Tagged: tune in next time

Bruce Pamplemousse Sneered

  • by Kentrampant adulterer
  • try to keep a straight face.
  • sexy paparazzi death match
  • be perfect, of course
  • under her shoe

Tune in next time part 834      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Bruce Pamplemousse sneered away his confusion. “Sure,” he said to Jim. “You want me to share the stage with that rampant adulterer you call a brother, and you want me agree to it while I try to keep a straight face.” His face did look quite straight, despite the sarcasm overloading his voice. I had to assume that my carnal exploits were common knowledge among everybody on this airship, but moral censure from the likes of the Pamplemousse clan was a rather bitter pill to swallow. And he wasn’t done. “Give me time to alert the media,” he crowed, “so our pageant can feature a sexy paparazzi death match.”

It would be perfect, of course, if Bruce Pamplemousse simply stormed off. But he showed no intention of leaving.

Jim laughed off Bruce’s hissy-fit. “It’ll be great,” he said, already on his feet and tugging me by the hand. “We’ll make a kick line. We’ll spin plates. Just wait’ll you see what our other friend here has under her shoe.”

Tessa wore a tight grin. What had those two cooked up?

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Tessa Stood and Held Up the Paper

  • by jenheir to an ancient lineage
  • all just mumbo jumbo
  • (later identified as his Dartmouth classmate)
  • the length of his mustache
  • although his solid chin is clear of any hair

Tune in next time part 835      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa stood and held up the paper she’d pulled from a hidden compartment in the sole of her shoe. She spoke loudly and clearly. “Zeus Pamplemousse claims he is heir to an ancient lineage of lunar rulers, but that’s all just mumbo jumbo cooked up by him and his partner in chicanery and marriage, Blanchisseuse (later identified as his Dartmouth classmate) (in case you were wondering how they met). In reality, Zeus, (and therefore his sons, including Bruce), is heir to nothing. This certificate proves that it is actually my father, Tycho, who is heir to the lunar kingdom! You can tell by the length of his mustache, although his solid chin is clear of any hair. That’s a moon trait!”

This absurd claim was news to me, but it might explain why Zeus had forced marriage upon Tessa. He was trying to legitimize his claim to the lunar throne.

Whether or not it was true, it was an amazing distraction.

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“Nay!”

  • by Kentonce slashed at my stomach with a penknife
  • like a crafty red squirrel
  • every time a movie features punk rockers
  • sang three little boys together
  • smeared himself with Susan’s lipstick

Tune in next time part 836      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Nay!” roared Bruce Pamplemousse pretentiously. “It is Tycho whose claim is false!”

“Prove it!” I shouted. “Show us your own certificate.”

“I don’t have it with me,” Bruce whined.

“So, go get it,” I retorted.

Bruce fixed his gaze on Tessa. “No one is less entitled to rule the moon than your father. He once slashed at my stomach with a penknife, like a crafty red squirrel with a penknife. I was just a boy, and he attacked me. He’s so uncouth and unmannered, every time a movie features punk rockers I expect one of them to be him.”

Tessa leaned to me and whispered, “As far as I know, my father’s never met any of the Pamplemousses.”

Meanwhile, the talent show’s finale was trying to resume but devolving into chaos. The performers weren’t waiting for their cues. “Hey now, get your butt off the stage,” sang three little boys together. In the wings, Fleur demanded of another woman, “Susan, get this mess under control!”

Susan marched out to Bruce to tell him his time was up. Bruce winked at her and put his arms around her, and smeared himself with Susan’s lipstick in the process.

I yelled, “Get a room, you two!” Sending Susan off alone with Bruce Pamplemousse felt wrong, but she seemed to know what she was doing.

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Susan Took Bruce by the Hand

  • by jenbecoming reacquainted with Fear
  • kickass title for a prog rock album
  • time is not on our side
  • hungry, sleepy, and cross
  • filled with white-hot rage

Tune in next time part 837      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Susan took Bruce by the hand and tugged him toward the exit. Bruce tried to pry his hand free, but Susan’s grip was iron. As he was dragged offstage, Bruce bellowed back over his shoulder at us, “When I return you will all be becoming reacquainted with Fear! Moon Fear!”

I didn’t want to say anything to Bruce about it, but “Becoming Reacquainted with Fear” would be a kickass title for a prog rock album. I made a mental note.

