Tagged: tune in next time

I Had No Intention of Following the Seagulls

  • by jena variety of lovely agonies
  • Right?
  • meeting him for the first time
  • because she was wearing a tiara
  • entirely muffled in scarlet silk

Tune in next time part 339      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I had no intention of following the seagulls, or the commands of my intoxicated wife. “Let’s put ourselves in a holding pattern until she comes down,” I said to Jim, gesturing at the controls.

Jim buckled himself into the copilot’s seat and his face finally took on a serious expression. Behind us I could hear Isolde voicing disappointment that he was no longer flirting with her, distress that she could no longer admire his physique, and a variety of lovely agonies along those same lines. Jim threw me one last smirk. “Women. Right?”

For our whole lives it was like this with Jim. Women meeting him for the first time fell immediately under his spell. Apparently he expected sympathy from me over it.

Isolde elbowed her way between me and Jim and thrust a baby into my arms. The twins looked an awful lot alike, but I knew this was my daughter because she was wearing a tiara on her tiny head. I scowled and plucked the tacky thing off. Isolde, now entirely muffled in scarlet silk, handed me my son as well and began a swirling, twirling dance to remove her diaphanous wrapping.

Fleur’s own drug-induced choreography brought her close and I saw fury in her blue eyes. She was going to attack her sister if I couldn’t stop her.

“Hey Jim,” I said in a loud, deliberate voice. “Aunt Xylona told me that Mom had at least three kids with the Warlord of Contraria. And since you, Jemma, and Jemima are the only triplets in the family…”

“Aw shit,” Jim said. “You think I’m your wife’s half-brother?”

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Fleur’s Jaw Fell Slack

  • by Kentthe monopolist institution of marriage
  • mouth turned down
  • “Bollocks.”
  • stuck on the bottom of the furniture
  • — especially for a Hawaiian film festival

Tune in next time part 340      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur’s jaw fell slack. Even slacker than the hallucinogenic coffee had made it. Isolde’s twirling slowed and stopped, then she spun the opposite direction to reel her flimsy clothes back on. None of us in the zeppelin held the monopolist institution of marriage in much regard, but even we hesitate in the face of incest.

Jim stewed on what I’d said, his mouth turned down. After a minute of this, just as I was about to chide him for dereliction of his dirigible-flying duties, he threw me a sour look.

“Bollocks.”

The Britishism, ground under the boot-heel of his accent, sounded like “bawl-lucks.”

“What?” I replied.

“Why would you think Mom’s sister is any less dishonest than she is? It’s just talk.”

He had a good point, and I had no proof. I shrugged, and then repeated the motion several times because it made the infants in my arms giggle.

Isolde hugged herself. “Something makes sense, now. A thing Father used to talk about…”

Fleur barked, “No! That’s private! It’s family business.” Her anger seemed to have brought her lucidity along with it.

But Isolde continued in a keening voice. “He would brag that he knew what kind of gum was stuck on the bottom of the furniture at the White House. And also, he ended so many of his speeches by declaring, ‘I love all of my children, except the triplets.'”

“That’s enough!” Fleur shouted. The babies started crying, and her stern face softened. “Oh, bring the darlings here.”

Because Jim still hadn’t bothered to do anything with the controls, we had been effectively following the seagulls all this time. I looked down at the water and saw what had attracted them: a flotilla of garbage barges. Soon I could smell their cargo.

A flash of color aboard one of the barges caught my eye. Through binoculars I could see that it was a red-and-white striped pavilion tent. People lounged on chaises beside it, under a banner reading, “Hawaiian Film Festival Or Bust!”

They must be unusual fans for a film festival — especially for a Hawaiian film festival — to choose this mode of transportation to reach it. But Fleur’s instruction to follow the gulls made me edgy. Had she known about the scows, about these people?

Jim cleared his throat. “Which way, brother-of-mine?”

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Jim’s Question was Impossible to Answer

  • by jenBoy, have I got something amazing to show you.
  • and then a stream of bubbles
  • as thick as their thighs
  • A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove
  • all traces of its natural color were obliterated by ink stains

Tune in next time part 341      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jim’s question was impossible to answer because not only did I not know which ocean we were currently flying over, I had no idea where I might want to go. I couldn’t remember the last time I was in charge of my own destiny, without intrigue and my family dictating my actions. Where would I go if the choice were completely up to me? And would I take any of the people in the zeppelin with me?

Jim interrupted my musings with a brash, “Boy, have I got something amazing to show you.” He was staring through the window down at the flotilla of garbage scows.

With a sigh I put my dreams of freedom away and moved to get a better view. The number of barges was about half of what it had been, and it was immediately apparent why. Glass panels were sliding into place, enclosing the boats entirely. One by one they submerged and then a stream of bubbles was all that was left to denote their passage. The final boat above water was the one with the flabby film festival hopefuls. I imagined that the stench inside their glass enclosure was as thick as their thighs. Probably thicker. And then they too slipped from view leaving behind an enormous flock of disappointed and confused gulls.

