Somers Islands
(aka Bermuda)
It’s good to get away sometimes to recharge the batteries, to mark an occasion, to have a Rum Swizzle.
We’re back now, but still sorta on island time. Next week we’ll be back into it for realsies.
Tagged: island
The Isles of Bumpengrynd Were so Small
wasn’t on any contemporary maps- a dismal little oil lamp
- her American counterpart, Dr Roverpants
- through brute force and righteous anger
- every modeling agency, every dance academy
Tune in next time part 591 Click Here for Earlier Installments
The Isles of Bumpengrynd were so small and remote that the capital city, Twerkistan, wasn’t on any contemporary maps you could find on the internet. So of course this desolate rest stop lit only by a dismal little oil lamp was utterly vacant. The Tessabot sighed and plopped down on the primitive toilet. “Why are we even chasing this photographer?” she asked.
“To stop him from selling the pictures he took of us.”
“Why does it even matter? You can deny everything. You have a twin and no one will be able to tell which T-SSA Unit I am.” She went on to tell me about her American counterpart, Dr Roverpants, a Tessabot I had never met. That made at least three of them, and this Tessabot had ridiculous nicknames for the other two. Dr Roverpants, through brute force and righteous anger, took over every modeling agency, every dance academy, and the majority of the escort services in Miami. The one she called Professor Twinkletush was the one I’d seen thrown off a rooftop in Valentine Village.
“How many of you are there?” I asked. “And what do the others call you?”
bonus points for using them in order
I Watched the Boat Sail Away
- a journalist will leap from a bush
- poured out of her mouth like bees
- teeth are pointy
- I know I got high
- just inside the tree line
Tune in next time part 587 Click Here for Earlier Installments
I watched the boat sail away into the setting sun. When I could no longer see it, I turned to study our new surroundings. I am always wary in a new location. My family is notorious, and I am married to the Contrarian Warlord’s daughter. I never know when a journalist will leap from a bush and wave a camera or a microphone in my face. It happens all the time, as I’m sure you’ve noticed in this tale of mine.
The beach was pebbly. Beyond the high-tide line, snow blanketed everything, obscuring the terrain, the greenery, and any lurking journalists. I led Tessa along the shore, searching for any signs of habitation. The first thing we found was a fountain with a statue of a nude woman in the center. Icicles poured out of her mouth like bees from a bursting balloon, and the carved balloon she held above her head was full of stinging insects.
“Wow,” said Tessa. “Her teeth are pointy!” She seemed to miss the significance.
“I know I got higher scores than you on the SAT,” I said, “but surely you recognize Buzzlyncia, the Contrarian goddess of Tabloid Journalism.”
“Are we in Contraria then?” she asked.
Before I could answer I caught sight of movement just inside the tree line, and then the unmistakable whir and click of a high-speed camera shutter. “Cover your face!” I cried. “They’ve found us!”
bonus points for using them in order
Before the Next Wave Crashed
- She was fair-skinned and red-headed
- the other side of the pilings
- working on a furnace
- which is a fun thing
- Mr and Mrs Mint
Tune in next time part 403 Click Here for Earlier Installments
Before the next wave crashed, I clambered to the top of one of the smaller boulders. From there I made my way higher until I was clear of the surf. Hopping like a nimble parkour aficionado, I summited the rock pile and caught my first glimpse of what lay beyond. It was a lagoon ringing a beach of black sand, which in turn ringed the island’s central steep mountain. Sharp dorsal fins cut the choppy water. High above me, the zeppelin my brother had commandeered was being reeled in to the makeshift gangway.
A woman on the beach spotted me. She was fair-skinned and red-headed, like Tessa and all of her sisters. But perhaps her milky complexion was due to the grease paint of a mime. It was hard to tell from this distance. I was wary. The woman walked to a small jetty and untied an outrigger canoe from the other side of the pilings. She shoved it into the shark-infested lagoon, hopped in, and started paddling directly toward me.
When she was 10 feet away from me she stopped. “What the hell are you wearing, Jason?” she asked, dispelling any lingering fears that she was a mime.
I looked down at my bedraggled uniform. The peacock vest had not survived my swim unscathed. Feathers were dripping and drooping everywhere.
“I’ve been working on a furnace,” I lisped.
“All the livelong day,” we said together, which is a fun thing under most circumstances.
She laughed and maneuvered the canoe close to me so I could board. Her prowess with the oars told me that this was most likely Tatiana. In addition to being the sister in Tessa’s family born just after Titania, she was a crew champion at the Academy, and specialized in maritime skullduggery. What she wanted with Jason was anyone’s guess.
As she rowed us back to shore, she said, “Mr and Mrs Mint have been waiting for you.”
My blood ran cold. Myndilynn and Mingus Mint were an infamous pair. Myndilynn was a seemingly sane woman, except for the fact that she was in a relationship with a life-size wooden puppet replica of her late husband Mingus. When the real Mingus was alive, she would sit in his lap and he would pretend to puppet her. After Mingus died under mysterious circumstances, Myndilynn saw no reason to change things. She built a replica of Mingus and still sits in his lap, pretending to be his puppet.
