Tagged: tune in next time

Clyde’s Reputation Preceded Him

  • by jenthis is for right now
  • that prisons cannot hold
  • quasi-religion
  • or in this case, the gold medal
  • used a digital camera

Tune in next time part 417      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Clyde’s reputation preceded him. He was, allegedly, a mime-dog. I had always assumed that he was a rumor, that such a creature could not actually exist, and yet here he was in my lap: a silent dog trained by mimes. The wretched thing had letters painted on its teeth, letters that spelled “woof.” My mind was still reeling from the knockout gas and all I could think was, “This is, for right now, my only worry in the world.”

An average mime could not accomplish something like the training of a mime-dog. No, this required the sort of mime that prisons cannot hold, the sort who sees mime as more than a quasi-religion. The mime who trained this dog must have won the grand prize, or in this case, the gold medal in mime-fuckery. But what the hell were my siblings doing with a mime-dog? They clearly were not mimes. Were they using the mimes, or were the mimes using them?

I sure am using the word “mime” a lot, I thought, as Jim moved in front of me and used a digital camera to take what I presume were blackmail photos.

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What Jim’s Camera Couldn’t Capture

  • by Kentpure, undiluted flopsweat
  • a twisted petting zoo
  • I want to think the best of everyone
  • Apart from the masks
  • at his haunted castle

Tune in next time part 418      Click Here for Earlier Installments

What Jim’s camera couldn’t capture was my pure, undiluted flopsweat at the idea that this mime dog’s trainer might be in this very room, a twisted petting zoo where Clyde, the sole exhibit, was perched in my lap. Nobody who knows me would expect that I want to think the best of everyone, but I certainly want to think better of just about everyone than I thought of that mega-mime.

“Jim,” I said in a shaky voice, almost forgetting to lisp, “are you sure you know what you’re doing? Have you really considered all the angles here?”

“There is only one angle, dear brother,” Jim purred. “The right angle. That’s the one I’m workin’. And when Domino sees these pictures, he’ll know I’m not messin’ around.”

Domino, the Lord Carnevale? Apart from the masks, his troopers were just as creepy and overly dramatic as mimes. He trained them at his haunted castle and sent out leaflets now and then threatening to sic them on the unsuspecting populace. Meanwhile, the rumors about his unseemly bond with Clyde were evidently not without some basis.

The knockout gas had almost worn off. “I thought this was about my sem–” I cleared my throat. “My brother’s semen. Why get yet another faction riled up about it? I mean,” I dropped my voice a bit, “it’s bad enough you’re mixed up with the pantomime contingent. What’s happening to this family?”

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Even With Clyde in My Lap

  • by jenfully aware of the ten sets of eyes
  • His Grace petitioned the Count
  • Now he was bleeding
  • too smart for that school
  • I’d suggest no more than a thousand

Tune in next time part 419      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Even with Clyde in my lap, and Jim waving his camera around, I was fully aware of the ten sets of eyes — mime eyes — that were trained on my dancing sisters. I might still have a hope of escaping as long as Jem and Jem’s hypnotic cobra yoga held them entranced.

I had to make Jim see reason. “Our family has standards, Jim.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your standards, brother,” Jim snarled. “The fire eaters want to claim Jem, and I won’t have it! This is the only way to save her.”

“What’s the Lord Carnevale have to do with any of that?” I asked.

Jim sneered his first words. “His Grace petitioned the Count Flambé, leader of the largest fire eater guild, for Jem’s hand. Their marriage would seal a pact between those heartburn motherfuckers and the masked carnivalistos.”

I shuddered at the thought.

“So,” Jim continued, “I’m showing Lord Domino that we play hardball. If he doesn’t back off, something ugly will happen to Clyde.”

The little dog in my lap bared his teeth again, exposing the “woof” painted thereon.

The bicycling mime reentered the laboratory. Now he was bleeding from one nostril, and he had the Donut sister riding on his imaginary handlebars.

