers thumped onto the sidewalk. “Presidential Zeppelin Hijacked” was the main headline.

“News travels fast.” Svetlana hiccuped again, trying to make it sound manly.

I have a recurrent dream in which I’m sitting in my office speaking backwards to steam open envelopes coming from Cuba, while a woman whose face is hidden behind her fashionable hat tries to hire me to track down her sister. I’ve never known what it means, and I didn’t know what made me remember it just then.

Svetlana hiccuped and said, “We have to get out of Pittsburghistan tonight. But my ride fell through. And the whole country will be looking for us.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. Not that I had any kind of plan of my own, but in times of crisis I just remind myself that I have a good relationship with the Fahey family.

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