Tagged: tune in next time

I Was Not Alone With My Wife For Long

  • by jentongue was similarly decorated
  • just an hour and a half later
  • lifelong search for love and affection
  • wrapped in many layers of oiled sailcloth
  • The result is awesomeness.

Tune in next time part 319      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was not alone with my wife for long. As soon as the prickish viscount left the birthing chamber, with John on his heel, Fleur picked up a bell from her nightstand and rang it. Immediately, a stream of courtiers flooded in, each with their own ritualistic function. While an old woman waved incense around, and a trio of pubescent girls chanted something in Olde Contrarian, Fleur received a foot massage, and I was dressed in a morning suit, complete with boutonniere and cane.

The incense woman blindfolded the chanting girls, and then Fleur disrobed. The warlord’s personal calligrapher got to work with his needle, tattooing the ancient royal symbols in gold on her tongue. Next my tongue was similarly decorated, which I was assured was a great honor, but it was one I would have been just as happy to skip because holy hell it hurt.

And then, just an hour and a half later, the children were born, one right after the other. The first was a girl, which brought back all of my fears about being martyred as the prophecy foretold, but the second child was a boy which put my mind at ease. Until Fleur chuckled deviously and said she couldn’t wait to give them siblings.

I had never thought that I wanted children, but my lifelong search for love and affection came to a sudden halt when the midwife handed over the infants. They were wrapped in many layers of oiled sailcloth per Contrarian tradition.

“We have always done it that way,” Fleur said. She gestured to herself. “The result is awesomeness.”

“What are their names?” I asked.

Fleur laughed heartily. “Silly man! We won’t know that until the naming rituals are complete, which can’t happen until I’m halfway through my next pregnancy!”

“But then how does the youngest child in a family ever get named?”

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You Needn’t Fuss

  • by KentThe Mayor is a drama queen.
  • Permit me, Sir, to shake it.
  • began rubbing his companion’s face violently
  • very much a nickname person
  • each one must be no more than three minutes eighteen seconds

Tune in next time part 320      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“You needn’t fuss over such details, and anyway with your slate of siblings you shouldn’t be lecturing anybody else about naming children.”

“Do you think I named them?” I laughed. “Mother took the names from the door of an old gym locker that she found in City Hall back where she and Father got married. It had been a keepsake of the Mayor’s, and he’s still furious that she stole it. The Mayor is a drama queen. He stole it from the gym in the first place.”

“This is my skeptical head,” Fleur replied. “Permit me, Sir, to shake it. If you got the story from your parents, then I know it’s untrue.”

By now the newborns in my arms were stirring, the boy even managing to free one tiny arm from the sailcloth swaddling. I hugged them to me, bringing them closer to each other as well, and my infant son began rubbing his companion’s face violently. It made her cry, so I shifted them apart again, admonishing, “Hey now, Bruiser, behave yourself.”

“Please refrain from addressing the Duke in that manner,” Fleur huffed.

“Aw, L’il Stinkpot likes it, doncha? I was worried about you not having a name, but I’ve just realized, Lumpy, that your are very much a nickname person. You shall have the most and best nicknames in all the land!” I nuzzled my daughter’s cheek. “Except for you, of course, dearest Dimple-Dumpling.”

“That’s Duchess Dimple-Dumpling, if you please.” Fleur snapped her fingers and the incense lady scurried to her side. “Remind me again about the full titles of the Duke and Duchess. This is a precessional year with a caul over the ninth moon, so that means we add a quatrain, I think?”

“It is just as you say, your highness. But because you have a sister, all the intermediary holdings are denoted in birdsong. There is actually a lot more leeway about these titles than you might expect, except that, when sung by the vice-chancellor of the exchequer, each one must be no more than three minutes eighteen seconds.”

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Fleur Rang Her Little Bell Again

  • by jenhe sang as loud as he could
  • tolerably well off for a German professor
  • And not in the way he’s usually feeling it.
  • you do a victory dance
  • circuit breakers?

