Tagged: tune in next time

I Was Almost Positive

  • by Kentcall it “getting the twisties”
  • Big, beefy, never takes off the helmet.
  • one of the gents
  • Specifically, a chilled fork.
  • slanderous biography

Tune in next time part 682      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was almost positive it hadn’t been an Underduchess who slobbered on my fingers, but I didn’t see any nearby lambs or other baby livestock to take the blame. I wiped my hand on my pantleg, resolved to track down the furtive licker at a later time.

For now, there was the immediate concern of how to deal with my panda-suited brother. We huddled together on the sofa, expecting Jim to dance his way over. Dance he did, but on a chaotic, spiraling course. The impaired visibility and limited oxygen offered by the panda head combined with the sheer bulk of the costume were creating a syndrome. Mascots call it “getting the twisties” and speak of it in hushed tones. Legend has it that the Jousting Emu of Soiux Falls succumbed so totally that he’s twisting to this day, somewhere in the wilderness, and travelers who encounter him always give the same account: “Big, beefy, never takes off the helmet. Spinning around in a crazy circles and knocking shit over everywhere.”

We realized that Jim might be putting the children in danger. None of the gents employed at the petting zoo were on the scene, so it was up to Cleopatra, Esmerelda, and me.

Esmerelda, being married to him, thought she had the best chance of bringing Jim’s gyrations under control. But you can’t simply seize someone with the twisties to halt them — you’ll be drawn into the madness yourself. I was too slow imparting my warning, and Esmerelda found herself clinging for dear life to the whirligigging blue beast.

“I know what we need,” Cleopatra announced. “Cold silver. Specifically, a chilled fork. Run to the bistro above the print shop and hurry back with one!”

With a nod, I raced off on my mission. The only tricks I knew for dealing with Jim’s predicament had come from the slanderous biography of a mascot from a cricket team in far-northern Canada, so I had little faith in their efficacy.

As I ran, I had to wipe my hand on my pants again. The salivary sniper had struck a second time.

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It Was Too Late

  • by Kenton Jason’s Nike sneakers
  • ice cream karaoke trucks
  • were the consorts of kings
  • my nose made bitter complaints
  • bankers and wankers, babe

Tune in next time part 684      Click Here for Earlier Installments

It was too late to avoid being spotted, so I tried to act casual without giving off the air of trying to act in a particular way. It wasn’t something I had ever specifically trained for. Numerous courses and special projects I’d done at The Academy touched on it, but this moment made me realize it was a deficiency in the curriculum.

The circus people showed surprisingly little interest in me. I furtively wiped the fresh spittle from my fingers, maddened not to know where it kept coming from. It was while doing so that I noticed the tots both had on Jason’s Nike sneakers, his signature model that had only ever been sold in Japan.

Suddenly the teenaged employee reappeared. “Sorry,” he wheezed, holding out a plastic spoon. “This is all they left me. The good stuff all goes out on the ice cream karaoke trucks, so you hafta get here early.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I growled. “My brother needs my help.”

“Our brothers were the consorts of kings,” muttered one of the circus people. “Now would it be alright for us to order something to eat? In this restaurant? If you’re all done with your weird utensil-themed psychodrama.”

“Maybe you should see to them first,” I shot back. It was obvious from the way my nose made bitter complaints that the infants’ diapers needed changing.

“Hey!” yelped the teen. “Good news! There’s a fork embedded in the frost inside the dessert case. They must’ve missed it. You want me to start chipping it out for you?”

“Let me do it!” I cried, lunging in with the spoon.

“Ugh, no manners at all!” exclaimed the other circus person.

The first one nodded knowingly. “Generals, bankers and wankers, babe. They think they run the world.”

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You’ve Probably Noticed

  • by jen(aka Slippery Eel)
  • eat all the candy yourself
  • said through giggles
  • we never were sentimental
  • I’ll bite down hard on a

Tune in next time part 685      Click Here for Earlier Installments

You’ve probably noticed my tendency to swear like a sailor. It’s an unfortunate habit I picked up during my time on the tramp steamer. While I usually have no compunctions about letting the profanities fly, I’ll bite down hard on a four letter word when there are children around. I’m not sure where my squeamishness comes from. In my family we never were sentimental about the innocence of childhood. I remember many, many times when the bluest language was said through giggles in the playroom. Any little thing would set my siblings off. All you had to do to be lambasted was change the channel on the TV while someone else was watching, or eat all the candy yourself on Halloween, or give someone a wet willie (aka Slippery Eel).

I mention all of this so that you’ll understand how difficult it was for me to not give voice to my frustrations with the ineffectual restaurant employee, the rude circus people, and the thick layer of frost keeping me from the frozen cutlery I needed to derail my rampaging brother and protect my myriad offspring.