Fleur stepped up to the recently vacated microphone. “I’m afraid time is not on our side. The children are hungry, sleepy, and cross. Some are even filled with white-hot rage over missing snack time. We must conclude this infant talent show posthaste and declare a winner. I assume my husband has the prize prepared?”

As far as I knew, I was her only husband, and I did not in fact have a prize prepared. Shit.

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Fleur Might Have Genuinely Expected

  • by Kentand then BOOM. Kismet.
  • lined up like dolls
  • straight into my skull
  • Everything I know about sloths
  • a pervert’s omelet

Tune in next time part 838      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur might have genuinely expected me to have this prize. Her grasp of reality could at times be that tenuous. More likely she just wanted to humiliate me. I looked furtively at Jim and Tessa, wondering if I could get anything suitable from either of them. But no. The combined contents of their pockets would be a pervert’s omelet and utterly inappropriate as a victory token in this venue.

I usually find that whatever predicament I’m facing can be solved by decoding it via one of the multitudinous ciphers I learned at the Academy. This time I was stuck. If I went haring around the airship in search of a prize, Fleur would hear of it and mock me savagely. I had to calmly produce an answer from where I sat.

I receded into a trance, making my mind receptive to the vibrations of the universe. It was another Academy skill, one which I’d used infrequently but with great success. Everything I know about sloths was beamed straight into my skull during such an episode, the facts all lined up like dolls on a shelf in my parietal lobe. (Some of what I know about sloths is rather unusual.)

I was losing control. My trance became a spiral, and then a centrifuge. I feared I would be flung into perpetual madness all for the lack of a trophy for an infant talent show. I had to admit that there was a certain poetry in such a fate befalling me. All seemed lost, and then BOOM. Kismet. The answer floated before me.

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Not Only Did the Answer Float Before Me

  • by jensuggesting its author is a liar
  • Chad’s such a dingus
  • but I’ll be ding-danged if I’ll let just anyone
  • hideous hellbirds
  • “Wow! Whoopee! A zeppelin!”

Tune in next time part 839      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Not only did the answer float before me, it floated all around me. I was in fact riding inside it as it floated through the sky. “The winner,” I proclaimed, “shall receive the title to this zeppelin.” That ought to teach Fleur not to put me on the spot.

Around me the mothers were chattering excitedly. “Wow! Whoopee! A zeppelin!”

Fleur’s face turned redder than the most hideous hellbirds in the mural painted on the auditorium’s ceiling. She muttered under her breath (but straight into the microphone, so I couldn’t help but hear), “He thinks he’s so funny, but I’ll be ding-danged if I’ll let just anyone have my airship.” She ground her teeth for a moment, then bellowed, “Chad!”

I groaned. Chad’s such a dingus. But he also happens to be the Royal Contrarian Airship’s pageant coordinator. He appeared from the wings and Fleur instructed him to read the bylaws governing airborne infant talent shows. Chad knew who signed his paychecks, so of course he had Fleur’s back. He read aloud the section on prizes, his wording suggesting I was its author, his tone suggesting its author is a liar.

Like I said, dingus.

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Whatever His Faults

  • by Kenttouch the cake with their filthy hands
  • ran out of urine
  • — all those beautiful bullfrogs
  • “If you wanna eat ‘em, ya gotta listen to ‘em first.”
  • giggling as he tempts fate

Tune in next time part 840      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Whatever his faults — and they were many — Chad was a skilled argumentarian and I was quickly backed into a corner trying to justify my decree. We struck a compromise whereby I pretended that what I’d meant all along was a cake in the shape of the zeppelin, not the literal airship itself. The mothers were disappointed in me (and not for the first time).

Fleur sent Chad away to direct the preparation of this scaled-down prize. The devious look on his face as he accepted this task made me uncomfortable. Contrarian confectionery is its own kink, and I cringed at the idea that any bakers on this vessel were going to touch the cake with their filthy hands. The flavor might be palatable assuming they ran out of urine. There would of course be an algae-clogged pond in the kitchen where the frogs — all those beautiful bullfrogs — would serenade the vile pastry chefs. They have a saying: “If you wanna eat ’em, you gotta listen to ’em first.”

And worst of all, the decorator, whose job would be to create a convincing likeness of the Royal Contrarian Airship out of buttercream and fondant. I could just see the madman, giggling as he temps fate with some outlandish improvised coloring additive.