Mimes were bad enough, but those silent bastards in league with the Ventriloquist Syndicate? Unthinkable.
bonus points for using them in order
Before I Could Collect Myself to Congratulate Her
- pack up its ovaries and flee
- pulled out a whimpering dog
- an easy matter, Olga,
- find much more comfortable quarters
- multi-jurisdictional nightmare
Tune in next time part 355 Click Here for Earlier Installments
Before I could collect myself to congratulate her, Svetlana gave another cry and produced another baby. And then a fourth. I was stunned. Any lesser uterus, when faced with quadruplets, would pack up its ovaries and flee. But Svetlana was a contortionist, and so apparently was her womb. At that point I wouldn’t have been surprised if she pulled out a whimpering dog, or another dozen babies, but she seemed to be done. The babies were all robust and plump.
“Four boys,” I stammered.
“I told you they would be remarkable when I tricked you into impregnating me,” Svetlana said. “They must have inherited my contortionist genes, otherwise there’s no way so many of them would have fit.”
Our awkward family moment was interrupted by Heinrich’s arrival. He shouldered past the gawking volleyball players. He had John with him, and Olga, too. I hadn’t seen Svetlana’s youngest sister in years, but here she was, just in time to be an aunt. It occurred to me then that John was my children’s uncle, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
John and Olga stared at their sister and her four newborn sons. Finally Olga said, “You were simply supposed to get a sample of his semen, Svetlana!” She jerked her thumb at me.
“I did!” She nodded at the infants. “How else do you think this happened?”
Olga shook her head sadly. “It’s not his genetic material we need, but the exotic chemical compound surrounding it.”
“You should have been more specific. It would have saved a good deal of discomfort. Now what am I supposed to do with all these babies?” Svetlana asked. “It won’t be an easy matter, Olga, to hide all of us under Heinrich’s shirt.”
John sniffed. “I’m sure we can find much more comfortable quarters for the infants.” He hauled Svetlana to her feet and took the children from her. She twisted and did a complicated backbend maneuver, then stood up straight, all signs of her recent pregnancy eradicated. She kissed each baby on the head and then gracefully coiled herself back into the harness on Heinrich’s chest.
“Hurry up and get a sample from him, Olga,” John said. “Then he can take the babies back to Contraria and we can get off this damn island. Xylona’s waiting at the biplane, and our scientists really need that exotic compound.”
“Wait!” I said. “You want me to take these kids home to my wife? That would be a multi-jurisdictional nightmare!” I was both American and part Indian, Svetlana was both a Contortionist and part Russian, and Fleur was as Contrarian as they come. There was precedent for adoptions such as this, to increase a warlady’s brood, but it required so much paperwork.
Meanwhile, Olga was stripping off her bikini.
The Explosion Occurred at Noon Sharp
mouth turned down- “See ya later.”
- his fondness for her
- nodding in admiration
- all the gasoline on the island
The explosion occurred at noon sharp, and the fire still raged now at midnight. The sky was a smear of orange and black, like the aftermath of a halloween riot. Mason knew all the gasoline on the island had been stored at the airfield, the one still blazing nearly 12 hours after Cassandra lobbed the first incendiary grenade. Mason couldn’t help nodding in admiration of Cassandra’s efficiency, but his fondness for her professionalism did not bleed over into fondness for anything else about her. The woman was ruthless and now Mason and the very rich man he was paid to protect were stranded on the island with her.
He spoke into his walkie-talkie to his employer, safe in the estate’s panic room. “See ya later.” He hoped to be told to stand down, to take cover and wait Cassandra out, but no such order came.
Mouth turned down in a determined frown, Mason checked his weapon and strode into the jungle.
bonus points for using them in reverse order
Arnold Gazed in Dismay
- the vulgar world of newspaperdom
- did not suggest a tightly packed foundation
- my island, my mountain, my land
- whatever portion of the anatomy
- it’ll swallow the house
- roller coasters, whorehouses
- “Oho. Deranged am I?
- don’t like being put in such a position
Arnold gazed in dismay at the stripper. Whatever portion of the anatomy she chose to display, it did not suggest a tightly packed foundation.
“Her ass is so big it’ll swallow the house,” he complained to his pal Ricky.
“I like it,” Ricky replied.
“You’re deranged.”
“Oho. Deranged am I? Well at least I’ll get laid tonight. Nothing pleases you, Arnold. Not roller coasters, whorehouses, or foot massages. This is my island, my mountain, my land, and you’re making me feel like an inadequate host. I don’t like being put in such a position and so I shall banish you back to the vulgar world of newspaperdom from whence you came!”
“Whence?” complained Arnold. “Who uses that word anymore?”
All the Artists
This 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.
Victoria Hesitated
- hesitated
- lights
- lived
- isolated
Victoria hesitated, staring across the water at the flickering lights. It really wasn’t her place to get involved. She knew she should just ignore the phenomenon and hurry home before her parents got worried. But there was something intriguing about the lights out on the isolated island where nobody lived. What would an extra few minutes matter?