Tune in next time part 321      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur rang her little bell again, and the vice-chancellor of the exchequer joined us in the birthing chamber. I held the children and made faces to amuse them while he, Fleur, and the old incense woman consulted many hefty tomes and divined their official titles. When all was in order, the Royal Contrarian Radio Service members were brought in. The vice-chancellor took the microphone and sang-announced the royal births to the world in ritualistic Contrarian fashion. Contrarian microphones are notoriously terrible, so he sang as loud as he could. My son’s title clocked in at three minutes on the dot, while all the feminine suffixes of my daughter’s added an additional eighteen seconds, and took up the entirety of the allowed time.

With that bit of official nonsense out of the way, I thought I might finally enjoy some time alone with my little family. I was wrong. Fleur’s beautiful sister Isolde raced into the room, afire with manic glee. Now that the babies had arrived, she was permitted to marry Harry, a toadlike Contrarian noble. I had no idea what she saw in him. As I already mentioned, Harry was ugly, and while he might be considered tolerably well off for a German professor, as royalty went he was the bottom of the barrel.

“I’ve been waiting so long to marry my sweet prince!” Isolde sighed. “We can wait no longer. The wedding will be in half an hour!”

“Harry is not a prince,” Fleur corrected. “He’s a junior-baronet, but since you love him so, I grant permission for you to wed upon my ship.”

Isolde squealed. “You are the best sister!”

“Where is Harry?” Fleur asked. “I must perform the anointing ritual.”

“He went ashore,” Isolde said. “He’s feeling seasick. And not in the way he’s usually feeling it.” She winked at her sister. “If you know what I mean.”

“So it’s to be a proxy wedding?” Fleur asked, sounding bored. “You have the ceremony with a stand-in groom, you do a victory dance together as per tradition, and then you take him to your bedchamber and see if you can blow out all the circuit breakers?”

“Precisely.”

Fleur said, “My husband seems to be already dressed for the occasion, more or less.”

“Wait,” I said, clasping my infant children to my chest. “What?” I had always found Fleur’s sister attractive, and it seemed I might suddenly be given permission to bed her.

“Thank you!” Isolde cried, hugging her sister. “I can’t wait to be married to my darling Harry!”

The old incense woman took the babies, and Fleur splashed a bit of ceremonial wine on my temples, inner wrists, and genitals. “For the next 24 hours you are Junior-Baronet Harry,” she pronounced. “Go and wed my sister, Harry.”

“Oh, Harry!” Isolde cried, taking my hand. “I’m so happy!”

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As Isolde Led Me

  • by Kentand that’s all I’ve ever known
  • last night after dinner
  • Despite months of rehearsal
  • where I will inflate my balloon
  • the engineer and the artist

Tune in next time part 322      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As Isolde led me the length of the vessel to reach the chapel, I wondered what had become of my aunt Xylona. She must have evaded capture somehow, otherwise Fleur or one of her odious retainers would have gloated over it.

Naturally, Fleur’s aircraft carrier had a wedding chapel, standard Contrarian naval specification. It was a cramped chamber above the engine room, adorned with bird skeletons (the traditional Contrarian symbol of marriage). It also had a turntable, which the chaplain switched on when we came in. It started playing the bouncy, atonal music dictated for proxy weddings at sea, which happened to be performed by the band that’s all I’ve ever known of Contrarian experimental jazz.

Isolde steered me to the lectern and told the chaplain, “Harry and I almost eloped last night after dinner, but now we can do things properly. The way we’ve been rehearsing them for the past nine months!”

Despite months of rehearsal, neither Isolde or the chaplain knew their parts. I stood quietly by, speaking only when they prompted me, and saying the lines they provided. After Isolde promised that Harry was “what I will store in my spice rack,” I, on Harry’s behalf, solemnly declared Isolde to be “where I will inflate my balloon.”