Jim tucked his camera into the pocket of his lab coat and grasped the Donut mime by the wrist. She began to flail about, hurling silent insults at us and at the Academy. The thrust of her nonverbal argument seemed to be that she was too smart for that school, but I distinctly remembered seeing her in its halls.

“Relax Ms Donut,” Jim said, thus perpetuating the mystery of which sister was which. “If you don’t calm down I’ll have to give you an injection.”

“I’d suggest no more than a thousand milliliters, and no less than nine hundred,” said Jemma. “Like most mimes she’s built up quite a tolerance.”

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“Jim, How Will We Defend This Place”

  • by Kentrelied more on firepower than martial arts
  • Rock and wiggle. Rock, then wiggle.
  • a contact high
  • taken a few too many painkillers
  • small mouth with crooked teeth

Tune in next time part 420      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Jim, how will we defend this place if the fire eaters attack?” I didn’t bother lisping, because Jim didn’t seem to care whether it was me or Jason taped to the chair. In fact, he hardly seemed to care that I was speaking, all his attention focused on Violet or Harriet Donut. “They’ll send the Draconis Corps, Jim!” The guild’s most fearsome warriors, like ninjas who relied more on firepower than martial arts — the power of literal fire spewing from their faces.

If Jim’s motive truly was to protect our sister, then he should have been treating me as an ally instead of a prisoner of war. Watching him try to argue with a mime, I concluded that if anyone was going to keep Domino from marrying Jem, it was going to have to be me. But I couldn’t do that if I was stuck in this chair, so I focused on working my way free. Rock and wiggle. Rock, then wiggle. Gradually the tape loosened.

Meanwhile, Jim and Violet or Harriet Donut spun through a silent pasodoble as he tried to jab her in the neck with a syringe. Jem and Jem sustained their cobra yoga, effectively neutralizing the rest of the mimes in the chamber. The weirdness of the scene before me made me wonder if I was getting a contact high, like I’d had a blood transfusion from someone who’d taken a few too many painkillers.

The sight of Clyde the mime-dog in my lap only deepened my distrust of my own senses, as he “barked” soundlessly, working his small mouth with crooked teeth bearing the message he had been conditioned not to voice.

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If the Mime My Brother was Wrestling With had Any Hope of Escape

  • by jenbetter take cover
  • “Should I put my shoes back on?”
  • mere pinpricks
  • orgies are poorly designed experiments
  • use it in a rap song

Tune in next time part 421      Click Here for Earlier Installments

If the mime my brother was wrestling with had any hope of escape, she’d better take covert action, but mimes in general aren’t that well-trained tactically. This one was no exception. She soon took a needle to the neck and slumped in Jim’s arms.

Jem and Jem introduced some new steps to their writhing cobra yoga, circling around the herd of mimes and bunching them together like livestock. Working in unison like lithe corgis, they danced the group into the supply closet and slammed the door behind them.

“Finally,” said Jemma.

“Should I put my shoes back on?” asked Jemima.

“No need,”Jim drawled. “This is a pretty good place to hide out for a while.”

“Anyone want to untie me?” I asked. In truth my tape bonds were loose enough that I could escape if necessary, but I wanted to see how my siblings would treat me now that the mime threat had been neutralized. Were their consciences more than mere pinpricks?

Clyde was still in my lap, still “woofing” at me. Jim scooped him up and put him in a cage that had probably once held an army of lab rats. Jemma got a scalpel from a dissecting tray and began sawing through all the tape around my wrists. At least she was on my side.

Jemima, still barefoot, was reading the lab notes splayed on the worktop. She snorted. “Mime orgies are poorly designed experiments. No scientific rigor! Look at this.” She waved the disturbingly detailed sketches in my face. “What do you think Jason? Can you use it in a rap song?”

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“Hold Up There Jem”

  • by Kentproven he could take an ass-whipping
  • bitter cold assailed me.
  • a rush of fluid suddenly filling the back of my throat
  • fought it out with carsickness
  • “Hey. Hey. Hey!”

