Tagged: pirate

The Pirate Ship Descended from the Stage Rigging

  • by jenno regrets at all
  • dude must have extremely strong butt muscles
  • all while looking incredibly handsome
  • friends don’t let friends have mullets
  • the phrase “mild sexual shenanigans”

Tune in next time part 815      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The pirate ship descended from the stage rigging, festooned with sock pirates, and I could tell by the smile on Jim’s face that he had no regrets at all about raiding the zeppelin’s laundry when he built the prop.

I risked a glance at Petit Julien, who was still engaged in the mime classic, Bumping Enormous Hotdogs with One’s Derriere. I signaled to Jim, “That dude must have extremely strong butt muscles.”

Jim lit the fuses on the pirate ship’s cannons, recited the next few lines of the play in his southern-fried slavic accent, and signaled that on our cue, Tessa and I should sneak out the side door, all while looking incredibly handsome. I asked him once what his secret was and all he told me, with a wink, was that friends don’t let friends have mullets.

Just as the first sock-cannon boomed, Jim said the phrase “mild sexual shenanigans”, which was our cue. I gripped Tessa’s hand and we darted for the door, with Jim right behind.

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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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Brandita Gathered the Chapstick Tubes

  • by jenHe is a stupid fool
  • copying Mother Nature isn’t always the best approach
  • all he kept was the duffle bag
  • elbows tight against my sides
  • , and the dance begins

Tune in next time part 577    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brandita gathered the chapstick tubes we’d been using during the Baron’s demonstration, and placed them reverently back in their ceremonial box. All the while, the Baron stared at the postcard, crossing and uncrossing his eyes, blinking one and then the other, and otherwise making a great show of squinting officiously. He is a stupid fool, I thought, at least when it comes to codes. Even with so many clues he still could not decipher the message.

Tessa tapped her foot impatiently. “Are we getting off this island, or what?”

Von Dimpleheimer sneered at her. “The man who built you should have realized that copying Mother Nature isn’t always the best approach, but it seems that when god was handing out engineering smarts, all he kept was the duffle bag.”

“Hey!” I said. “There’s no reason to be rude!”

The Baron swiveled his head to me. He arched one bushy eyebrow. “I am not insulting your lovely robot, just the man who made her. All TSS-A Units are adept cryptographers. The feature is supposed to be well-hidden, but is actually easy to access.”

He directed Tessa to stand close in front of me, arms around my waist, elbows tight against my sides. “And now,” he said, “the music starts, and the dance begins, and the TSS-A Unit’s linguistics operations are mine to exploit.” He turned the crank on his victrola. “I’ll have that postcard decoded in no time.”

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I Dearly Wanted to Get Off this Island

  • by jenIt was fine.
  • crude message printed almost illegibly
  • It’s winter 9 months of the year here!
  • not wear a t-rex costume to a wedding
  • with the snake venom outside of your body

Tune in next time part 575    Click Here for Earlier Installments

I dearly wanted to get off this island, but I tried to play it cool with the Baron. Like I didn’t care either way. It was fine. I was fine. We were fine. I was wary of looking too eager before I heard his full proposal.

“I see you are a shrewd man,” Baron von Dimpleheimer said. “And she is a shrewd robot. Allow me to lay out my proposal.” He crossed the room to a refrigerator made from a large, upturned treasure chest. Stuck to the front with a starfish-shaped magnet was a postcard with a crude message printed almost illegibly on the back. He brought the missive to me. On the front was an aerial photo of Enigma Fortress where I was supposed to be stationed. Emblazoned across the snowy landscape were the words “It’s winter 9 months of the year here!” in a jaunty font. I flipped it over to read the chicken scratch on the back.

“Dear Mum,

Today I learnt that in the Paradoxica Mountains it is frownt upon to not wear a t-rex costume to a wedding. I have been arrested by the Royal Contrarian Fashion Police and am being held in this fortress. Please hire a fashionable barrister to argue my case.”

The card was unsigned, but I recognized the terrible handwriting, and it left me with that feeling you get when you are bitten by a clumsy snake and you experience the pain of the fangs, but with the snake venom outside of your body, sizzling on your skin.

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Brackish Bay Being on a Remote Island

  • by jenanother elderly woman
  • recovered his shiny silk hat
  • more gullible than other persons
  • the man you’re about to meet
  • German power ballad

Tune in next time part 573    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brackish Bay being on a remote island, we were nowhere near Denver. We weren’t even anywhere near Denveristan, a Contrarian coastal village. There was no way I would accompany this specter halfway around the world for some unknown errand. Before I could explain that to him, he launched into a German power ballad. The lyrics were badly translated into Svenborgian, but Jeff had a decent voice.

Brandita took a sharp right off the paved road onto a steep goat track. I bounced around in the bathtub-sidecar like popcorn in the popper, collecting a good many bruises. Over Jeff’s warbling I heard Brandita speak.

