Tagged: food

Mincers and Bustlers Alike

  • by jenroom to enjoy pickles
  • drunk and frisky
  • gathered there in St Mungo’s
  • I kept a toothbrush there
  • wiping the perspiration from his forehead

Tune in next time part 783      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Mincers and bustlers alike were tripping over their feet far more than even the scathing reviews had led me to expect. When I realized where they had just come from, it all made sense. Every Royal Contrarian Airship has a Pickle Chapel (a room to enjoy pickles in), and Contrarian pickles have a very high alcohol content. Spending time with high-octane phallic objects had left the dancers drunk and frisky, and promised to make their next show quite interesting. I wondered why they were gathered there in St Mungo’s Pickle Chapel. It was nowhere near the auditorium.

“Let’s go in,” I said to Tessa. The pickle chapel was one of my favorite places. I spent so much time in St Mungo’s, I kept a toothbrush there. Once Tessa tasted the pickles, she’d forget all about giving me a tattoo.

We dodged around the inebriated dancers and entered the hush of the chapel. The bartender looked exhausted, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with one hand while refilling the pickle barrels with the other.

The sting of vinegar and alcohol in my nostrils made my eyes water. Tessa seized a pickle skewer from the tray on the bar and grinned. “I was looking for something sharp to give your tattoo with!”

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The Last Time I Saw Isolde

  • by jenlantern-jawed hero
  • vinyl purse full of Jell-O
  • brought these two miscreants aboard
  • leprechauns are land-based organisms
  • make him look and sound positively ridiculous and dainty beyond belief

Tune in next time part 735      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The last time I saw Isolde was at Enigma Fortress, right after she’d given birth to a large number of babies. I never did manage to get an accurate count before I had to leave my post to venture into the caves beneath it. If she didn’t know who these children’s father was, they must not be from that magnificent brood we’d somehow created together. But she was right, they were probably mine. I wondered who their mother was.

Isolde sighed in frustration. “Act like the lantern-jawed hero and answer me! Don’t just sit there like a vinyl purse full of Jell-O. Time is of the essence. I didn’t see who brought these two miscreants aboard the zeppelin. I think they might be spies.”

“Spies?” I cried. “That’s ridiculous. They look barely old enough to walk.”

“I’ll just put them in the tub and we’ll see. If they float, then they must be leprechauns, and are therefore spies disguised as babies.”

“Hang on, hang on!” I said. This bathtub was crowded enough already. “First of all, leprechauns are land-based organisms. And second, what if they don’t float? I can’t let you try to drown innocent babies.”

Isolde shook her head and addressed her sister. “Fleur, I can’t believe your husband. His bizarre opinions and all the bubbles make him look and sound positively ridiculous and dainty beyond belief.”

Fleur just chuckled and licked the cheese.

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“We’ll Eat the Cheese Together in the Bath”

  • by jenanother few weeks of gliding
  • starting to look a little naked
  • It was a gorgeous day and the birds were chirping
  • and a middle finger
  • a ninety percent chance of success!

Tune in next time part 733      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We’ll eat the cheese together in the bath, Lady and the Tramp-style,” Fleur declared. “It’ll be messy, but there will be plenty of time to clean up. It will take another few weeks of gliding through the skies before we arrive in Contraria.”

The little bell beside the dumbwaiter dinged. Fleur opened it and pulled out a very runny wedge of creamy, stinky Camembert. She balanced it on the edge of the tub and slipped her robe off. “I’m starting to look a little naked,” she said as she stepped in beside me.

It was a gorgeous day and the birds were chirping in the zeppelin’s aviary, and a middle finger was lifted by fate in my direction. Luckily the bathtubs on Contrarian Royal Airships are quite large. I managed to keep myself in the middle, between the two women, and so far Fleur had not noticed Tessa’s presence. If the THC content of the cheese was high enough and I got Fleur to eat enough of it quickly enough, my plan to protect Tessa stood a ninety percent chance of success!

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I Knew Tessa Could Hold Her Breath

  • by Kentsex involves two people
  • in the middle of the Tate modern
  • all the edibles I can eat
  • jazz appreciation class
  • the elderly cheese inspector

Tune in next time part 732      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I knew Tessa could hold her breath for several minutes, and presumably her cybernetic doppelgangers didn’t need air at all. There was no need to panic provided I talked Fleur out of getting into the tub.

“Darling,” I said with a flutter of my eyelids, “wouldn’t the bed be more suitable? I’ll join you as soon as I’m clean.”

She gave me a cockeyed grin and began to strip. I realized I had miscalculated. For most people, the notion of sex involves two people somewhere cozy and private. But for Fleur, it might involve multiple rugby teams in the middle of the Tate modern. While I spluttered helplessly and continued holding Tessa’s head underwater, Fleur finished undressing and put a toe into the suds.

“Nice and warm,” she cooed.

“Hang on,” I said. “My contract as commander of the comedy garrisons entitles me to all the edibles I can eat. And yet, there are none. I couldn’t share a bath with someone who’s in breach of contract.”

My wife narrowed her eyes at me. “Why didn’t you bring this up sooner? Where do you expect me to get them while we’re in flight?”