Tune in next time part 422      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Hold up there, Jem. It’s not time for that yet.” Jemma and Jemima both looked to him for clarification — was it not yet time to release me, or not yet time to wave hand-drawn mime erotica in my face?

“Our brother Jason here has proven he could take an ass-whipping on multiple occasions. Ain’t that the truth?” Jim put on thick insulated gloves as he spoke, then lifted a steel canister off one of the lab benches. He set it in my lap in place of Clyde, then opened the lid. Fog surged over the lip and flowed like lava down the sides. As the chill vapor reached my legs, bitter cold assailed me.

“Don’t hurt Jason!” Jemma cried. She tried to move the canister but without the mitts she couldn’t pick it up.

Jim chuckled. “Oh, I ain’t gonna hurt anybody, least of all Jason.” He popped the lid back on the canister and stooped before me to collect it. He stared me in the eye. “Ain’t that right?” Once the cryogenic hazard was cleared away, he instructed Jem and Jem to do more cobra yoga. “But this time, it’s all for our brother.”

Jemma and Jemima looked sad, but they obeyed and began their contorting, sinuous dance. I wondered why this ploy gave Jim such a wicked grin, but only for a moment. At point-blank range, with no mimes to absorb any of it, a double dose of cobra yoga was overwhelming. In seconds I was queasy, and then more than queasy, a rush of fluid suddenly filling the back of my throat. The girls were relentless, slipping into a trance as I fought it out with carsickness raised to the power of mystical snake venom. The nausea progressed to a kind of hyper-vertigo, and from there to a red-out.

“Hey. Hey. Hey!”

The hand shaking me awake was attached to a stranger.

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While I Did Not Recognize the Person Shaking Me Awake

  • by jenwhen two famous people fight
  • nourishes from the inside
  • the extraordinary nature of his luggage
  • where the mercury often freezes in the thermometer
  • an extending spyglass

Tune in next time part 423      Click Here for Earlier Installments

While I did not recognize the person shaking me awake, her accent was Contrarian through and through. “Ah! You are awake!” she said. “But your eyes, they are bouncing all around. They are like when two famous people fight. Ha ha!”

That was far from the first time someone had said that about my eyes. I’d heard it a lot growing up. It’s the sort of warm childhood memory that nourishes from the inside. I smiled involuntarily.

As I gathered my senses, I realized that I was no longer in the laboratory atop the peak on Disco Island. The buzz of propellers and the view of clouds out the window told me I was once again aboard a zeppelin, but not my wife’s. This was a more rugged airship, lacking such fineries as grand pianos and wet bars.

I sat up, pleased to find that I was no longer bound. I wore my general uniform, complete with hat. Beside me was a heap of rucksacks and duffle bags made entirely of wolf pelts.

My interlocutor called over her shoulder toward the cockpit, “The general’s awake now and marveling at the extraordinary nature of his luggage.” Turning back to address me, she said, “We shall dock in the Paradoxica Mountains in five days, assuming an avalanche hasn’t taken out the fortress.”

The wolf pelts made more sense now. The Paradoxica region was the sort of place where the mercury often freezes in the thermometer. Not usually the sort of place I would choose to spend my time, but it might be nice to get a break from all the crazy machinations surrounding my family. The cold wouldn’t be too big of a deal for me. I was born at the North Pole after all.

A five-day zeppelin journey also sounded quite relaxing. At the very least there was a highly limited number of people on board who might be on a quest for the exotic compound allegedly found in my semen. I stood and stretched, then picked up an extending spyglass and went to a window.

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I Didn’t Need the Spyglass

  • by Kenttwitch in her palm
  • you’re holding a pair of scissors
  • trickles from its point
  • with a horse trainer’s eyes
  • something tells me that I shall soon know

Tune in next time part 424      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I didn’t need the spyglass to see that we were still over open water. I extended it anyway, to look for ships or islets or anything else of interest.