“The man you’re about to meet is more gullible than other persons generally are, but not as gullible as we might wish he were. Let me do the talking.”

She swerved around a large gorse bush and braked to sudden stop. I peeled myself up off the bottom of the tub and clambered out in time to offer my hand to help Tessa dismount.

“I’m afraid I can’t join you,” Jeff said. “The paperwork to expand my haunting grounds beyond this bathtub hasn’t been approved yet.” He recovered his shiny silk hat from the drain hole and fitted it atop his shiny bald head. “When you get back we’ll talk more about Denver.”

Brandita led the way through a patch of overgrown shrubbery to a gate guarded by an old woman with a metal peg leg and a nasty sneer. She nodded to Brandita and stepped aside. Further down the path we met another elderly woman, this one with scimitar where her right hand should be.

I wondered what was up with all the retired pirates, and stuck close to Brandita.

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Ignoring the Struggling Bear

  • by jenfamously hard to train
  • But this technique you’re practicing
  • impaled his foot
  • mascara stains
  • an expired clown license

Tune in next time part 515      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Ignoring the struggling bear, and Nurse Marnie as well, Brady said to Scrim, “As you know, storm clouds are famously hard to train, but Dr Thunderboom has devised a technique. Isn’t that right, Dr Thunderboom?”

I nodded solemnly, watching Marnie and her ursine companion from the corner of my eye.

Scrim approached the fountain. “I’ve done a lot of research into weather control, and I’ve always been disappointed. But this technique you’re practicing, Thunderboom, this training regimen — you say it really works?”

“Absolutely.”

Scrim stared, wide-eyed with wonder. Behind him, Brady gestured for me to elaborate. I didn’t see the point. Scrim had already bought my story, his eagerness to control the weather eclipsing his skepticism.

I pointed to the clear blue sky. “It was supposed to rain today, but you can see my results for yourself.”

Brady rushed forward to deliver his planned interruption, but in his haste impaled his foot on a salmon bone from the bear’s earlier meal. He shrieked in pain, which certainly derailed any further talk of weather control devices. Blood spurted from his injury, and mascara stains streaked his cheeks as he began to cry.

Marnie took advantage of the distraction to hoist the bear out of the fountain. She hopped onto his back like a bareback rider at the circus, and he carried her away into the garden at a fast waddle.

The yowls still coming from Brady were ear-splitting. I leapt out of the fountain and went to see about shutting him up. I grasped the fishbone and tugged it out, then wrapped my soggy mountaineering shirt around the wound as a bandage. Brady whimpered.

“You impress me, Thunderboom,” Scrim said. “What are you doing working for a clown like Brady? You should join me and the Tap Dancers if you want a taste of real power.”

“A clown like Brady?” I scoffed. “I guess you hadn’t heard, but the only clown license Brady has is an expired clown license. He traded his greasepaint for that tattoo on his chest when he joined up with Jorgensen’s pirate crew.”

Kabbadan Scrim gasped.

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Jorgensen’s Mustache

  • by jenthe most fearful and astonishing grimaces
  • slithers with shadows
  • a silk ropeladder
  • confirmed the man was intoxicated
  • visiting me nightly

Tune in next time part 271                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jorgensen’s mustache often framed the most fearful and astonishing grimaces, but his smile was somehow worse. It was the sort of smile that slithers with shadows and menace, and it belonged to the sort of man who carried a silk ropeladder with him at all times.

The mustache twitched, revealing even more teeth. The size of the grin, the balloon parrot on his shoulder, and the eye-watering fumes coming from his mouth confirmed the man was intoxicated. Or — a terrible thought occurred to me — perhaps he was using his Pirate-Ninja Alliance affiliation as cover for a membership in the Guild of Fire Eaters. I had heard murmurings about a mime/fire eater treaty. Given Jorgensen’s predilection for employing mimes…

I shuddered. Visions of that monstrous confederation will be visiting me nightly.

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“Tell Me What You Know About Jupiter and Jove.”

  • by jenso it tastes like sugar
  • “Hiiiiiiii,” she simpered
  • between the hurrying feet
  • among the sartorially dyslexic
  • good-natured patience and gentle eye-rolling

Tune in next time part 269                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Tell me what you know about Jupiter and Jove,” I whispered urgently. As far as I knew, my brothers had never made it off the island.

Tesla kissed me, then said, “Think about lollipops and cotton candy then ask again, so it tastes like sugar.” Meanwhile she squirmed her way down into the sea of balloon animals, pressing herself against me.

Above us a series of sharp bangs signaled the popping of the floating rubber penguins. The shriveled remains fluttered down around us. Tesla ignored them and continued her gyrations.

“Tesla!” a voice from the hatch barked. It was Captain Jorgensen.

