Tagged: tagteam

Over 900!!! aka I Recognized the Colloquillian Ambassador

In honor of this milestone, we pulled our stichomancy ingredients from cat-related sources. Why cats? Because cats have nine lives, and this is number nine-hundred in the chain story. Also, we happen to like kitty cats, despite having puppy dogs as assistants. They like cats too. Lady Marzipan in particular loooves them so much that she gets too excited and the kitties get too scared. So she’s really never actually gotten to meet one. It’s tragic, really.

Anyway, enjoy this team-up installment constructed with snippets from the official site of the Cat Fanciers Association as well as an assortment of Wikipedia entries purr-taining to all things feline.

As usual, Jen goes first and only relinquishes her grip on the keyboard once the first prompt phrase has been incorporated. Then Kent takes his turn, and so on, alternating until the deed is done.

  • the same as 15 years ago, but in a different order
  • baffles everyone
  • pretty heavy for a youngster to pick up and carry around
  • has a malevolent attitude toward Stuart
  • earned the right to bear a name
  • inflicting harm on his roommates for perceived injustices
  • who ran for mayor
  • regularly post photos of him climbing into rental cars
  • napping in unusual places
  • notorious for being an expert night cat burglar

Tune in next time parts 899 & 900      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I recognized the Colloquillian ambassador from a scandal more than a decade ago. To save face, he’d changed his name, but he hadn’t done a very good job of it. All the letters were the same as 15 years ago, but in a different order. The details of the scandal make even less sense, a story that baffles everyone while actually scandalizing very few. I hoped the ambassador didn’t have any children, though, because speaking from experience, any sort of scandal involving one’s parent is pretty heavy for a youngster to pick up and carry around in their mind.

Fleur stepped back to my side and helped me get the chaos inside my clothes under control. While stabilizing the final few persistent bells and whistles, she covertly whispered to me, “Our intelligence reports that the ambassador has a malevolent attitude toward Stuart, so don’t bring him up. Whoever he is.”

According to my Colloquillian former lover (the one who taught me what I know of the language), her countrymen had very, very strong opinions about how a person earned the right to bear a name as grand and revered as Stuart. One of their folk heroes was the main figure in a legend about a lonely plumber inflicting harm on his roommates for perceived injustices, which was how he earned that right. The only other man deemed worthy of the Stuart sobriquet was my lover’s brother, who ran for mayor of the capital and was elected at age 14. His term in office was defined by scandals of his own, as the press would regularly post photos of him climbing into rental cars when the whole populace knew he wasn’t old enough to drive.

Both Stuarts were known for napping in unusual places, but it wasn’t clear to me if that was a requirement of the “job” or a perk. A final detail popped up from deep in my memory, that one of the Stuarts was notorious for being an expert night cat burglar. But which one?

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I Caught a Glimpse of Titania and BimBam

Happy New Years! To welcome 2024, we’ll be combining forces for our writing prompt again this week. To make things seasonally appropriate, we pulled the prompt phrases from Dave Barry’s 2023 Year in Review. Just like last time, Jen goes first. We’ll alternate until Kent uses the final phrase, and the results will be beautiful to behold.

  • styling his hair with a defective Roomba
  • — we’ll call them Bill and Jane —
  • the situation is hopeless
  • with a heavy heart and an upset stomach
  • bored with balloons
  • narcissistic gasbags
  • like a cheap lawn chair at a sumo wrestler picnic
  • threat unlike any we have ever faced before
  • a sea urchin in his underdrawers
  • looks like he got kicked out of the James Bond Villain Academy for being too evil

Tune in next time part 865 & 866      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I caught a glimpse of Titania and BimBam through the gap between the front and back of the horse costume. In his passion, BimBam was so disheveled he looked like he’d taken to styling his hair with a defective Roomba. Of Titania I really could only see her feet — we’ll call them Bill and Jane — but that was enough to show me that she too was intensely committed to the moment.

I kept inching backwards, but Small Dennis resisted, making me think the situation is hopeless. What I’d seen of the clowns made me think I might be sick. It was with a heavy heart and an upset stomach that I ceased my attempted retreat lest the costume fall apart.

The grease-painted duo abruptly started making a noise that sounded like what happens when someone becomes bored with balloons just floating there on their strings, and starts rubbing them together. Or, in this case, when narcissistic gasbags rub against each other.

