Tagged: clothes

“Recalling Her Pantaloons”

  • k-avatarher pantaloons, her cherry-coloured stockings
  • find myself craving the famous borscht
  • I think she died in the bombardment
  • you’d rather gossip than fuck!
  • padded with brown velvet
  • Those bastards are better off

“Recalling her pantaloons, her cherry-coloured stockings padded with brown velvet, I find myself craving the famous borscht served in the capitol before it was razed. I think she died in the bombardment. Many did. Those bastards are better off than we are, when you look at what the revolution had done to architecture.”

“My sister was right when she said you’d rather gossip than fuck!”

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Transformation Into a Wolf

  • k-avatarHi. Hello. Hello? Heh-lo.
  • – Stark naked!
  • grew owl’s wings and talons
  • congenital anonymity
  • muddy boots took up a lot of room

Transformation into a wolf is actually a highly unusual form of lycanthropy. I’ve known only two werewolves, but at least eight people who grew owl’s wings and talons at the new moon. Dozens of weremonkeys, too. But best not to dwell on them.

These unfortunates almost always learn of their plight at dawn, when they awaken in some unfamiliar outdoor locale – Stark naked!

I met Marie on a rooftop that way. She was still groggy, sated with innocent flesh, and slow to wake up.

“Hi. Hello. Hello? Heh-lo.”

At last she discovered her nudity and woke with a gasp. I gallantly offered my coat, and took her downstairs to my condo. We first made love in the hall closet, where muddy boots took up a lot of room. Then we moved on to the kitchen, and finally the bed.

Marie doesn’t remember me. My curse is different from hers. Rather than agonizing metamorphosis into a mindless beast, I suffer from congenital anonymity.

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All the Artists

by jenThis week’s stichomancy prompts were pulled from the menu of a local watering hole. Our critique group used the bar as an emergency backup meeting location once when our regular haunt was unexpectedly closed. Lucky for us, the menu was full of interesting phrases, ripe for the picking.

  • artists, intellectuals, and merchants
  • cabana boy
  • Magic Hat #9
  • key lime pie never had it so good
  • the only truly authentic brand of Worcestershire

All the artists, intellectuals, and merchants in attendance could agree on only one thing: the hostess was serving the only truly authentic brand of Worcestershire sauce available on the island. The soiree quickly devolved into their petty arguments about every other subject, including which cabana boy was the most effeminate, and whether the Great Rudolfo, the island’s only truly authentic magician, was wearing Magic Hat #9 or #13, both of which were made of purple velvet.

In the midst of the cacophonous conversations, Reggie approached the buffet table and asked the docile manservant what the enchanting green dessert was. When he told her, she exclaimed, “Key lime pie? Never had it!”

“So good you’ll weep,” the manservant assured her.

Reggie took a slice for herself, and one for her studly lover Lazarus.

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The Cattle, Too, Were Gone

  • by jenwrapped their heirloom weapons
  • fought in the Trojan War, but not very well
  • “Are you saying I’ve grown fat?”
  • The cattle, too, were gone
  • She was warmer on the horse’s back
  • her lack of enthusiasm

“The cattle, too, were gone by the time I mended the hole in the fence,” Bridget said, and I noted her lack of enthusiasm.

“Are you saying I’ve grown fat?” I asked, trying to lighten her mood with a little joke.

She smiled. “You’re fit as ever, darling.” Then she shivered like a warrior who fought in the Trojan War, but not very well. She was warmer on the horse’s back than she was now, dismounted and standing in the snow without the equine’s heat to warm her.

I quickly shed my anorak and wrapped her in it as master fencers wrapped their heirloom weapons between matches. She meant more to me than their antique epees did to them, and I willingly sacrificed my own comfort for hers.

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Playing the Part of the Innocent Venutian Princess

  • by jenunbuttoning his Space Ranger pajamas
  • nearly vomited in terror
  • the tune was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
  • stuck in his eyebrows
  • and the telephone itself
  • dogs of all sizes and descriptions

Playing the part of the innocent Venutian princess who nearly vomited in terror at her first sight of an Earth astronaut, only to find herself strangely aroused by the alien intruder, Ibernia Patience reached out to her husband Frank Pax, unbuttoning his Space Ranger pajamas.

Venutian folk music warbled in the background. The tune was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but the lyrics were incomprehensible. Ibernia drew the now-naked Frank down onto a large pile of stuffed dogs of all sizes and descriptions. She brushed away a stray bit of fluff that was stuck in his eyebrows as he bent down to kiss her.