Tesla smiled at me and looked upwards. “Hiiiiiiii,” she simpered.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“I’m interrogating the prisoner.” She giggled and slithered down until her head was hidden under the inflatable menagerie.

I have been subjected to many forms of interrogation, and this was by far my favorite. But between the hurrying feet and the muffled shouting going on over our heads, I gathered that Jorgensen did not approve. The open hatchway filled with the white faces of many mimes, each with a blowgun. They rained darts down upon us, popping all of the balloon animals. Luckily for us their aim was poor and we had plenty of time to finish our interrogation session before we were fully exposed. Tesla’s painted-on clothing had smeared all over my body, leaving us looking like royalty among the sartorially dyslexic.

A rope ladder unfurled down into the chamber where we stood. While we waited for Jorgensen to descend, Tesla displayed much good-natured patience and gentle eye-rolling.

Soon enough the pirate captain stood before us, a balloon parrot on his shoulder.

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I Came To with a Wicked Headache

  • by jenmake sure to never do it with a singer
  • son of a diplomat
  • I want to have grown-up love
  • “Dinner is ready!”
  • the air of a disconcerted pickpocket

Tune in next time part 265                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I came to with a wicked headache. My surroundings were so unexpected that for a long while I wasn’t sure I was actually awake. I could still hear the whooshing chug of the submarine’s engine, but it was nearly masked by calliope music. I was up to my neck in balloon animals.

If you ever engage in spycraft, make sure to never do it with a singer, or dancer, or any other sort of entertainer. But especially don’t do it with a mime. They’re ruthless and unpredictable.

Tesla sat cross-legged atop the balloon animal quagmire I was trapped in, made nearly weightless by her near-mystical mastery of mime technique. Her face was covered with a thick layer of white grease paint, with her eyes outlined in black and a red heart drawn around her lips. Her stripey mime leotard was merely body paint, with a skull and crossbones over each nipple and a treasure chest full of doubloons between her legs. A tricorn hat sat atop her head at a jaunty angle.

“I see you’re finally awake, you landlubber,” she said. Appearances aside, she was apparently more pirate than mime. “Yarr! You’ll be answering my questions now, you scurvy son of a diplomat.”

My father had been called many things, but “diplomat” was not one of them.

“It’s been a long time, Tesla,” I said. She unfolded her legs and moved closer to me, and I became aware that I was naked underneath all the balloon animals.

“I’m supposed to interrogate you,” she whispered, leaning in close. “But that’s so tedious, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.”

She reached down through the layers of inflated, colorful creatures until she found my own inflated, colorful creature. “I want to have grown-up love,” she cooed. “And Tessa told me years ago that you’re very good at it.”

The balloons squealed against each other.

Suddenly a hatch in the ceiling banged open and William Sausage looked down through the opening. “Dinner is ready!” he bellowed in his reedy voice. And then he just stared at us, openmouthed, with the air of a disconcerted pickpocket.

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Who Else Might Be Aboard the Submarine I was Now Trapped On?

  • by jenduring a very, very warm summer
  • “Do you have handcuffs on?”
  • once more enjoyed a little quiet laugh
  • Accidents, sir, happen
  • and redesigned suits

Tune in next time part 263                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Who else might be aboard the submarine I was now trapped on? Did I dare make my presence known? Jason’s allegiances were impossible to know, and Tesla had been underground for so long there was no way of telling where her loyalties lay. If only I could identify the man with the reedy voice I might be able to judge my level of peril.

I kept myself concealed and continued to eavesdrop, but the noise of the submarine made that second task much harder. After about ten minutes, Tesla and Reedy Voice left the control room and strode down the corridor I was hiding in. I crouched quickly as they passed, but managed to get a pretty good look at them.

Their chalky faces and redesigned suits, so stripy and nautical, struck fear into my guts. These two must be representatives of the long-rumored Pirate-Mime Brotherhood. No wonder Reedy Voice’s voice sounded so odd — he was unaccustomed to speaking. But how on Earth did Tesla get mixed up with such a dangerous crowd? Accidents, sir, happen, I reminded myself. But that answer seemed insufficient. And then I remembered that Yves and Lionel, her philandering husbands, had been mimes. Quite good ones. I once more enjoyed a little quiet laugh as I recalled Lionel’s unique take on “trapped in a glass litter box.”

Was Tesla’s presence in this heretical fraternity of evil meant as a slap in the face to her exes?

Suddenly Jason bounded into the corridor and snagged me by the collar. It seems my little quiet laugh wasn’t little or quiet enough.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Do you have handcuffs on?”

I did indeed, but since the chain was broken they hardly slowed me down.

Once during a very, very warm summer at the White House, Mother had pitted Jason and me against each other in daily wrestling matches. This was a lot like that.

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