“I remember hearing about this,” Fleur said, still bouncing our infants. “It’s a way of thinning the seagull population. They lure them out into the deep ocean and strand them.”

“Then why did you say we should follow the gulls?” I asked.

Fleur looked at me with her amused blue eyes. “I was high as fuck when I said that.”

“The birds are swarming the zeppelin,” Isolde cried in dismay. “What could be attracting them?”

I looked around the sumptuously appointed gondola and spotted a likely reason. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove stood prominently atop the baby grand piano, and in the Contrarian fashion it was an automaton. Its polished wings flapped and glinted in the sunlight. The gulls were flinging themselves against the windows and the zeppelin’s silvery hide in an attempt to reach it.

“We should get rid of the bird lamp,” I said, pointing. “Toss it overboard.”

“That lamp is precious!” Isolde complained.

Fleur was at a loss for words. In a fury she stuck her tongue out at me. All traces of its natural color were obliterated by ink stains, the ritualistic golden tattoos that matched my own and commemorated the birth of our first children.

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“We’re Losin’ Altitude”

  • by Kent“I’m calling your father,” she snapped.
  • stands awkwardly outside the door while she pees
  • not a crease in my coat
  • where I will inflate my balloon
  • in lurid detail

Tune in next time part 342      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We’re losin’ altitude,” Jim drawled. “Looks like a gull got through the hull.”

“A zeppelin does not have a hull,” Fleur said. “It’s an envelope.”

Jim smiled crookedly. “But those birds don’t rhyme with envelope. Anyway, there’s a puncture and the gas is escaping.”

Fleur handed him the babies, then stormed over to the cargo door nearest the piano and hauled it open. In seconds she’d unlocked the baby grand’s casters and shoved it overboard, silvery dove lamp and all.

“How could you!” screeched Isolde as our descent leveled off. Isolde and Fleur stood glaring at each other, their hair whipped by the wind coming through the open door. I wondered which one of them would be tumbling out after the piano.

Isolde shut the cargo door. “I’m calling your father,” she snapped.

“Isn’t he your father too?” I blurted.

“We’re half-sisters,” Fleur explained. “To me, he’s daddy. To Isolde, he’s just the man who stands awkwardly outside the door while she pees.”

“That was one time at the mall, when I was five!”

I let their argument distract the women and turned to my brother. “What’s our situation now, Jim?”

He was rocking the infant twins, steering the ship with his knees. “There is not a red light on the control panel, and not a crease in my coat.”

“You’re not wearing a coat.” Or a shirt.

“And this panel hasn’t got any lights, red or otherwise. But we do appear to be stable at the moment. The auxiliary gas supply is keeping up with the leakage. At least for now.”

We each glanced upwards, knowing what this was leading up to. One of us was going to have to go up there and make repairs.

Jim cracked the crooked smile again and sang, “Fly me to the green lagoon, for that is where I will inflate my balloon.”

While I gritted my teeth, Jim sang another twelve verses. The lagoon and the balloon were metaphors, and not subtle ones, as the even-numbered verses portrayed in lurid detail.

“Okay!” I finally shouted. “I’ll fix the envelope.”

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In the Zeppelin’s Toolbox

  • by jenpopular amongst the citizens
  • those fearless travelers and explorers
  • Oh, here’s a winner
  • visionary, fantasist, poet, and painter
  • still in the buckled position

Tune in next time part 343      Click Here for Earlier Installments

In the zeppelin’s toolbox I found an enormous roll of duct tape in the silvery color most popular amongst the citizens of the world. I took it and exited the gondola through the service door at the rear that let me into a mechanical room. The gauges on the auxiliary gas supply showed that I didn’t have a lot of time to fuck around.

I climbed a ladder through a hatch in the ceiling, into the envelope. There were actually three seagulls in there with me, roosting contentedly on the roof of the gondola. I studied the zeppelin’s hide until I located all three of their entry points, ragged holes where daylight streamed in.

I tucked the flapping gulls into the jacket of my morning suit and began to climb the zeppelin’s framework. When I reached the first hole, I slapped several layers of duct tape over it. I repeated the process at the second hole. I had to traverse the entire inside of the envelope to reach the last hole, swinging from truss to truss like a contestant on Ninja Warrior. Finally I reached the last hole, the largest of the three. I reached into my jacket and shoved each struggling bird one by one out through the hole, then tore off yards of duct tape to close them out and keep the buoyant gasses in.

I felt like those fearless travelers and explorers you read about in the history books. I had saved the day! As I made my way back to the mechanical room I could picture the looks of adoration I would receive from my wife and her sister, the admiration I would get from Jim. I could imagine Fleur saying, “Oh, here’s a winner! A hero, a visionary, fantasist, poet, and painter!”