The woman who’d awakened me came to my side at the window. I saw by her garb that she was in the Mountain Garrison Messaging Corps, commonly known as the Yodelers. I thought she was about to finally tell me her name, but she launched instead into a description of a dream that she was reminded of by the twitch in her palm.

“It was the type of dream where you’re holding a pair of scissors and everyone who sees you points and screams, then runs away. And when you look down at the scissors you see that a blue liquid runs down one blade and trickles from its point. And you hold a jar in your other hand, with a horse trainer’s eyes in it, bobbing about in blue liquid among a hodge-podge of combs and more scissors. It was not that exact dream, of course, just one of that general type. General. Do you know what such dreams mean?”

“No,” I said, “but something tells me that I shall soon know.”

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My Yodeler Companion Looked at Me Askance

  • by jencreep to his side unseen
  • give their marriage a second chance
  • I suppose it’s very nice
  • their Dresden-china type of prettiness
  • Who’s jealous?

Tune in next time part 425      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My Yodeler companion looked at me askance. “I don’t know how it is in the military of your backwards country, but Contrarian Generals are expected to be skilled oneiromancers. How else will they plan effective battle strategies? The subconscious is like a man, a man who speaks through dreams, and a Contrarian General knows how to creep to his side unseen and eavesdrop, thereby gaining valuable knowledge.”

That explained an awful lot about Contrarian military strategy.

“I’ll read up on the topic before we land,” I said. “Are there any messages for me? Something from my wife perhaps?” I wanted to know if my trip to the Paradoxica Region was a permanent exile.

“Indeed there is, General. Shall I deliver it?”

I nodded.

She stood up straight and clasped her hands together in front of her chest, then began to yodel. It was very loud, and I took a step backwards. Instead of the standard nonsense syllables, her ululations contained words. “General, I hope this message finds you well. The children are all roly-poly and adorable, but not as roly-poly as Isolde. Her pregnancy progresses apace. The soothsayer is sure that she’s carrying triplets at least, possibly more. Isolde and Harry have gone into counseling to give their marriage a second chance. Harry’s such a jealous tit about the whole proxy marriage. Most women would not tolerate his childish behavior. I suppose it’s very nice for him that Isolde is crazy about him. Assuming that Enigma Fortress has not been carried away by an avalanche I will visit you there when it’s time to conceive our next children.” The yodeler fell silent, her final words echoing around the gondola for a few seconds.

“Any other messages?” I was hoping for orders of some kind, an idea of my mission.

“That’s all,” said the Yodeler. She sighed. “Your wife and her sisters are all so beautiful, with their Dresden-china type of prettiness. And you’re so ruggedly handsome.”

“It sounds like you’re jealous.” She had no reason to be, as she was quite a looker.

“Who’s jealous?” She stepped closer and murmured in my ear, “Your wife may be beautiful, but she’s not here on this zeppelin, and I am.”

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I Looked the Yodeler Up and Down

  • by Kentcertainly knew about DNA
  • Over. And over. And over again.
  • vibrating sensuously
  • I do more than flip burgers
  • really good cocktail party music

Tune in next time part 426      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I looked the Yodeler up and down, keeping my face blank. It seemed that despite the limited number of people aboard the zeppelin, at least one of them was indeed after my semen. But for what reason? I would have five days to find out.

The Contrarian educational system placed little emphasis on science, but even so she certainly knew about DNA. Not that I knew with any certainty that the special component rumored to inhabit my fluids was the DNA. All I knew was that various factions had extracted samples from me. Over. And over. And over again.

“The hum of the propellers drives me a little wild,” she said, her voice vibrating sensuously. “Without release, I might go mad before we reach the fortress.”

“I’m still tired,” I said. “Ask me again in a little while.” The fact was, I wasn’t tired at all. Being knocked out by cobra yoga had given me the best sleep I’d had in ages. My plan was to let this woman become desperate, at which point she’d be more likely to reveal information.

She turned away and went to the cockpit. I felt pretty proud of myself for coming up with a plan so quickly. As we used to say at the Academy, I do more than flip burgers — I also know how to choose really good cocktail party music.

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