“In that case,” the chaplain said, smiling, “I now pronounce you the engineer and the artist. I’ll shut the door on my way out.”

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This Ceremony was Much Shorter

  • by jenFrench breeding — but
  • “Hold your tongue.”
  • some grade Z porno film
  • various techniques and “octopus etiquette”
  • without all the fanfare

Tune in next time part 323      Click Here for Earlier Installments

This ceremony was much shorter than the one when I’d married Fleur, much to my relief. Isolde locked the door behind the officiant and turned to me. “I have seen several illicit magazines and movies about French breeding — but I’d much rather employ the American method if you don’t mind, Harry.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I said, doffing my top hat.

Isolde shrugged out of her ceremonial robe and arranged it on the floor under a large vulture skull. We stood upon it together while she, gloriously naked, undressed me. It felt a little odd to be continuously called ‘Harry,’ but no odder than anything else about Contrarian court life. If this was how the Warlord’s daughters wanted to conduct their marriages, there was no point in arguing.

“Open your mouth,” Isolde commanded.

I complied. She peered in at my fresh, golden tattoo.

“Hold your tongue.” She demonstrated with her own fingers how she wanted me to grasp it. I took over, and she studied the arcane markings for a minute. Then she swatted my hand away and kissed me.

We sank to the floor on top of the robe, and got down to the business of consummating-by-proxy Isolde and Harry’s marriage. The freeform jazz record was still playing, which made it feel like some grade Z porno film. That feeling only got stronger when Isolde introduced various techniques and “octopus etiquette” moves she had learned from the Contrarian version of the Kama Sutra, and Fleur’s browser history. It was physically taxing, but I was having a great time without all the fanfare and press attention that had accompanied my wedding night with Fleur.

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I Awoke Alone

  • by Kentmove your fingers up and down the outside
  • anything more complimentary than ‘quotable’
  • slowly and gravely down the slide
  • hockey players still wear garter belts
  • “Hey sport, what you got there?”

Tune in next time part 324      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I awoke alone in the wedding chapel, staring up into the reproachful glare of the vulture’s skull. When I tried to sit up, I discovered the shackle spanning my neck. A quick inspection showed that it wasn’t metal, but bone. Fortunately, I recalled an article I once read about this Contrarian style of restraints, so I knew that the way to open it was to move your fingers up and down the outside in the correct manner. So that left just figuring out the correct manner.

Two hours later, I finally gained my freedom, just in time for Fleur to come through the door. She arched an eyebrow and said, “Isolde has been babbling about ‘Harry’ nonstop, all the sweet things he said to her last night, the poetry of his pillow talk. Good show, I suppose.”

I’d begun putting my fancy clothes back on as she spoke, and used the activity as a pretext not to look my wife in the eye. If her sister was going to tell her so much about our night of passion, it stung that she didn’t seem to have anything more complimentary than ‘quotable’ to say about me.

“Come,” Fleur said. “It’s time for you to play with the children.”

I followed her through twisting, dank passageways lined with tangles of plumbing, deeper into the bowels of the aircraft carrier, I in my morning suit, she in a powder blue gown with a six-foot train. Eventually we reached the nursery, where the royal infant twins were enjoying the playground. Each baby rode in a front carrier installed in a cartoon animal costume worn by an adult. The blue panda bearing my son progressed slowly and gravely down the slide while the candy-striped armadillo carrying my daughter rode the see-saw with a fluorescent green turtle. The turtle lacked an infant, but I could tell what sport it was a mascot for because in Contraria, hockey players still wear garter belts.

When the panda reached the bottom of the sliding board, I noticed that the boy baby clutched something in his tiny fist. I stepped over the ankle-high picket fence delineating the play yard to move up for a closer look.

“Hey sport, what you got there?”

