Tagged: song

I Asked the Offensive Waiter

  • by jencutting off the wrong guy’s head
  • a monkey chaser
  • flowers in their hands
  • in which a mustachioed man holds two tomcats
  • I hope they jammed their fingers into him

Tune in next time part 709      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I asked the offensive waiter, “What’s your name?” I needed to know so that later when I complained to the Royal Contrarian Event Planner about his lack of respect, I wouldn’t be cutting off the wrong guy’s head-waiter promotion chances.

“Percival,” he improbably replied.

I twisted the cap off the soda bottle as I committed the name to memory, then I tipped my head back and chugged the whole thing. In my experience, Mountain Dew is always accompanied by a monkey chaser, but Percival hadn’t brought one. As I swallowed and swallowed, my eyes darted around the room in search of something, anything, to counteract the sugary burn. I saw women with flowers in their hands, which were of no use to me. The beverage hit my system hard and I experienced that classic Dew-induced hallucination in which a mustachioed man holds two tomcats above his head. Without a monkey chaser to dull the effects, I was in for a hell of a ride. I cursed Percival’s negligence. With the time-warping powers of the Dew I vowed to make his whole life until this moment a misery. I hope his schoolmates teased him. I hope they jammed their fingers into him and tickled him mercilessly.

The bottle was drained. I tossed it aside and perused the lyrics once again, and it was only as I opened my mouth to sing that I realized this was not Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Major-General’s Song.” It shared the same tune, but the lyrics were all specific to me and my life in the Contrarian military. The words tumbled out.

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“Ahem,” Brady Said Again

  • by jenhere’s the deal, Marnie
  • throwing himself passionately on his knees before her
  • in a way that isn’t platonic
  • with each passing day
  • music upon the air

Tune in next time part 513      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Ahem,” Brady said again. “Nurse Marnie. Ahem.” When she continued to ignore him and pretend to kiss me, he said, “Here’s the deal, Marnie. I need you to stop kissing Dr Thunderboom. We have a meeting.”

“Marnie!” cried Kabbadan Scrim. “Marnie Glockenspiel! I haven’t seen you since you left the Paradiddle Tap Academy!”

Marnie whispered, “Help me. He’s obsessed,” before turning to face Scrim.

The head of the League of Tap Dancers got a rapturous look on his face, and did something that resembled throwing himself passionately on his knees before her, but since his knees didn’t bend he wound up on the floor in a way that isn’t platonic, supporting himself on his hands like a trained seal. Even from behind I could see Marnie cringe.

“I worried more and more with each passing day that you didn’t return to Paradiddle,” Scrim whined. “You and I had something together, something special, something that was like music upon the air, and I knew that you would never simply shuffle-ball-change away from it. Away from us. And now I’ve found you! At long last!” He bellycrawled forward to the edge of the fountain. “What on Earth is that dastardly weathermonger doing to you!”

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My Father Had Been Dead for Years

  • by jenWait, what?
  • “preferably dead,” she added.
  • sang the last line of the song
  • just toast, maybe a boiled egg
  • a great many other pleasant and astonishing devices

Tune in next time part 209                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

My father had been dead for years, but there he was, boarding my brother’s presidential zeppelin. I drained my subpoena and smacked the glass down on the bar, upside down as per Pinkie Swears tradition. My head was swimming. I tried to focus on the image on the tiny phone screen. It couldn’t really be my father, could it?

I realized the bartender was speaking, and had been for some time.

“Wait, what?” I said.

She sighed heavily. “After the sex scandal, we thought we were done with your father. We thought he’d be disgraced, imprisoned,” her eyes darted to the door, “preferably dead,” she added.

“That’s a bit harsh,” I slurred, wishing I had some food to counteract the alcohol. “Everyone involved was a consenting adult. Even Freya.” I hiccuped.

“Jason’s here.” She grabbed me by the front of my shirt and hauled me over the bar where I sprawled on the floor. Out amongst the balloons I heard all the Pinks take up a chorus of For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow. The bartender stood up and sang the last line of the song along with the rest of them.

Staying low, I made my way through the door into the kitchen. I was hoping to find something to eat. Nothing fancy — just toast, maybe a boiled egg. I found neither of those, but I did see a frozen daiquiri machine and a great many other pleasant and astonishing devices.

As I stuck my head under the daiquiri nozzle and opened my mouth, the bartender came through the door. “Now’s our chance to get out of here,” she said, pulling me away from the machine, “while they’re all distracted. We need to get to that zeppelin and stop your father!”

Her breath in my face was even more flammable than my own, and I realized I was tangling with a representative of the Guild of Fire Eaters. I couldn’t let her know that Jemma was just downstairs.

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Although the First Line

  • by Kentleft to sink or swim
  • I abhor the dull routine of existence
  • and other oligarchs
  • prying and adjusting and arranging
  • But my best friend tried to kill me

Tune in next time part 106                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Although the first line sounded a little tentative, and my voice wasn’t properly warmed up, I felt proud of the song I improvised for Myxolemia.

“Seems I’m always left to sink or swim,
by some despotic ruler’s whim.
If sometimes I put up too much resistance,
it’s just because I abhor the dull routine of existence.
My marriage is like swimming with sharks,
making me related to a lunatic and other oligarchs.
The traditional underwear of this place is deranging,
requires too much prying and adjusting and arranging.
I try to be optimistic about what my fate will be.
But my best friend tried to kill me.”

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