Tagged: tune in next time

Now That I Was No Longer

  • by Kentsounded like you were smothering a dolphin
  • during my ska phase
  • how to correctly poop in the woods
  • most magnetic tragedy
  • stoned to the bone

Tune in next time part 662      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Now that I was no longer stoned to the bone on icicle slugs, I wanted to take action and make my escape from these horrid islands as quickly as possible. Forging Jason’s signature was meant to expedite this, but now that they had a signed release the reality show people were less concerned than ever with my demands.

“Get some fresh slugs,” said the annoying overhead voice, “and we’ll pick things up when they come through the door.” The crew scampered to their places of concealment and Dr Ferguson beckoned me to take position. I folded my arms and shook my head.

“They need to reshoot,” she said with a shrug. “The data from the first take was lost due a freak power surge, which didn’t damage anything else but was probably the most magnetic tragedy that’s ever happened to their equipment.”

“Second most magnetic,” chimed in the disembodied voice. “Right behind losing the whole sequence when that Svenborgian royal demonstrated how to correctly poop in the woods.”

“How is it a reality show if you do stuff over?” I demanded. Numerous hidden production assistants failed to fully stifle their laughter. I rolled my eyes and stood my ground.

Dr Ferguson proposed that I might maintain my integrity — and help keep the production moving — by giving them a performance to use in place of the lost footage. She suggested I use the material I had developed during my ska phase, by which of course she meant Jason’s ska phase. Was she toying with me? I had no choice but to plunge into song.

“Cut! Stop!” yelled the voice in the ceiling. “We can’t use that. It sounded like you were smothering a dolphin with a bagpipe full of toads. Listen, if you want that plane ticket you’re going to have to do better than that.”

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I Could Still Taste the Slug

  • by jenhad sex with the devil in exchange for magical powers
  • a Grade IV erection
  • very diabolical piece of
  • pantyhose on his head
  • spitting with impunity

Tune in next time part 663      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I could still taste the slug, or perhaps it was the PA’s fingers. I turned my head and spat into the wastebasket. Twice.

“There is no spitting with impunity on my set,” the voice from the ceiling said. “Put the pantyhose on his head.”

I was so distracted by the idea that anyone these days would have pantyhose on demand that I failed to dodge Dr Ferguson. Before I knew what hit me, my face was smooshed inside the tube of sheer fabric held in place by a very diabolical piece of knot-tying artistry.

“I think you like that,” Dr Ferguson cooed, trailing her fingers down my torso. “This is a Grade IV erection at least.”

“We can’t proceed until he reaches Grade VII,” ceiling-voice said.

“Luckily,” Dr Ferguson breathed into my ear, “I had sex with the devil in exchange for magical powers of seduction.”

And then she did something astounding with her hand that I am at a loss to describe.

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I Hadn’t Experienced

  • by KentRussian-born catsuit designer
  • do they hold your hands and look intensely into your eyes
  • little woogie-moogums
  • the name of your equipment is also objectively cool
  • made an actual hashtag with my fingers

Tune in next time part 664      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I hadn’t experienced anything like Dr Ferguson’s touch since my fling with a Russian-born catsuit designer named Orlova. What can we say of the world’s great lovers? When they’re with you on the set of a tawdry reality TV show, do they hold your hands and look intensely into your eyes? Sometimes. But sometimes one of their hands is busy elsewhere, and they can’t look into your eyes because of the pantyhose on your head, so they laugh and call you their little woogie-moogums, and that can be okay too. And they’ll do magical things to your equipment without even knowing your name, or its name, even when the name of your equipment is also objectively cool.

The voice in the ceiling said, “We can use this for a promo. To camera in three, two…”

Dr Ferguson darted behind me like a cat, hugging me and seizing my hands as she said “Hashtag Slimy Passions!” Too late I realized that she had made an actual hashtag with my fingers.

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You Know That Dream?

  • by jenbeside you in a bathing suit
  • sinister red mask with pointy ears
  • “Don’t be fooled by their cuddly appearance
  • fine silken tunics
  • “Should I put my shoes back on?”