“Probably on the bridge,” I said with a smirk. “Oh, also, I need you to get yourself signed up for a jazz appreciation class before you come back. That’s in my contract, too.”

It wasn’t, though, and she knew it. I had overstepped. I held my breath even though mine wasn’t the head below the surface. But she drew her foot back and wrapped herself up in my robe and left the bathroom.

I lifted my hand so Tessa could sit up. She glared at me through the curtain of sudsy water draining from her hair. Then we heard Fleur’s voice, and Tessa ducked back down.

“Actually,” Fleur was saying as she came back into the bathroom, tucking her phone into a pocket of the robe, “seems like the galley has the best hookup for your… contractual fulfillments. Thing is, they have multiple kinds. How are you with fermented dairy? My connection is recommending a Camembert-based infusion. He can’t say how far out of code it is, but assures me it got a passing grade from the elderly cheese inspector.”

“Maybe you should sample it,” I enthused. “Take your time.”

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As Many of You Probably Know

  • by jenOh honey, *yes.*
  • They call me Mr Carousel
  • an almost imperceptible click
  • only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups
  • large enough for a man to pass through

Tune in next time part 687      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As many of you probably know, ice is slippery. What you, like me, may not know is that Contrarian military dress footwear is polished with excretions from icicle slugs. Soles included. I whizzed and twirled across the hockey rink, pinwheeling my arms to keep my balance.

A man in the stands leapt to his feet and yelled, “Oh honey, yes.”

I spun into the wall and grabbed on to prevent myself from taking another slapstick lap. The frost-encrusted fork nearly went flying. My newest fan clambered over the seats and opened a door not far from me. He held out a hockey stick, and I used it as a lifeline to reach him and exit the rink.

“That was some amazing ice action,” he enthused. Then he stuck out his hand for me to shake. “They call me Mr Carousel. I’m a talent scout of the Royal Contrarian Icecapades. I would love to take you to the big leagues, baby.”

I gestured at my uniform. “I already have a job. And a mission.” I saluted him with my frozen cutlery and headed toward the exit. Here on dry land my shoes were only a little bit slippery, nothing I couldn’t handle. I made an almost imperceptible click with each step.

Mr Carousel wasn’t going to let me go so easily, though. “If you sign on with the ‘Capades, I can get you anything you want. You want a vending machine that only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups large enough for a man to pass through once he eats the middle? I can get you a vending machine that only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups large enough for a man to pass through once he eats the middle. You want chilled silverware? I can get it for you, chilled by professionals.”

His offer was tempting, but it would certainly take too long. By the time the lawyers hammered out all the details in the contract Jim and Esmerelda would be beyond help. And yet, I had always dreamt of a career in skates…

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“Just how drunk are you?”

  • by jenthe kind of tipsy where I should want to hug everyone
  • I’ll be using your name
  • filled a room with balloons
  • suspended above that giant cocktail glass
  • “Oh, it *smells* like chocolate, too!”

Tune in next time part 561    Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Just how drunk are you?” I asked my brother.

He lisp-whispered back, “I’m not drunk. I’m the kind of tipsy where I should want to hug everyone, but have you seen these guests? No, thank you!”

“When will you take the stage?” I hoped to be able to make my getaway while he had everyone entranced.

“I won’t be,” he lispered. “Instead, I’ll be using your name, Arlo, to check into the honeymoon suite. The hotel staff filled a room with balloons for the happy couple, all of them inflated with air from the Svenborgian Alps. In the bathroom there is a bathtub shaped like a martini glass, and suspended above that giant cocktail glass is a bubblebath dispenser. It might seem a little weird, because the liquid is brown and looks like chocolate syrup. But it makes you look like you have a great tan.” He grabbed a forkful of my dubious dessert. “Oh, it smells like chocolate, too!”

I was familiar with Svenborgian fauxcocoa and its mildly hallucinogenic properties. If the woman beside me had been the real Tessa, I would have been disappointed not to partake with her. As it was, Jason was welcome to it. As long as as I had an opportunity to escape the island.

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While We Awaited the Arrival of the Dessert Goose

  • by jenlike a bar of soap full of dead ants
  • I’m not particular
  • However, a pirate named
  • but you have a job to do
  • Oh, fork your sister.

Tune in next time part 557     Click Here for Earlier Installments

While we awaited the arrival of the dessert goose and my twin, the pastry chef presented us with something she claimed was our wedding cake. It looked like a bar of soap full of dead ants. I’m not particularly picky when it comes to sweets, but this looked utterly vile.

“What the hell is this?” I whispered to Tessa, eyeing the disgusting trifle.

“Svenborgian tradition dictates a fruitcake be served at weddings,” she whispered back. “However, a pirate named Jorgensen raided the kitchen last week and stole all the raisins.”

“That doesn’t entirely answer my question.”

“It might look a little questionable, but you have a job to do. And that job is cutting this cake with me and eating a bite. You have to act the part of the Viscount so no one gets suspicious. My sister Titania will be on the warpath if she finds out this is all a ruse.”

“Oh, fork your sister.”