When I reentered the gondola, I was quite sweaty and covered with feathers. Fleur and Isolde were still bickering, and Jim was at the controls, still in the buckled position in the copilot’s seat, bouncing the infants in his arms. My heroics went unheralded.

I still did not entirely trust Jim. Nor the warlord’s daughters, when it came right down to it. I eyed the roll of duct tape in my hands, wondering if I should seize the moment to finally get some answers.

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You’re An Unsanitary Disgrace

  • by Kentfor a spa-like experience
  • maybe they didn’t have enough windows open
  • “Not exactly.”
  • Whatever his parentage,
  • visions of putting on my mountain boots

Tune in next time part 344      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“You’re an unsanitary disgrace,” Jim drawled. The twin babies on his knees stared at me.

Employing a loop of duct tape to remove seagull feathers — and worse — from my clothes, I said, “My trip upstairs did not make for a spa-like experience. You’re welcome.”

Jim gently guided my infant son’s hand in a salute. My daughter frowned at him.

The noisy argument between Fleur and Isolde abruptly ceased. They were looking out the window at something below us. I moved to the nearest window and saw that one of the barges had resurfaced.

“Do you think maybe they didn’t have enough windows open? So they couldn’t stay sunk?” Isolde looked embarrassed that she’d asked that out loud.

“Not exactly.” Fleur pointed down. “It’s the film festival people. They’re hijackers, and they’re still trying to get to Hawaii.”

“Then we should follow them,” I said.

“I’m not going to tag along after some trashy, film-snob sonofabitch,” Fleur declared.

“Whatever his parentage,” I said, “if he knows which way to go then we should take advantage of that.”

“We’ll just turn on the GPS,” Fleur said, stomping forward to the control panel and jabbing a button. A map lit up in front of Jim’s seat, showing our position very clearly.

“That’s been there all along?” I asked my wife through clenched teeth, my head filled with visions of putting on my mountain boots and kicking her in the shins.

But I had no mountain boots, here in the zeppelin. I peeled off a strip of duct tape.

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I Marveled at My Wife’s Sense of Entitlement

  • by jensense of entitlement and lack of shame
  • my nose was bleeding
  • without saying another word, walked slowly away
  • bizarre wedding photo
  • Two scoops.

Tune in next time part 345      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I marveled at my wife’s sense of entitlement and lack of shame over it. She was every inch the warlord’s daughter. Of course everyone would do her bidding.

I’m allergic to seagull feathers, and after being coated in them for a quarter hour, my nose was bleeding. I used the strip of duct tape to close up my nostrils and stem the flow.

Fleur tapped another button on the GPS, which brought up a flight plan. “Follow that,” she told Jim. She scooped the babies out of his arms and without saying another word, walked slowly away, swaying gently.

Jim watched her appreciatively for a minute before turning back to the controls.

Isolde bounded over and held out her phone to show me a bizarre wedding photo on the screen. It was from our wedding. Or rather hers and Harry’s. But since I was Harry’s proxy, the picture showed me standing there in my morning suit beside Isolde. She had applied a filter that overlaid an odd frog mouth to my head in an effort to make me somewhat resemble her toadlike non-proxy husband.

“Doesn’t Harry look handsome?” she crooned.

“So handsome.”

“I’m so glad I’m going to have his baby!”

I left her mooning over the photo and went to look at the flight plan. I wanted to know where the hell we were going, and how long it would take us to get there. If I was trapped on a zeppelin with these people for much longer I was going to need drugs. A lot of drugs. Two scoops. Of drugs.

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The Glowing Line On The GPS Map

  • by Kentyou should wash that spoon
  • and properly ventilated
  • What a soft voice!
  • with crablike precision
  • this burning desire to do whatever

Tune in next time part 346      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The glowing line on the GPS map led toward an empty region of the ocean. But I knew it was not as uninhabited as it appeared. Our destination coordinates reminded me of a dossier I’d once had a chance to skim, about a secret island chain under Contrarian rulership.

Did Jim know about the Inimical Archipelago?

I sulked off to the zeppelin’s galley to contemplate. By now my nosebleed seemed to be under control, but I found the duct tape very difficult to remove. A utensil in one of the long drawers provided me the necessary leverage, and Isolde entered the small galley just as I got my nostrils unstuck.

Laying it aside, I said, “You should wash that spoon.”

“Wash it yourself,” she snapped. “But later, somewhere better equipped and properly ventilated. Why are you hiding back here?”

“Just need a quiet spot to think.”

“What a soft voice!” Isolde exclaimed. I winced.

The galley door opened, and Fleur passed sideways through it, carrying the infant twins with crablike precision.