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My Son May Be Small, But He Has an Iron Grip

  • by jenfreaky, furry phenomenon
  • Five or six times a day
  • with each passing hour
  • but there’s a hitch
  • you and I have nothing more to say

Tune in next time part 325      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My son may be small, but he has an iron grip. It took a full minute for me to work his chubby little fingers loose from the object he held, which turned out to be an egg-shaped remote control with a single button.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

My son didn’t reply. He merely stuffed his fist in his mouth. The blue panda whose chest he was strapped to saluted me and gamboled back to the sliding board to begin another slow climb up the ladder. I stuffed the remote into the pocket of my fancy dress pants and sauntered over to greet my daughter by the see-saw. Her armadillo steed stood patiently while I cooed at the infant, but the turtle mascot stomped away to Fleur’s side.

Viscount Arlo’s voice came from inside that green, freaky, furry phenomenon. He whined at Fleur about being exiled from her boudoir, and she laughed at his terrapin costume. I was unable to follow the rest of their argument because Isolde stormed into the room with fire in her eyes.

“Harry!” she cried, racing up to me. “Why aren’t you in the chapel? We have not yet been married for 24 hours!”

Fleur had directed me to be Harry-by-proxy for a full day, but she had also brought me here to see our children. I wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Isolde went on, “I shackled you for a reason, Harry. Five or six times a day is the optimal number of times to make love when you’re trying to conceive. Now that I have rested I’m ready to continue, but I’ve wasted so much time searching for you all over this ship! My window of fertility is closing with each passing hour. We must return to our honeymoon, but there’s a hitch.”

The hitch turned out to be the old incense woman who had attended the birth of the twins. She was something of a Contrarian fertility specialist, and Isolde demanded she coach us through the next few rounds in order to guarantee conception.

We concluded our final session with simultaneous shouts of release, a mere ten seconds before the timer went off, announcing the end to my term as Junior-Baronet Harry. Isolde’s passion evaporated in an instant and she turned her back to me, saying, “You are not my husband, so you and I have nothing more to say.”

I barely had time to pull on my underwear before she shoved me into the corridor.

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Spending So Much Time

  • by Kentsometimes it pays to be an atheist
  • Do Not Enter This Area
  • attacked by a horrible mechanical devil baby
  • one iota less furious
  • two loyal and stupid friends

Tune in next time part 326      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Spending so much time inside the chapel, cavorting with Isolde among the skeletons to the exhortations of the incense woman, reminded me that sometimes it pays to be an atheist. As far as I was concerned, the signs on Churches in general — and Contrarian religious edifices in particular — might as well read “Do Not Enter This Area.”

But acting as Isolde’s proxy husband for 24 hours had been enjoyable, even in a chapel. I whistled as I finished putting my clothes back on. While I was putting my second leg into my pants, the floor pitched beneath me and I tumbled against the wall of the corridor.

Klaxons sounded as the carrier rolled back the other way, sending me crashing up against the door I’d just been kicked out of. Isolde burst out, screaming, “What’s happening?!” I yanked my pants the rest of the way on and together we raced up to the bridge to find out.

Fleur was in command, and between shouted orders to her crew she filled us in. A huge submarine of some type had risen under our keel and was trying to capsize us. “Come with me,” she said, and we didn’t argue.

We went swiftly to the bow, where the zeppelin was docked. The blue panda and the rainbow armadillo met us there with the children, and we all climbed the ladder into the airship’s gondola. Isolde cut us loose the second we were all aboard. As we rose above the battling vessels, we got our first look at the enemy submarine.

It was bulbous, with a vaguely humanoid layout. The forward section looked amazingly like a head, complete with a toothless mouth stretched wide in a howl of primal, infantile rage. Whoever had “attacked by a horrible mechanical devil baby” in the pool for what was going to befall this ship just made a big score. Apparently the absurdity of the situation didn’t make Fleur one iota less furious about the attack.

I worried about John and my aunt. Looking at the stern, I noticed the biplane was no longer there. Had our captors stowed it? Had it been thrown into the sea by the attack? Or was it safely away, carrying my two loyal and stupid friends? I scanned the skies all around but could only see the Contrarian fighter planes that Fleur had scrambled before abandoning ship.