My back was getting tired from supporting Big Dennis. If I stood here much longer, I would probably collapse like a cheap lawn chair at a sumo wrestler picnic. But before that calamity could occur, Small Dennis and I became aware of a threat unlike any we have ever faced before. It was horrifying. BimBam started a striptease, but not the sultry striptease of a man with lust in his heart. This was the frenetic, flailing striptease of a clown with a sea urchin in his underdrawers. BimBam soon wore nothing but the scowl of a clown who looks like he got kicked out of the James Bond Villain Academy for being too evil.

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BimBam Tickles

Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Boxing Day!

This year we’re continuing our tradition of marking the major December holiday with a tag-team writing prompt, using snippets drawn from a seasonally appropriate source. This year’s festive trove comes from the Wikipedia page about Krampus, everyone’s favorite child-eating Christmas monster. As per usual with these unusual events, Jen will start us off. Once she’s incorporated the first ingredient, she’ll turn over control of the keyboard to Kent, and so on until all ten(!) elements have been wrapped up.

  • gifts such as oranges
  • He is hairy
  • His long, pointed tongue
  • thrashes the chains for dramatic effect
  • wearing animal furs
  • It is customary to offer schnapps
  • (mostly with broken bones)
  • pursuing buxom women
  • one winter occasion
  • sometimes accompanied with bells

Tune in next time part 863 & 864      Click Here for Earlier Installments

BimBam Tickles, the Iron Clown of Svenborgia, was still in a philosophical mood. I heard him ask Titania, “Do you find it more amusing or cruel that we are stealing bananas for all the young clownlings at the compound, when gifts such as oranges are much easier for their small hands to juggle?”

“Things worth doing are never easy,” the Crystal Clown replied. I could hear the weariness in her voice. “I can’t believe it’s taking you this long to get him ready. He is hairy, but you must have learned how to deal with that long ago.”

“I’m having a spot of trouble with the smile. His long, pointed tongue is hanging out and keeps getting in the way.”

Oh crap, I thought. That would reveal to Titania that it wasn’t me!

“Oh,” she said. “Hmm. I do recall there being something weird about his tongue, now that you mention it…” She trailed off wistfully. “It’s not quite as exhilarating as when I have a man helpless and he thrashes the chains for dramatic effect, but it’s a nice kind of weird I can assure you.”

There followed more sounds of greasepaint being slathered on skin. “This guy is really, really hairy. It’s like he’s wearing animal furs under all these clothes!”

“Oh, that I remember clearly.”

Titania sounded a little disgusted, but I focused on the amazing luck I’d had in subduing someone who could actually pass for me. At least until BimBam’s intrusive clownification ministrations woke him up. It is customary to offer schnapps to people found lurking in one’s basement, at least in Svenborgia. I had no idea what beverage would be paired with such a discovery made in one’s horse costume.

BimBam stifled a giggle and said, “I’m nearly done, and if I do say so myself, he looks exactly like the sort of unconscious clown who would be part of your entourage.”

Titania did not appreciate his tone. She swore at him in the language of clowns (which I understand just enough of), and threatened him terrifyingly with many sorts of bodily harm (mostly with broken bones).

She calmed down enough to sum it all up. “He looks demented, yes, and one could picture him pursuing buxom women. But apart from that he falls well short of my standards!”

“I recall,” BimBam said in a clown’s squeaky approximation of a sultry voice, “one winter occasion when your standards were, perhaps, not so high. I recall it quite fondly.”

They cooed and grunted more sweet nothings, leading to a moment when I was terrified that BimBam would join Titania in the saddle. Fortunately, she dismounted instead. I wasn’t able to see what ensued, but I could hear plenty of clownishly sexy noises (sometimes accompanied with bells). I began a slow retreat, trying to coax Small Dennis along with me.

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“I’ve Never Even Met Uranus”

It’s our chain story’s octocentennial! In keeping with tradition, Jen and Kent will write this entry together. Also traditional is our use of a unique source for our prompt phrases. This time we pulled them from the Wikipedia entry for Runic Magic, in honor of our pen name. Jen goes first, writing until she incorporates the first prompt phrase. Then it’s Kent’s turn. Lather, rinse, repeat.

  • shaken and thrown down like dice
  • including nine symbols
  • cut off a branch from a nut-bearing tree
  • The same curse
  • his own original method
  • ale served by the host’s wife
  • apparently meaningless utterances
  • This act of singing
  • marked on one’s fingernails
  • has a certain sound to it

Tune in next time part 799 & 800      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I’ve never even met Uranus Pamplemousse,” I said. “He has no influence over me, evil or otherwise.”