Tune in next time part 665      Click Here for Earlier Installments

You know that dream? The one where there’s a beautiful woman beside you in a bathing suit and a sinister red mask with pointy ears, and she twists your fingers into impossible shapes to make grotesque shadow puppets, and growls in your ear, “Don’t be fooled by their cuddly appearance, sonny boy, they’re deadly even if they are just shadows!”? This felt a lot like that dream, only Dr Ferguson was dressed for skinny dipping, and I was the one in a mask (if pantyhose can be said to count as a mask). And instead of growling, Dr Ferguson purred into my ear, “Just shoot this one scene for us and we’ll dress you in fine silken tunics — as many as you want — and drive you to the airport.”

It was just one scene. How bad could it be. I murmured to her, “Should I put my shoes back on?”

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Dr Ferguson Did Not Want

  • by Kentlike a tiny fireman
  • That’s a promise.
  • stone table near the fireplace
  • my fishmonger uncle
  • because you had a wedding ceremony

Tune in next time part 666      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Dr Ferguson did not want me to put my shoes back on. This was because she had designs on my pinkie toes, and soon I was struggling mightily not to kick her in the face while she treated my left little toe like a tiny fireman searching for a way into the inferno. My toes are extremely ticklish.

“Just one scene!” I grunted through clenched teeth and a layer of nylon mesh.

“Mmm hmmm,” she replied. Then, taking my digit from her mouth she added, “That’s a promise.” I was splayed by then on the stone table near the fireplace like some poor creature my fishmonger uncle would have hacked up for chum.

Before she could go after my toes again, I asked, “Why do you want me on your show so bad anyway?”

“You’re sort of a unicorn,” she replied, “because you had a wedding ceremony — a proxy wedding ceremony — with that golden tongue of yours. Such a rarity. Our viewers are a lot like birders, or trainspotters. They’re always on the lookout to check things off their lists. This episode will be a ratings bonanza!”

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“And What Sort of Uniqueness Do You Bring to the Festivities?”

  • by jen“Valentina, your hands are a distraction.”
  • biggest snake ever
  • under the covers late into the night
  • you’re supposed to throw the first pancake away
  • I appreciate the tongue being so firmly in the cheek

Tune in next time part 667      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“And what sort of uniqueness do you bring to the festivities?” I asked.

“I’m double-jointed!” Dr Ferguson demonstrated, flexing and contorting her fingers into many unnatural positions.

The speaker in the ceiling crackled. “Valentina, your hands are a distraction.”

Valentina Ferguson’s digits all snapped back into human-like shape and she glared up at one of the cameras. “I realize he doesn’t have the biggest snake ever seen on this show, but there’s no way my hands were obscuring it completely.”

Had she just insulted my genitals?

“Valentina, please,” the ceiling voice griped. “Get on with it.”

Valentina turned back to me. “He never complains about my fingers when we’re naked together under the covers late into the night.”

“For the show?”

“Of course not! He’s my second husband.” She wiggled her left ring finger in front of my face like an eel. “I don’t have a wedding ring because it just wouldn’t stay on.”

I eyed her hypnotic digits. “What happened to your first husband?”

“Husbands are a lot like pancakes.” She laughed at my confusion. “You’re supposed to throw the first pancake away.”

“Get on with it!” shrieked the ceiling.

Valentina shrugged and planted an openmouthed kiss on me. She tasted vaguely of my toes, but that was an improvement over the slug from earlier.

From the speaker in the ceiling, her husband gave direction. “I appreciate the tongue being so firmly in the cheek. Keep it there as the slugs are applied.”

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The Passion of Valentina’s Kiss

  • by Kentthe stroke that a dog uses when swimming
  • which we call the Alchemist
  • bring his microphone and a recording device
  • Tall, pale, and lanky
  • “You know, the sexy one.”

Tune in next time part 668      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The passion of Valentina’s kiss was impressive, and it would have been quite enjoyable if her tongue action weren’t cramming a big wad of nylon down my throat. As my oxygen levels dropped, I tried to fight her off with motions that must have resembled the stroke that a dog uses when swimming.

I blacked out momentarily, and came to in the middle of a mob of EMTs. As my head cleared I realized that they were just the same ninja production assistants from before, except one guy with a stethoscope.

“This is our on-set medical coordinator,” Valentina informed me from somewhere nearby but outside my peripheral vision. “A job which we call the Alchemist because of some silly union thing. Whenever he comes in on a call, he has to bring his microphone and a recording device as well as his first-aid stuff. It’s in the bylaws.”

The Alchemist was a distinctive person. Tall, pale, and lanky, with long braids like a macrame plant hanger. He leaned down to apply the stethoscope, but that was just a cover for his true goal of whispering in my ear. “Do you think you could introduce me to your brother?” he asked breathily. “You know, the sexy one.”