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The Plastic Spoon

  • by KentI’d suggest finding a different doctor
  • co-stars a chimp
  • a creature of infinite melancholy
  • suggested that we wear each other’s shirts
  • new moccasins and snow-shoes

Tune in next time part 686      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The plastic spoon wasn’t having much effect on the ice entombing the only fork available to me on this airship. I needed to get back to the petting zoo quickly! So, I pried the whole frost-caked shelf out of the dessert case and dumped the pies onto the counter. The circus people’s eyes lit up when so many pastries landed before them, so I left them the spoon as well.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” I heard one of them say.

I ran out of the bistro, muttering, “I’d suggest finding a different doctor.”

Contrarian airships do not all have petting zoos. That’s a myth perpetuated by a classic TV series that co-stars a chimp astrologer and a creature of infinite melancholy resembling a flightless parrot. They solve mysteries together, visiting a different airship’s petting zoo in each episode.

Of course Fleur’s vessel had everything. Racing back with the chilled fork to help Jim, I took a shortcut across the ice rink. The referee of the in-progress hockey game tried to delay me and suggested that we wear each other’s shirts, a blatant ploy by the sports officials’ union to insinuate itself into military affairs. I laughed and kept moving. Because ice skates are the one sharp object that ever accidentally downed a Contrarian blimp, the hockey players weren’t allowed to wear them. At least they all had new moccasins and snow-shoes.

My shortcut proved to be a miscalculation, though.

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As Many of You Probably Know

  • by jenOh honey, *yes.*
  • They call me Mr Carousel
  • an almost imperceptible click
  • only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups
  • large enough for a man to pass through

Tune in next time part 687      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As many of you probably know, ice is slippery. What you, like me, may not know is that Contrarian military dress footwear is polished with excretions from icicle slugs. Soles included. I whizzed and twirled across the hockey rink, pinwheeling my arms to keep my balance.

A man in the stands leapt to his feet and yelled, “Oh honey, yes.”

I spun into the wall and grabbed on to prevent myself from taking another slapstick lap. The frost-encrusted fork nearly went flying. My newest fan clambered over the seats and opened a door not far from me. He held out a hockey stick, and I used it as a lifeline to reach him and exit the rink.

“That was some amazing ice action,” he enthused. Then he stuck out his hand for me to shake. “They call me Mr Carousel. I’m a talent scout of the Royal Contrarian Icecapades. I would love to take you to the big leagues, baby.”

I gestured at my uniform. “I already have a job. And a mission.” I saluted him with my frozen cutlery and headed toward the exit. Here on dry land my shoes were only a little bit slippery, nothing I couldn’t handle. I made an almost imperceptible click with each step.

Mr Carousel wasn’t going to let me go so easily, though. “If you sign on with the ‘Capades, I can get you anything you want. You want a vending machine that only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups large enough for a man to pass through once he eats the middle? I can get you a vending machine that only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups large enough for a man to pass through once he eats the middle. You want chilled silverware? I can get it for you, chilled by professionals.”

His offer was tempting, but it would certainly take too long. By the time the lawyers hammered out all the details in the contract Jim and Esmerelda would be beyond help. And yet, I had always dreamt of a career in skates…

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I Tamped Down My Temptation

  • by Kentinvolving a talking toilet
  • classic millennial sex pickle
  • wrinkled from being waterlogged
  • time thinking about my underwear
  • As balloons do.

Tune in next time part 688      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tamped down my temptation over the Icecapades deal and ran off to help Jim and Esmerelda. But Mr Carousel followed doggedly and kept talking about all the perks that would be written into my contract, more than one of them involving a talking toilet. He also promised there’d be “only top-shelf gourd, none of the flimsy gratifications you usually see today.” That piqued my curiosity enough to make me pause for an explanation. He told me there’d be a rider that my dressing room must always be equipped with a classic millennial sex pickle, good and wrinkled from being waterlogged for a thousand years. He winked at me. “Just like the golden age, eh sport? Course if you plan to wear it during the show you’ll need to switch from boxers to something with a more secure fit.”

Mr Carousel had already spent too much time thinking about my underwear and I’d only known him for 43 seconds.

Before I could express my distaste over this breach of protocol, the airship heaved sideways. We’d flown into a storm, and the vessel was going where the wind would take it. As balloons do.

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The Sudden Lurch of the Zeppelin

  • by jenShut the fuck up, my dude!
  • (or, as he called it, “feesh”)
  • hide from him in the dark
  • flammable urine
  • Plus, we have tiaras

Tune in next time part 689      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The sudden lurch of the zeppelin could spell disaster for my rapidly spinning brother and his wife, or — if we were all very, very lucky — it might jolt them back to stability. I crossed my fingers and ran for the down escalator. Mr Carousel kept pace with me, dangling ever-more-exotic perks to entice me to sign an Icecapades contract.

