Tagged: poop

Mother’s Temper Should Not Have Surprised John

  • by jenI come from the land of plenty
  • the slimy creature refusing to budge
  • Do you not think something’s missing, brother?
  • prioritizing your coital carnival
  • gold-painted, life-size statue of his voluptuous wife

Tune in next time part 715      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Mother’s temper should not have surprised John, and while it is quite frightful, I would expect a seasoned espionage agent like him to have more intestinal fortitude. The sight of my nemesis with a load in his ceremonial jammies ought to make me smile, but instead it made me wary. What exactly had Mother done to him?

Through the escape pod door I heard her say, “I come from the land of Plentylvania, a descendent of the royal line. I can’t believe I’m married to the slimy creature refusing to budge from this escape pod and fix his error.”

Mother a Plentylvanian? The idea was shocking. And yet…

I remembered working on a family tree project with Jason, tracing our line back many generations on Father’s side. Mother’s side was starkly empty. “Do you not think something’s missing brother?” Jason asked. Now it all fell into place. Plentylvania was a small country, completely surrounded by (and always at war with) Svenborgia.

The escape pod door slid open and Mother confronted me. “I couldn’t help but witness your parade of children. It’s clear that you were prioritizing your coital carnival instead of countersurveilling John like you were ordered to do.”

“None of this is my fault,” I insisted. “Get out here, John, and restart the engines.”

“All I ever wanted,” whined John, “was to be the kind of guy who had a gold-painted, life-size statue of his voluptuous wife in his office, and now I’m going to die in a zeppelin.”

“Not if you restart the engines.”

“And stop pissing off your wife,” Mother added.

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I Tried to Psych Myself Up

  • by jenthere will be bubbles
  • adjacent to the boat ramp
  • rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee
  • broadcasting their raw footage
  • (read: your crotch)

Tune in next time part 279                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tried to psych myself up for my upcoming swim in the sewage. “When you stir the shit there will be bubbles,” I muttered. “It’s inevitable.”

Before letting go of my leather strap, I clenched every orifice I had.

I counted to three and released my grip.

I fell about two feet before my heels jarred on a narrow metal catwalk that spanned the mineshaft. My breath gushed out and my feet stung from the impact. At least I wasn’t swimming in shit.

I looked to one end of the catwalk where it seemed to disappear into a tunnel in the wall. I looked the other way and saw a dark-cloaked figure hurrying away from me, Tesla over his shoulder.

I gave chase as quickly as my sore feet would allow. When I reached the wall I encountered steep metal stairs leading down toward the poop smell, and a few flights ahead of me I could make out Tesla’s abductor/rescuer. I followed.

We descended for several minutes, the stench growing with each step. At the bottom I stood on an algae-covered boulder adjacent to the boat ramp where the cloaked figure was lowering Tesla’s unconscious form into a fanciful, swan-shaped pedal boat. That task completed, he stood and rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee. He preened for the security cameras along the ceiling that were broadcasting their raw footage of the raw sewage to who knew where.

The cloaked figure spotted me and said, “Don’t come any closer or I’ll kick you in your tender giblets (read: your crotch).”

As if I didn’t know what tender giblets were.

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A Trapdoor In The Shag

  • by KentWhat passions, what greed, what crimes
  • nods of assent were exchanged
  • lowering myself to the end of my leather strap
  • (although it is not clear whose poop it was)
  • as though by magic

Tune in next time part 278                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

A trapdoor in the shag carpet popped open and a skinny man sprang up into the room. I almost didn’t recognize him without his bathrobe, for he now wore a zebra-striped body stocking.

“What passions, what greed, what crimes against decorum will you not stop at?” he exclaimed. “Human sacrifice I could have countenanced, as it’s for a noble cause, but such language! You’ve blasphemed in the temple! You don’t deserve to carry out the sacrifices!”

Clown faces were turned to face one another. Nods of assent were exchanged. Carla and her tragi-comic compatriot reared, throwing off their ringmasters and rising to their feet. They charged the zebra man and pinned him to the wall.

While the clowns were thus occupied, and before my brothers could recover, I seized Tesla’s wrist and dashed for the trapdoor. “You first,” I told her. She seemed more dazed than ever, making no moves of her own volition, so I guided her into the opening in the floor.

She dropped like a stone, vanishing silently into darkness.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, climbing down and holding onto the edges of the hole as Jupiter and Jove scrambled in my direction and the skinny man moaned disconcertingly. There was no ladder or stairs below the trapdoor, just something like a belt dangling there. I grabbed onto it and slammed the door, sealing out all light from above.

As I descended, my eyes accommodated to the dimness and I could see that if it was a belt I was hanging from it was for someone with at least a 50-foot waistline. Down I went, lowering myself to the end of my leather strap but still nowhere near the bottom. I held on, exerting all my senses for a clue about what to do next. I could see rough stone walls like a mineshaft. I heard dripping water that belonged to stalactites, and distant clicks that belonged to cave crickets. There was a pungent smell, definitely poop (although it is not clear whose poop it was).

There was no sign of Tesla. She had disappeared as though by magic, or as if down a shaft so deep that I hadn’t heard her hit the bottom.

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