“Do you know whose sub that is?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said darkly, and offered nothing more.

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“That’s the Viscount’s Submarine!”

  • by jensome sort of wacky hardcore fundamentalist sect
  • what a lucky bastard
  • pay you a whole $250 to serve drinks at their poker game
  • instead of being scary
  • for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip

Tune in next time part 327      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“That’s the viscount’s submarine!” Isolde cried. “But why would Arlo attack us, Fleur?”

My wife gritted her teeth. “He’s the leader of some sort of wacky hardcore fundamentalist sect.” She steered the zeppelin higher as the sub rammed the aircraft carrier again. “He tried to convince me to let him baptize the twins into it so that he could tell everyone he was their father.”

It offended me to think that anyone might believe that creepy dick had fathered my children.

“It’s not enough for him to be your lover for months and months,” Isolde said. “He wants to control the heirs to Contraria!” Her hand rested on her abdomen. “He will never even lay eyes on the precious child Harry has given me.”

The blue panda that had my son in a front carrier nudged me and whispered, “Do you know what a lucky bastard you are, bedding both of the warlord’s daughters?”

“How dare you speak to me that way!” I hissed. “It’s not like I’m some asshole who agreed to pay you a whole $250 to serve drinks at their poker game! You are responsible for the safety of the royal infant!” I tried to keep my voice menacing, but instead of being scary it came out sounding quite prissy. The man in the panda suit took a big step backward. I kept my eye on him for further signs of inappropriateness while I tuned back in to Fleur and Isolde’s conversation.

“I knew Arlo was up to something,” Fleur said. “I should have exiled him from Contraria for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip when I was on the verge of labor.”

“It must have been the pregnancy hormones,” Isolde soothed. “I can feel them already, turning my brain to mush.” She smiled beatifically down at her flat stomach. Did she really think she was already pregnant? “I can’t wait until Harry and I can hold our little bundle of joy. I bet it will look just like him!”

Fleur shot me a dangerous look, so I kept my mouth closed.

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Fleur Turned the Zeppelin Hard to Starboard

  • by Kent“I have heard a rumor.”
  • but your eyes are wide open
  • my body is 65% Kool-Aid
  • the enthusiasm of my stupidity
  • when Napoleon and a farmer squabble

Tune in next time part 328      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur turned the zeppelin hard to starboard and revved the engines, scooting us away from the fracas in the water below. The fighter pilots evidently judged our position to be sufficiently removed from the combat zone, because they opened fire on the ungainly, baby-shaped enemy submarine. The aircraft carrier took a bit of friendly fire, but most of the missiles struck the sub, or the water in its immediate vicinity.

“The crew still aboard the ship are in terrible danger,” I said, not mentioning John or Xylona. “It would surprise me if the ship’s not already taking on water.”

Fleur didn’t take her eyes off the instrument panel. “I have heard a rumor.”

“When?” I asked.

“You must have potatoes in your ears,” the blue panda said, “but your eyes are wide open. Follow along on the readout.”

The zeppelin’s dashboard had a screen showing a schematic of the aircraft carrier. Most of the outlines were green, but most of the keel was drawn in red. The vessel’s waterline was indicated too, and it was rising fast.

I looked from the screen to Fleur to Isolde to the panda, and finally the armadillo carrying my infant daughter. We met each other’s gaze, and the person in the colorful suit crooned, “My body is 65% Kool-Aid. That probably accounts for the enthusiasm of my stupidity.”

“Hey,” I said, “you’re up here instead of down there. That’s not stupid.”

“There’s an old Contrarian saying,” Fleur grumbled, her attention still riveted to operating the airship. “The eggs go sour and the milk gets a shell when Napoleon and a farmer squabble.”

“Such wise words for this disastrous occasion,” Isolde said.

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