“Shut the fuck up, my dude!” I barked, but he took no heed, explaining how, if I wanted, I could have a practice rink constructed over an aquarium so that my pet fish (or, as he called it, “feesh”) would never be left alone. I couldn’t help thinking that if I was Mr Carousel’s pet fish I would hide from him in the dark recesses of the sunken pirate ship decorating my tank.

“You want flammable urine?” Mr Carousel improbably said. “I can talk to the team bioengineer about getting you flammable urine. Plus, we have tiaras for all of our star skaters!”

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The Storm Outside

  • by Kentcelebrate by dancing
  • left school at sixteen
  • “Mr Wilmerdings is an accomplished pianist.”
  • make the standard criss-cross pattern
  • just blink twice and we’ll know what you mean

Tune in next time part 690      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The storm outside threw the craft in the opposite direction, causing me to twirl and wave my arms to keep from toppling. Mr Carousel clapped, and exclaimed, “Everyone loves the tiaras, but few celebrate by dancing when I mention them!”

I just kept running, hoping Jim could hold out. Hoping the fork would still be cold enough. Wondering if I’d be in this predicament if my brother hadn’t left school at sixteen to travel full time with a waltz trio. I remembered the day he told Mother of his plans, her disparagement of the troubadour life. All Jim could say of the bandleader was, “Mr Wilmerdings is an accomplished pianist.” Mother hadn’t been impressed.

Finally I arrived back at the zeppelin’s petting zoo, where the situation appeared to be unchanged. Jim, in the blue panda suit, was still gyrating hectically with Esmerelda hanging onto the fur in his armpits, her body flung straight outward by centrifugal force. Cleopatra said, “Hurry! The nose, the panda nose. Use the fork to make the standard criss-cross pattern, like on a traditional peanut butter cookie!”

I edged forward, ducking under Esmerelda each time she swung by. With quickness and precision that a ninja would be proud of, I reached up with the fork on two successive revolutions, scoring the rubbery snout from different angles. On the next swing, Esmerelda landed in my arms. And after two more rotations, Jim stopped spinning and sat down heavily.

Esmerelda scrambled over to him, calling, “Are you okay?” The panda head was wobbling. She held it still and peered in through the eyeholes. “If you’re okay in there, just blink twice and we’ll know what you mean.”

“Splendid!” cried Mr Carousel. “We’ll make that the centerpiece of your act!”

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All This Attention from Mr Carousel

  • by jenwhen I used to ride a motorcycle
  • tequila anyhow
  • imagine a new color
  • biggest mittens he could find
  • Nepotism!

Tune in next time part 691      Click Here for Earlier Installments

All this attention from Mr Carousel reminded me of when I used to ride a motorcycle. I was approached weekly by talent scouts, people who would offer me anything my heart desired if only I would sign on with the Asphaltcapades. They made so many promises: Bathtubs full of champagne! (Or tequila anyhow.) A new bike in any color I could imagine, a new color for my leathers, too. One particularly odd fellow offered to buy me the biggest mittens he could find if I would only sign a contract. I turned them all down, just as I was trying to turn down Mr Carousel.

“I’ve got to check on my brother,” I said, gesturing at the blue panda. Jim was trying to undo the child safety lock on his big blue head.

“Nepotism!” cried Mr Carousel. “I love it! That’s the perfect theme for your routine!”

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I Knelt To Assist Jim

  • by Kentrunning towards us with a test-tube in his hand
  • just for the hell of it
  • with thick lemon frosting
  • remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue
  • and sequins in a plastic bag

Tune in next time part 692      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I knelt to assist Jim with his panda-head, but just then I spotted a man in a white lab coat running towards us with a test-tube in his hand. “Don’t remove that head!” he shouted. “The man in that costume is infectious.”

“That’s been said about my bonhomie,” came Jim’s muffled drawl. “Now unlatch this thing.”

I stalled, buying time for the lab-coated man to arrive. I wanted to hear him out. It didn’t seem he’d be charging around with a test-tube just for the hell of it.

At the same moment, we were accosted from the other side by a roving exhibit from the petting zoo. It looked like the set from a baking competition show had been converted into a parade float. A large parrot wearing a chef’s toque perched over a cake with thick lemon frosting.

“I baked a cake, I baked a cake!” proclaimed the parrot. “Pretty bird, remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue!”

The man with the test-tube skidded to a halt. “He was spinning around in circles, wasn’t he? That’s an advanced symptom. The test confirms the diagnosis!” He waved the test-tube around so violently I was amazed the stopper stayed in.

“But we already know what happened,” I protested. “It’s not contagious, and it’s under control. The chilled fork did the trick.”

“Ohhh!” the alleged scientist jeered. “That won’t hold for long. A permanent cure can’t be achieved without the proper therapy. And for that, you need nine pairs of used false eyelashes and sequins in a plastic bag.”

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