With the prize defined, all that remained was the actual declaration of the winner. Fleur was, of course, still looking archly at me.

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I Shrugged Pointedly at Fleur

  • by jenNo, a different deranged man.
  • Can we talk about how close you and your plumber are
  • a strange and curious inscription
  • “Silver Thursday”
  • it’s a competitive world

Tune in next time part 841      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I shrugged pointedly at Fleur. Infant talent shows are their own world, and, believe me, it’s a competitive world. I refused to jeopardize my own safety by being the one to declare the winner, not after that whole “Silver Thursday” debacle from my Academy days. My wife and her sister cooked up this whole escapade. Let them figure it out.

Fleur’s glare etched a strange and curious inscription in the air, leaving no doubt that she was displeased. I hadn’t seen a look like that since our honeymoon when she ambushed me with a big “Can we talk about how close you and your plumber are?” conversation, having mistaken a picture of Tessa in her Sexy Super Mario costume for the real thing.

Tessa leaned in and whispered, “Your wife looks like a serial killer.”

On my other side, Jim shook his head. “No, a different deranged man. An evil hypnotist, maybe.”

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The Evil Hypnotist

  • by Kentno way he spent his imprisonment just twiddling his thumbs
  • a track meet that had gotten out of control
  • at the height of her glorious sexiness
  • the name by which you wish to be called
  • fully clothed throughout the poem

Tune in next time part 842      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The evil hypnotist Jim meant had to be Ludwig “Wiggy” Wittgenberg. He did bear more than a passing resemblance to my wife, and was indeed quite deranged. Of course it didn’t matter if Fleur looked like any particular serial killer or evil hypnotist, but the comment prompted me to wonder where Wiggy had landed after serving time for his assorted deranged deeds. There was no way he spent his imprisonment just twiddling his thumbs, so in all likelihood he emerged far more dangerous than he went in.

I knew why Fleur didn’t want to handle selecting the winner. This talent show was like a track meet that had gotten out of control and no one knew who had the starter’s pistol anymore. Whoever chose the winner was going to make one baby’s momma very happy, and make a whole bunch of enemies in the process. I couldn’t believe that she, even being at the height of her glorious sexiness, expected to talk me into such a fool’s gambit. Of course she wasn’t talking, just staring at me and doing something with her thumbs. She was… twiddling them.

“You will come up on stage,” she said. I was horrified to find myself rising from my seat. She laughed as I made my way onto the stage.

My throat constricted when I tried to speak, but I rasped out a question. “What is the name by which you wish to be called? Are you Fleur, or are you Wiggy?”

The only answer I got was a smirk. Then she said, “You’re going to reveal the winner, and you’re going to do it in rhyme. And remember that there are children present, so kindly remain fully clothed throughout the poem.”

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How Could I Possibly Choose a Winner?

  • by jenboring, non-inflatable-object-related reasons
  • whipped out her dagger
  • portrait of a marriage in trouble
  • very-large-scale sculptures of robots
  • rise out of the mud like a lotus flower

Tune in next time part 843      Click Here for Earlier Installments

How could I possibly choose a winner? All of the children were equally, adorably, untalented. I closed my eyes, and pictured my mind as a fertile field, hoping that an idea would rise out of the mud like a lotus flower. My thoughts were so disordered that, instead, the only things to erupt from the soggy earth were very-large-scale sculptures of robots, ready for battle.

Unable to resist Fleur’s hypnotic command any longer, I mumbled into the microphone,

“In third place is Yolanda’s son — Not that one, but the other one.

In second place is Olga’s daughter — in the dress her mother bought her.

And in first, babe of Isolde — pick one from her numbers untold.”

There were gasps and cheers and boos. I could tell from one glance at Fleur that our relationship was the very portrait of a marriage in trouble. I should have chosen one of her children as the winner, but I didn’t, and now she whipped out her dagger.

“Watch where you’re waving that thing,” I cried. “We’re in a zeppelin!”

Her lips twitched in the faintest smile. “Fool! I will deal with you later. For now I will only use my dagger for the most boring, non-inflatable-object-related reasons.”

The cake replica of the zeppelin was brought onstage, and Fleur drove her blade straight into it, cutting off a large chunk to present to Isolde.

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