Tagged: clothes

The Only Clothes I Had Available

  • by jenwe are famous for our punctuality
  • shoulder-length hair and softer features
  • “I can’t believe people actually buy this.”
  • a lot of celebrities
  • create a new surname entirely

Tune in next time part 645      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The only clothes I had available were the ridiculous tinseled ankle cuffs I’d worn to the wedding, and without a fan to lift the streamers they were not only useless but a tripping hazard. While Dr Ferguson watched with keen interest, I wrapped the relatively pudding-free duvet around myself like a big puffy toga and secured it with a tinsel belt.

“Surprisingly stylish,” Dr Ferguson admitted.

“In my family we are famous for our punctuality and our fashion sense,” I said.

“You look so much like your brother,” she sighed, “Only with shoulder-length hair and softer features.”

Which of my brothers did she mean?

From his seat on the ottoman, Spex held up an empty butterscotch pudding tin. “I can’t believe people actually buy this.” He wrinkled his nose. “Homemade is so much better.”

I tried to tune out his snotty comments and figure out why Dr Ferguson was so familiar. I frequent all the cool websites, so of course I know about a lot of celebrities in the ophthalmological world. She was not one of them.

Hildegard’s father stumbled over, drunk on peanut butter. “What a mouthful it will be to hyphenate Pamplemousse, van der Zhößængrüüpåbergschløssenfußmeister, and your last name. You ought to create a new surname entirely!”

Oh shit. How had I not known that Hildegard was a van der Zhößængrüüpårbergschløssenfußmeister? Had I known from the start she was a van der Zhößængrüüpåbergschløssenfußmeister things would have gone entirely differently.

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A Sharp Rat-A-Tat-Tat

  • by jeniconic metallic wardrobe
  • and last, but not least, Dr Ferguson
  • mermaid-themed birthday parties
  • in many a hipster coffee shop
  • just because you like to destroy

Tune in next time part 643      Click Here for Earlier Installments

A sharp rat-a-tat-tat on the door snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up from the note to see the door swing inward, and Chartreuse Pamplemousse strode into the honeymoon suite. I recognized him as much by his iconic metallic wardrobe as by his trademark goggles. An entourage of ophthalmological sycophants rushed in after him and stood in a semicircle at his side.

“I’m sure you all know my crew,” Chartreuse announced. “Spex, Lenz, Iris, and last, but not least, Dr Ferguson, my protégé.”

The bunch of them looked like the henchmen of some Batman villain who specialized in swindling children at mermaid-themed birthday parties. I’m sure you’ve seen people dressed like them in many a hipster coffee shop, but it was startling to see so many all gathered together on a team.

“Chartreuse!” Hildegard shrieked in delight. She ran to him, arms outstretched, but he deflected her with raised palm.

“Just because you like to destroy your own clothes with butterscotch pudding doesn’t mean I’ll let you destroy mine. Even if we are, apparently, now married.” He turned to me. “And us, too, I take it.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” I said. “None of this was my idea.”

Meanwhile I kept my eye on Dr Ferguson. There was something about her that was incredibly familiar.

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I Glanced Over My Shoulder

  • by jenprizes to promote mingling
  • licentious, creative French culture
  • into a leather diaper
  • she will marry a son of Zeus
  • “Hello, Doctor.”

Tune in next time part 619      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I glanced over my shoulder, hoping to see someone else — anyone else — the old man could be talking about. I saw no one. And before I could make my escape, the two of them descended on me with so much back-slapping and hand-shaking it was as if they were attending a conference where the coordinator was awarding prizes to promote mingling.

I gathered from their excited exclamations that they had mistaken me for someone else, an expert in the licentious, creative French culture they loved so much. Something about my horny necromancer getup gave them that impression, although they kept trying to turn my cape into a leather diaper, despite my numerous protestations.

“Pleasure to meet you, gentlemen,” I said, “But I need to return to my hotel.” The sooner I got away from these randy geezers, the sooner I could track down John.

“Hotel!” cried the marginally older of the two. “I won’t hear of it! Any son of Zeus Pamplemousse who dares to chance our fair Isles of Bumpengrynd will sleep under my roof!”

The other one nudged me in the ribs and whispered loudly, “He wants you to meet his daughter. The prophecy says she will marry a son of Zeus Pamplemousse, and you’re the first to show up. As soon as you blow the lid off this whole thing, he’ll get the two of you in front of the shaman.”