“I thought I might find you schemers here,” she said. “That’s always how it’s been with you, ever since Daddy made us marry. You’re forever lurking and plotting, driven by this burning desire to do whatever. But meanwhile, you haven’t the foggiest idea of what the game really means.”

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“So It’s All a Game to You?”

by jenHappy belated Solstice!

In the past we’ve pulled the holiday week prompt phrases from various carols, and Twas the Night Before Christmas. This year we mined two of our favorite seasonally appropriate movies, Die Hard and Elf. They make for entertaining yet uneasy bedfellows. Please to enjoy.

  • candy, candy canes, candy corns, and syrup
  • cotton-headed ninny muggins
  • I’d rather be in Philadelphia
  • Smiling’s my favorite
  • Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!

Tune in next time part 347      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“So it’s all just a game to you?” I said. “That actually explains a lot.”

While Fleur and I glared at each other, Isolde ignored us and began searching through the galley’s cupboards. “I’m having pregnancy cravings,” she declared. “I must have candy, candy canes, candy corns, and syrup, all in a bowl.”

“Just remember not to use that spoon,” I said, pointing to the one I had befouled earlier.

“No worries,” she said. “I’m pregnant, not a cotton-headed ninny muggins.”

“If you two are quite through flirting,” Fleur huffed, “we need to do our own plotting before we reach our destination.”

“I’d rather be in Pittburghistan with Harry than on that wretched island you’re taking us to. Hell, I’d rather be in Philadelphiastan with Daddy,” Isolde whined. She spooned up a huge gooey helping of diabetes and shoved it into her mouth.

Smiling’s my favorite way to disarm my wife. She just doesn’t know what to make of it. I did it now, my most innocent, guileless grin.

Fleur’s blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I know you’re up to something, but whatever it is will not thwart Operation Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!”

I had heard of Operation Yippee-ki-yay back in my Academy days. It was a sort of urban legend, something so outlandish no one thought it could actually be real. But now I had confirmation that it was, straight from my own wife’s lips.

Unless she was lying.

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The Galley Door Opened Yet Again

by KentIn the past we’ve pulled the holiday week prompt phrases from various carols and Twas the Night Before Christmas. This year we mined two of our favorite seasonally appropriate movies, Die Hard and Elf. They make for entertaining yet uneasy bedfellows. Please to enjoy.

  • with feet smaller than my sister
  • except it smells like mushrooms
  • now I have a machine gun
  • The police have themselves an RV!
  • You sit on a throne of lies.

Tune in next time part 348      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The galley door opened yet again. Jim sauntered in and asked, “What’re you hens all cluckin’ ’bout in here?”

“None of your business,” Fleur replied coolly. She squeezed our babies tighter, her eyes glued to Jim’s lack of shirt. “Is your sweaty torso supposed to make me forget I’m talking to someone with feet smaller than my sister‘s earrings?”

“Ya got t’admit,” Jim said, leering at Isolde, “they’re impressive earrings.”

“And you should admit,” Fleur retorted, “there’s nothing all that special about your glistening abdomen except it smells like mushrooms.”

“Oh, I like mushrooms,” Isolde sighed.

“Who’s flying the ship?” I demanded.

“Autopilot,” my brother said without even looking at me.

“Can we talk about Operation Yippee-ki-yay in front of Jim?” Isolde asked.

“No!” Fleur yelled. The twins started crying, and Fleur didn’t even try to soothe them. She handed the boy to Jim and the girl to Isolde. “Go supervise the autopilot. Take them with you. Leave us.”

Jim was a natural. He positioned my son along his forearm, face-down, and the baby quieted in a few seconds. And a few seconds later, the child produced a staccato eruption of flatulence. Jim aimed the diaper at Isolde. “Now I have a machine gun. Better do as I say.”

My daughter continued to wail. Fleur pinched the bridge of her nose, waiting for them to leave the galley. When the door finally shut out most of the noise, she drew a deep breath to speak.

But a different voice preempted her. And her eyes grew wide.

“Attention airship! Reverse course immediately!”

I spun to see what she was looking at. It was another zeppelin, but it appeared to be armored and its nose bore a long, sharp lance. Red and blue lights flashed on its black-and-white hide.

“That looks like a ramming vehicle,” I said.

Fleur’s shocked expression changed to delight. “The police have themselves an RV! I didn’t think the budget appropriation was going to pass this year!”

The needle proboscis of the RV swung toward us.

“Maybe tell them who you are?” I suggested.

“Oh, they know perfectly well whose ship this is.”

The RV advanced. I implored Fleur with my eyes. She rolled hers and picked up the mic.

“Okay, boys. Ha, ha. All in good fun. Now, turn aside and make way for your future queen.”

With a blare of feedback, the amplified reply shot back. “You sit on a throne of lies.”

The RV accelerated.

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