Just then the phone rang and Ibernia cursed both the thoughtless caller and the telephone itself for interrupting her play time.

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Dear Mum

  • k-avatarwoe to all unlabeled invaders!
  • I have posed a little puzzle
  • a momentary feeling of satisfaction
  • I’ll skip the boring details
  • The thrill has remained dormant
  • that is a weird notion

Dear Mum,

Stationed now in the produce department. I’ll skip the boring details. Central Command wants stickers on all the fresh fruit, and woe to all unlabeled invaders! So I have posed a little puzzle for the stockboys. But it only brought a momentary feeling of satisfaction, until the customers started throwing tomatoes. My manager expects morale to improve now that we’re using the new aprons. The thrill has remained dormant. Hoping for reassignment to frozen foods. Need to make contact with the turncoat liaison, and I’ve heard he’s a cool cat. Insurrection is predicted in the toothpaste aisle. That is a weird notion.

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“Just Climb Over!”

  • k-avatarmoonless
  • collecting
  • snag
  • climb over!

“Just climb over!“

Trudy gave up fumbling with the latch and heaved herself over the gate. She felt her pocket snag, felt her bomber jacket become a trap, stranding her with one knee hooked over the top of the iron barricade and one foot waving uselessly a few inches from the ground where Emily crouched. The dogs were getting closer.

Collecting mushrooms in their familiar woods on a moonless October night, they had discovered, inexplicably, an ancient wrought-iron fence had separated them.

Trudy slipped one arm free of her coat and dropped beside Emily. She reached through the bars to extricate her pocket and heard a low growl.

Which side of the fence were the dogs on?

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It Wasn’t Long Before Bernard Fell Under Suspicion

  • by jenmass
  • punishments
  • suspicion

It wasn’t long before Bernard fell under suspicion. He attended mass with Father Mulcahey on the Sunday in question. He had a criminal past. His boots were found in the garbage can, caked with mud.

Bernard maintained his innocence, claiming the Father was just a good friend from way back. And as for his record, well he’d taken his punishments, paid his fees!

He couldn’t explain the boots though, and was quickly lynched by the angry mob.

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Francine’s Toes Hurt

  1. by jenCharacter – South American cannibal
  2. Setting – submarine
  3. Object – lucky rabbit’s foot
  4. Situation – new shoes today

Francine’s toes hurt. The new “sensible” shoes were worse than her old heels.

Stopping her pacing, Francine leaned against the wall of the submarine passageway and felt the faint vibration. They would be in Caracas soon.

Francine rubbed her lucky rabbit’s foot and thought about what it would be like to be reunited with Stanley after all this time.

The mix-up, last time, had been unbelievable but understandable. Stanley and Ngegue looked exactly the same. Still it was embarrassing to explain to both the Bridge Club and Stanley’s mother that she had mistaken a South American cannibal for her own husband.

No matter. Everything was about to be put right. Ngegue would go back to his tribe, Stanley and Francine would return to the State Department.

Francine wondered, though, whether Stanley would ever live up to Ngegue’s performance in the sack.

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Agent Smedley Raised the Collar of his Trench Coat

  1. k-avatarCharacter – inept hacker
  2. Setting – world’s most inappropriate McDonald’s
  3. Object – nail gun
  4. Situation – midlife crisis

Agent Smedley raised the collar of his trench coat, shot a shifty glance up the hill to see if he was being watched, and ducked into the restaurant. He queued for his ultra-fatty burger and deep-fried potatoes.

The vibrant yellow insignia that had led him here stood in garish contrast to the centuries-old stones of the fortification that housed the establishment. Mere steps from the site of royal decapitations, amid the grand murk of the Tower and its veil of history, lurked a hive of incipient obesity and totem of the very rebellious colonists who repudiated this empire.

Smedley surveyed his fellow diners, alert for anyone else who seemed to be looking for someone. His contact had said, “Meet me at the world’s most inappropriate McDonald’s,” and this had to be the place.

It was Smedley’s turn. He looked at the person awaiting his order, and saw that his piercing gaze was being shrewdly returned. He smiled.

“Deep-fry me a nail gun,” he muttered.

“This job is just part of my midlife crisis,” responded the young man in the polyester hat. He slid a tray across the counter, and Smedley noted an excessively printed order slip. He nodded and took the empty tray to an equally empty table.

He read the slip. He shook his head. Although there was lots of jargon about firewalls and encryption, all the strip of paper really told him was that he’d been outbid for the clock he really liked on eBay.

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