“I believe you already did.”

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With Both Jason and the Pumpkin Spice Latte M&Ms

by jenHappy Solstice! During the holiday season we like to choose our stichomancy prompts from festively themed sources. This year we’ve opted for Dickens’s classic A Christmas Carol. We wanted to avoid as many humbugs as possible, so these lines might not be instantly recognizable. But for us that’s part of the fun.

  • Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash!
  • “What, the one as big as me?”
  • pointed from the grave to him, and back again
  • had smelt the goose
  • They were not a handsome family

Tune in next time part 555     Click Here for Earlier Installments

With both Jason and the Pumpkin Spice Latte M&Ms on hand for entertainment, I assumed that Tessa meant we would be dancing to a recording of Metallica. I was wrong. We entered the reception tent to a raucous live metal band. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash!

“We have to dance over beside that amplifier,” Tessa shouted.

“What, the one as big as me?” I shouted back. “Or the one twice as big?”

The band was incredibly loud. On our way past the buffet table I snagged some marshmallows to use as ear plugs. The strobe light began pulsing as we reached our designated dance floor, and Tessa led me to dance the Robot for what seemed like hours.

Finally, the band waved goodnight and sauntered offstage. While the roadies scurried around, packing up the instruments and readying things for the PSLM², dinner service began. As is Svenborgian tradition, a ceremonial grave had been dug beside the buffet table as incentive for the chef to do a good job. As groom it was my job to threaten the poor man with death should the feast be unsatisfactory. He stood there in his toque and apron, holding a platter of roasted fowl, while I pointed from the grave to him, and back again, reciting the ancient verse.

Our ravenous guests had smelt the goose, and gathered around, impatient for me to finish the rite. They were not a handsome family, largely being Arlo’s relatives, and hunger did not do them any favors. I hurried to complete my speech before things got ugly. Or rather, uglier.

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“I’m Plenty Sleep-Deprived”

  • by jenmy French is *shocking*
  • could give you a turnip
  • basically moving garlic juice around my mouth
  • denied that he had any plans to leave his wife
  • short of getting pregnant or deliberately getting in trouble

Tune in next time part 543     Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I’m plenty sleep-deprived,” I said.

Tessa told Jason to hang onto Arlo’s ankle, then faced me and stared into my eyes. She started murmuring in French, and while my French is shockingly bad for someone educated in a boarding school, I was able to follow most of what she said as she adjusted her alpha waves to sync up with mine. It was oddly hypnotic.

Or perhaps actually hypnotic. The next thing I knew, I was awakening from a trance and Tessa was smiling like a cat who could give you a turnip, but has chosen not to. Obviously she had deciphered the secret message in her memory banks. She gave me a wink, and then turned to the viscount who was still writhing in the damp grass.

“Arlo, I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but kissing you is as enjoyable as basically moving garlic juice around my mouth. And I’m allergic to garlic.”

Arlo sniveled, “I can’t believe you’re leaving me for him!” (indicating me). “He’s married, you know, and he has frequently denied that he had any plans to leave his wife!”

“That doesn’t matter,” Tessa said. “Because I’m a robot, and short of getting pregnant or deliberately getting in trouble with the laws of reality some other way, I don’t have to worry about petty human emotions, such as love.”

Even knowing this wasn’t the true Tessa, it hurt to hear her say such things.

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When the Tessabot Showed Me the Black Lingerie

  • by Kentfight the transient river hobos
  • one good, hard jerk
  • friend’s especially thoughtful taco choices
  • get my teeth dirty
  • Mmmm… bean juice.

Tune in next time part 532      Click Here for Earlier Installments

When the Tessabot showed me the black lingerie, the rest of the clue made sense. Her self-destruct mechanism was based on a grenade launcher. But time was running out, to judge by the accelerating beeping noises coming from her.

Henry stood and let the fancy white boot drop from his hands. He stumbled toward the door.

“Hey, we’re not done!” I shouted.

“Sorry!” he cried in reply. “But I’d rather fight the transient river hobos than get blown to bits here with you.” He tripped over the pile of undergarments he’d been trying to steal, then lay there on the floor sobbing in terror.

Tessa’s beeping merged into a single, piercing tone. I sprang up and seized her right arm. Hoping feverishly that my hunch was right about how the launcher was positioned within her, and praying it was a Mark VII model or earlier, I gave her arm one good, hard jerk.

The keening sound stopped, and we were all still there.

“Ow,” Tessa complained. “Are you trying to dislocate my shoulder?”

“Well, yes,” I said, pulling her to her feet. “I’ll make it up to you, once the live explosive device has been removed from your torso.”

We stood there staring into each other’s eyes for a long time. Quite a long time, apparently, because Henry had time to fetch us a celebratory meal. I wondered if the Tessabot was set up for eating as I surveyed my new friend’s especially thoughtful taco choices. I grabbed a hard-shell at random off the tray, ravenous and eager to get my teeth dirty. I chomped, and it leaked down my chin. The Tessabot intercepted the trickle of liquid before it reached my shirt, licking my face clean and murmuring, “Mmmm… bean juice.”

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