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I Whispered to the Alchemist

  • by jenwherever he’s hiding
  • “To be continued,” she said
  • lizard person in a human suit
  • It sure was memorable
  • smell anything out of the ordinary?

Tune in next time part 669      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I whispered to the Alchemist, “I’m sure we’ll find him, wherever he’s hiding.” Whichever of my brothers the Alchemist was horny for, I wouldn’t be making introductions. But he didn’t know that, and I might be able to use him to make my escape before he figured that out.

The Alchemist jerked into action. “I have to get this man to a hospital!”

“What’s the problem?” Valentina’s husband asked from the ceiling.

The Alchemist dropped me a creepy wink, and said, “Acute slug poisoning.”

Valentina leaned down and squeezed my junk. “To be continued,” she said. “As soon as you get medically cleared.”

The Alchemist pulled a collapsable gurney from his kit and assembled it with a few flicks of his bony wrists. As he settled me on it and strapped me down, he gave another laborious wink, and quickly swiped his lips with his tongue like he was a lizard person in a human suit. It sure was memorable, much to my dismay.

He started wheeling me toward the door. Before we made our exit into the snow, though, Valentina said, “Hang on. Does anyone else smell anything out of the ordinary?”

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The Alchemist Threw Valentina

  • by Kenthis itty bitty mustache
  • about as plush and inviting as a youth hostel
  • buy my ovum for $50,000
  • you’ll start hearing it in your sleep
  • what you might call “granola,”

Tune in next time part 670      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Alchemist threw Valentina a nervous look, then met my glance and held one finger up to his itty bitty mustache, which was about as plush and inviting as a youth hostel‘s bath mat. The pantyhose interfered with my nasal functions too much for me to smell anything at all, but I started to suspect that my would-be rescuer might be giving off some kind of funk, and it was making Valentina suspicious.

“Oh, this is my jam!” someone yelled out in the street. An unseen car’s stereo system suddenly pummeled the chalet with horribly distorted bass notes. Then a familiar voice joined the noise — my twin brother belting out the only wedding rap that he’d ever charted with.

She said let’s get hitched up by some dude with priestly collars,
“Less you wanna buy my ovum for $50,000!”

“Ugh,” cried Valentina. “Make them turn it down!”

That’s the thing about any of Jason’s ditties. Let it play for ten seconds, and you’ll start hearing it in your sleep. The song kept blaring.

The cake is all made out of what you might call “granola,”
cause you didn’t bribe the baker $50 like I told ya!

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The Car with the Offensive Stereo

  • by jenquintuple elbows
  • if I may be so bold
  • against her palms
  • they take their shoes off
  • still shrieking at her husband

Tune in next time part 671      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The car with the offensive stereo pulled up at the curb, bass notes so ferocious they shattered all the chalet’s windows. In the ensuing chaos, I worked to free myself from the straps holding me to the gurney. You know how some people are double-jointed? Well, I have quintuple elbows.

As soon as my feet hit the snow, I dashed toward the street. Who cared if I was naked apart from the pantyhose on my head? I had to get away.

The limo, for that’s what was making all the noise, had speakers mounted all over the exterior. I zigged to the right to go behind it, hands clamped over my ears. The chauffeur stepped out wearing enormous noise-canceling headphones, and snagged me by the hosiery. With his other hand he opened the back door, then he tossed me inside and slammed it closed.

Inside the limo was blessedly quiet, although I could still feel Jason’s throbbing music in my bones. A female voice said, “If I may be so bold,” and suddenly the nylon sheath was removed from my head. I could see clearly! And what I saw was my wife, Fleur. She held my face in her hands to stare at me, my cheeks hot and clammy against her palms.

“Fleur!” I didn’t know what to say. So much had happened in the past few days that would infuriate any wife. Any normal wife, anyway.

“You know what most civilized people do when getting into a limousine?” Fleur huffed. “They take their shoes off.”

My feet, along with the rest of me, were bare. Fleur pinched her nostrils closed. “You reek of butterscotch pudding and icicle slugs. The first thing we’ll do once we board the zeppelin is toss you in the shower.”

She pushed a button and told the chauffeur to drive, and just like that I made my escape from the reality TV ghouls, the creepy Alchemist, and Valentina — still shrieking at her husband in the ceiling about whatever odd thing she smelled.

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