I had, of course, heard of Zeus Pamplemousse. Who hadn’t? And given my current attire it was understandable that people would mistake me for one of his relatives. It was even sort of flattering. But what my life didn’t need was any more complications. I turned to dart away and ran right into a beautiful woman with a familiar face.

“Hello, Doctor,” she said. “Daddy told me you’d be arriving today.” She hooked one elbow with me and one with the oldest old guy. “Shall we head home and discuss the wedding?”

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Before I Could Race After Tessa

  • by jencaptivate and confuse
  • shaped like a yellow submarine
  • suitcase full of raw meat
  • Uncle Gossamer
  • licking her partner’s fingers

Tune in next time part 609      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Before I could race after Tessa, a hand gripped me by the shoulder. A hand with long, elegant fingernails that glowed in the dark. Startled, I whirled around and saw two women dressed to captivate and confuse. The two of them shared a single luminous bikini, shaped like a yellow submarine but colored like a suitcase full of raw meat. In addition to their phosphorescent manicures and swimwear, they each wore a vibrantly glowing green wig.

“Hi,” said the woman on the right. “I’m Uncle Gossamer.”

The woman on the left stopped licking her partner’s fingers long enough to say, “And I’m Uncle Marigold. You’ll need to come with us.”

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“Jessamin’s Twin is Benjamin”

  • by jenpolitical performance art
  • puked up feathers
  • Just be glad you don’t have to wear them.
  • cold, damp, and comfortable
  • complete with all the hot-dog inspired accessories

Tune in next time part 597    Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Jessamin’s twin is Benjamin,” I said. “Where she excels at villainy, he’s obsessed with political performance art. The last piece of his that I saw had him wearing a wad of puked up feathers to represent America’s relationship with the Canary Islands. Before his performance he said to me, ‘Just be glad you don’t have to wear them. They’re cold, damp, and comfortable enough to not cause lasting damage, but just barely.’ I told him nobody was making him wear them, and he told me I was wrong. His muse demanded that he dress that way, complete with all the hot-dog inspired accessories, and the mittens.” I shook my head.

“Why are you telling me about Benjamin?” Tessa asked.

“Wherever Jessamin goes, Benjamin follows. We’ll likely run into both of them and I want you to know what to expect.”

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Poisoned? By Someone Named Joey?

  • by jenwith a twist!
  • morally questionable reality show
  • secretly follows them underwater
  • you look like hell
  • I see where she picked up her fashion sense

Tune in next time part 583    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Poisoned? By someone named Joey? I had assumed — nay hoped! — that Jeff was murdered by his brother Arlo, and that I would be able to send my dickish viscount nemesis to prison forever. I had not expected Jeff’s to be a story with a twist!

Jeff told me about meeting Joey when they were both contestants on a morally questionable reality show called Tontine. In addition to encouraging the cast to try to kill each other, the producers suggested they skinny dip while a camera submarine secretly follows them underwater, filming everything. Now that I knew Arlo was not involved in his death, I really wished Jeff would be quiet, but he would not shut up.

Tessa hurtled us around a final chicane and brought the motorcycle to a screeching halt on the quayside. I leapt from the sidecar, amazed that we had survived our wild ride.

I stumbled into a stevedore who took one look at me and said, “You look like hell.” Tessa joined us and the rude fellow said dismissively, “I see where she picked up her fashion sense. You two look like a couple of horny necromancers.”

“Thank you!” enthused Tessa. She grabbed my hand and dragged me down the pier.

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As We Marched Around the Baron’s Sitting Room

  • by jenmost nudists prefer
  • Don’t bite down.
  • looked like horny necromancers
  • also very picky about scents
  • adorable genius

Tune in next time part 579    Click Here for Earlier Installments

As we marched around the Baron’s sitting room, I became aware that Tessa’s footsteps were tapping out a coded message — one intended just for me. I tapped my own reply, “Oh, Tessa, you adorable genius!”

Her message to me was a warning that she was going to emit a potent knockout gas, and that I ought to hold my breath. In addition to not wanting to be rendered unconscious again, I’m also very picky about scents. Knockout gas invariable smells sickly sweet, and I appreciated the heads-up.

A rapid shuffling of her feet signaled the countdown. I took a deep lungful of air, or as deep as I could manage with her elbows still pressed into my sides. She winked at me, and then jets of compressed gas erupted from both of her ears. One blasted Baron von Dimpleheimer, and the other Brandita. In seconds they had both crumpled to the floor.

Tessa hoisted me and hurried to the kitchen where the air was clear. “We need to change our clothes and get out of here,” she said.

