Tagged: mustache

Tessa Stood and Held Up the Paper

  • by jenheir to an ancient lineage
  • all just mumbo jumbo
  • (later identified as his Dartmouth classmate)
  • the length of his mustache
  • although his solid chin is clear of any hair

Tune in next time part 835      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa stood and held up the paper she’d pulled from a hidden compartment in the sole of her shoe. She spoke loudly and clearly. “Zeus Pamplemousse claims he is heir to an ancient lineage of lunar rulers, but that’s all just mumbo jumbo cooked up by him and his partner in chicanery and marriage, Blanchisseuse (later identified as his Dartmouth classmate) (in case you were wondering how they met). In reality, Zeus, (and therefore his sons, including Bruce), is heir to nothing. This certificate proves that it is actually my father, Tycho, who is heir to the lunar kingdom! You can tell by the length of his mustache, although his solid chin is clear of any hair. That’s a moon trait!”

This absurd claim was news to me, but it might explain why Zeus had forced marriage upon Tessa. He was trying to legitimize his claim to the lunar throne.

Whether or not it was true, it was an amazing distraction.

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Jorgensen Appraised Tesla and Me

  • by Kentas long as you don’t drink a whole can
  • could have been a small Inuit woman
  • no one had heard from the governor’s secretary
  • Strange night!
  • scattered her clothes

Tune in next time part 270                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jorgensen appraised Tesla and me, standing before him wearing nothing but smeared body paint and random, colorful tatters of exploded balloon animals. He sighed through his mustache, and said to me, “I see she’s scattered her clothes all over you. Well, ‘clothes.’ Hmph.” He formed finger quotes by swiveling his wrists rather than flexing his digits, which just gave me one more reason to detest him.

“What are you doing on my sub?” Tesla asked him.

“This again? It’s not yours anymore, not since the final hand of the tournament, when you folded at dawn. Strange night! The top seeds all fell in the first round. It was unprecedented, so much so that no one cared that no one had heard from the governor’s secretary. It didn’t help that the governor was unable to provide a stable description of her, claiming she could have been a small Inuit woman or a gum-popping blonde in spike heels. Too bad for the governor no one explained to him that those energy drinks are fine as long as you don’t drink a whole can.”

“Fine,” Tesla said. “What are you doing on this sub?”

“Piracy. Ninjacy. Alliance business, but in this case it doesn’t concern you.”

Jorgensen looked me in the eye, his bushy mustache insufficient to conceal the nasty smile on his face.

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“In Any Case, Mr Roosevelt”

  • by jenIn any case, Mr Roosevelt
  • well, that’s one thing
  • relief evident in his expression
  • huge and hairy man clad in
  • a considerable extra expense
  • stroked his luxuriant moustache

“In any case, Mr Roosevelt,” Tammy said as she stroked his luxuriant moustache, “it would be a considerable extra expense.”

The president knew that there was relief evident in his expression. It was so difficult to find an escort willing to engage in a menage a trios with himself and a huge and hairy man clad in lederhosen and glitter.

“Well, that’s one thing I’m prepared to pay extra for, honey.”

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Traveling with Diplomats

  • k-avatarnot always the cleverest
  • pretend to hold the wheel
  • staying at the Austrian embassy
  • I wished to shake her sang-froid
  • the long-legged Englishman
  • the length of his mustache
  • A good scent?

Traveling with diplomats is not always the cleverest way to see the world. The accommodations are usually posh, but infested with spies.

Once, while staying at the Austrian embassy in Australia (or was it the other way around?), I found myself ensnared in unseemly entertainments which led to a course of antibiotics. I’d tailed a sultry espionage agent to the private club in the basement, and although I wished to shake her sang-froid she only wanted to shake her money-maker. Then she’d pretend to hold the wheel of a ship and cry out, “Thar she blows!” each time the long-legged Englishman recrossed his ankles. I think she was impressed by the length of his mustache, and its scent. But was it a good scent?

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Guillermo Whispered

  • surprisingly good British
  • had transformed the fox
  • across the blue waves
  • as always in ritual
  • the tickle of his mustache
  • it’s the city of victims now

Guillermo whispered in my ear, “It’s the city of victims now,” in a surprisingly good British accent. The tickle of his mustache awakened those shuddering desires that once before had transformed the fox into a tiger.

He spoke in gloom, of a distant perished land across the blue waves. But as always in ritual, the weight of feeling is kept askew and doesn’t become a burden.

He touched my shoulder and left me to shudder alone.

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