“That’s not what Rosenkrantz said,” Tallboy said, nodding at the dude on the other sofa, who, due to his ongoing polarization, looked like he’d been shaken and thrown down like dice. “He knows all about your ‘secret’ clubhouse, and he saw the note on the whiteboard. You know, the one including nine symbols, as in nine planets! He saw how you and Uranus were connected.”

Was Jason somehow in league with Uranus Pamplemousse? Or had this guy’s ancestors neglected to “cut off a branch from a nut-bearing tree” as my Uncle Jinx used to say. Maybe his family was afflicted by hereditary stupidity. The same curse was said to have hung over my father’s line, until it was replaced by a different curse when he met Mother. It would certainly take a monumental amount of stupidity to align oneself with Uranus, but if any of my brothers would do it, it was Jason. He always had his own original method for making things worse. Like the time he performed at a mansion and threw up in the pool after drinking far too much of the ale served by the host’s wife (aka, the bride).

Rosenkrantz tried to say something, but the polarization made whatever it was into a series of apparently meaningless utterances. We all waited quietly while he tried again, and then again, but still none of it made any sense. On his next attempt, Rosenkrantz varied the pitch of his voice. This act of singing seemed to allow his meaning to come through.

The gist of it was, “Help!”

“Can’t you stop that crazy contraption now?” Talldude said. “I told you the message.”

I shrugged. Tessa pouted a little, but turned the polarization down to the lowest level. Rosenkrantz slowly took on his usual shape, all except for his fingertips. Once one has been severely polarized, it is marked on one’s fingernails forever.

“Now what?” Rosenkrantz warbled. Another side-effect of polarization is that one’s voice has a certain sound to it. Tessa and I were both trying not to laugh, and even his tall friend was smirking at him.

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Was Mother Really Marrying This Man

Time is broken. Somehow the adorable little chain story we brought home from the hospital what feels like merely a few months ago is now a moody 700-part teenager! Loyal readers know how we approach these centenary increments: Jen and Kent share the keyboard and alternate the prompt phrases. Also, instead of our awesome writing prompt generator (which you should really check out), we choose all of the prompt phrases from a single source.

To celebrate this chain-a-versary, Jen bought a Tesla.* So it only seems appropriate to coordinate everything by pulling our prompts from “The Inventions, Researches and Writings of Nikola Tesla.” Jen pulled the phrases, Kent randomized them, and voila!

* Jen got the Tesla because she needed a new car. She ordered it back in December. It’s just a fun coincidence that it arrived in time for the platinum jubilee.

  • that fascinating little book
  • the lowest organism we know
  • convey the vibration through my body
  • touch the keys of an instrument with unerring precision
  • I take in my hand a simple
  • changed the destiny of nations
  • A single ray of light from a distant star falling upon the eye of a tyrant
  • confined to the neighborhood
  • an expensive vacuum pump
  • might meet the fate of St Polycarpus

Tune in next time part 699 & 700      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Was Mother really marrying this man in the beaked mask, or was this merely another of her espionage exploits? I’d found her diary when I was a child and the stories in that fascinating little book were quite alarming to read. Of course they’d been written in code, a code I was quite proud to crack at the time, but one which I suddenly realized must have been meant for me to break. She’d placed a hint about the key right inside the front cover: “to read this book, think like the lowest organism we know.” Naturally I knew who she meant by that. Bookworms had no eyes. They sensed their surroundings through vibrations. That meant that in addition to reading the words on the page, I had to run my fingernail across the indentations her pen had made in the paper, like a stylus on a stereo, to convey the vibration through my body. My keenly trained mind would combine the two sources of input into a single coherent message. Just as a concert pianist is able to touch the keys of an instrument with unerring precision, even as a child I could read such codes with ease. In order to prepare myself I thought, “I take in my hand a simple nail file and with it sharpen the nail on the pinkie of the opposite hand.” And by this humble means I unlocked secrets that had changed the destiny of nations. A single ray of light from a distant star falling upon the eye of a tyrant, where that ray of light’s name was Zsa Zsa and that tyrant was her first mark, was merely the first of many lurid tales in that cursed manuscript. Her diary made it seem that all of Zsa Zsa’s secrets were romantic, if only in a visceral, unsentimental way, and that the partners in her assignations were confined to the neighborhoods of politics and espionage. By the time I was done reading (and vibrationally interpreting), I felt like I wanted an expensive vacuum pump to suck all the images from my brain. And I wanted to believe that Mother’s disturbing little book might meet the fate of St Polycarpus, to protect future readers. But the tales were so sordid I felt sure the very ashes of the diary would retain the power to convey them. I shuddered at the memory.

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