A rope ladder led up to von Dimpleheimer’s bedroom, and there we raided his wardrobe. Let’s just say that his tastes are eccentric. By the time we were dressed we looked like horny necromancers. Tessa shoved a set of diamond-encrusted dentures in my mouth to complete my disguise. “Those will shatter your real teeth if you’re not careful. So, you know. Don’t bite down.”

I felt that our getups were too flashy, that they would attract attention rather than allow us to go unnoticed. As most nudists prefer a lack of clothing, I prefer to keep my disguises simple. I wanted to explain my spycraft philosophy to Tessa, but the damned false teeth made it impossible.

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I Sipped My Martini

  • by jenfinger communicated a nervous quivering
  • a thrill of hatred
  • undoubtedly incredible ceremonial attire
  • kissing my ass ever since
  • I don’t know anything about weather

Tune in next time part 567    Click Here for Earlier Installments

I sipped my martini and kept my eye on the exits, exuding as much swaggering braggadocio as was humanly possible in order to sell my Jason impression. It was going really well. Only my left little finger communicated a nervous quivering to those observant enough to spot it.

Jason slipped out of the bathroom, and a thrill of hatred ran through me at the sight of his ridiculous red wig. He ducked into the elevator to go up to the honeymoon suite and check out the bathroom. Would he first don the aquatic version of Arlo’s undoubtedly incredible ceremonial attire, or just dive in naked?

I noticed that Tessa was dancing her way toward the patio door. Trusting that she would make her own escape and meet me outside, I threw back the rest of my martini and ducked through the fire door.

And ran straight into Brady, whom I’d last seen at the fountain when I’d first arrived on this pirate-infested island.

“There you are!” he said. “Kabbadan Scrim has been kissing my ass ever since you ran off with the nurse and that bear, trying to get me to tell him the secrets of my weather control machine, but you and I both know I failed meteorology. I don’t know anything about weather control!”

“Then you picked the wrong scam, Brady.” I spotted Tessa lurking impatiently near the corner. “Good luck. I really have to go.”

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“There You Are, Arlo”

  • by jenit’s not really hypnosis
  • makes choo-choo noises
  • famous for being stubborn
  • in ill-fitted clothes
  • both sucking on lollipops

Tune in next time part 563    Click Here for Earlier Installments

“There you are, Arlo,” the new arrival said, looking at Jason who was now dressed as me dressed as the Viscount. It was the best man who had earlier given the roasty toast. “That was some bachelor party last night! If you’re lucky, I won’t tell Tessa all the details. But you know what they say, it’s not really hypnosis unless someone makes choo-choo noises when he hears the magic word.” He sneered and said, “Avocado!” while pointing at Jason.

My brother is famous for being stubborn about only making train sounds when they were integral to his raps, and for a moment I thought we might be found out. But with a painful-looking eyeroll he began hooting like a steam engine in ill-fitted clothes and a ridiculous red wig.

The best man guffawed.

Jason might not get an opportunity to check out the honeymoon suite’s bathroom, but that was his problem. As long as he had this guy distracted I could make my getaway. As I ducked through the door the locomotive breathing stopped. I glanced back over my shoulder at the ersatz Viscount and his attendant and saw them both sucking on lollipops.

I shuddered. That was not something I would want to do in a bathroom.

Now all I had to do was steal the bride away from her wedding reception and find a way off this pirate-infested island.

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All This Talk of Limericks

  • by jentantamount to intellectual masturbation
  • big buttery buns
  • it would be embarrassing
  • you experience rapid hair growth
  • in a tartan frock

Tune in next time part 559     Click Here for Earlier Installments

All this talk of limericks reminded me that the woman beside me was not the real Tessa, but merely a robot duplicate. The real Tessa hates limericks. She considers reciting them tantamount to intellectual masturbation. No matter how much the Tessabot looked like the woman I loved, I couldn’t forget the truth. The big buttery buns beneath this wedding costume were not the big buttery buns I pined for, and it would be embarrassing to be so caught up in surface appearances that I forgot that.

I squared my shoulders and cut the “cake.” I closed my eyes and opened my mouth so the Tessabot could feed me a bite. I shuddered. The cake tasted like some foul concoction that would make you experience rapid hair growth in places where you don’t want hair. I was able to spit it into a napkin unchewed, but my tongue was now numb. The Tessabot happily chewed and swallowed her mouthful, more evidence that she was not the woman I loved.

At that moment Jason arrived in a tartan frock, carrying a platter upon which rested a goose, also in a tartan frock.

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