Tagged: tune in next time

While I Was Working Some Pretty Rogue Moves

  • by Kentvery nonchalant about the whole thing
  • smells like Willy Wonka’s farts
  • between the second and third toes
  • quite empty, madam
  • so they can be ambassadors

Tune in next time part 854      Click Here for Earlier Installments

While I was working some pretty rogue moves in my attempts to shake off Big Dennis, I was also trying to be very nonchalant about the whole thing so that neither Titania nor Small Dennis would notice. And I was trying not to overexert, because the atmosphere inside the horse costume was stuffy. But it also held a strange, cloying note. “It smells like Willy Wonka’s farts in here,” I muttered, “if he’d been taste testing Brussels sprout gobstoppers.”

Small Dennis shushed me, which Titania must have heard because she growled, “Most horses never learn how painful it is to have a toothpick jammed between the second and third toes, probably because most horses know when to be quiet.”

“Well, that, and they don’t really have toes,” Small Dennis mumbled.

Titania tore the head off the costume. “What is in your head?” she hissed.

“My skull must be quite empty, madam,” he replied in a quavering voice.

She chuckled, suddenly sounding far less irked. “We usually ship people like that off to other countries, so they can be ambassadors. But, too bad for you, we ran out of countries.” She shoved the head back on over Small Dennis, and as she resumed the saddle she sighed. “Never had these issues with Nigel!”

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The Crystal Clown Dug her Heels into My Ribs

  • by jendon’t know if this is a valid seduction tactic
  • for the sole purpose of rubbing one’s tingly parts against
  • silly knees-bent running about
  • put the sponge in the oven
  • pretty new pink dress

Tune in next time part 855      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Crystal Clown dug her heels into my ribs and said, “Tallyho, Dennises!” I don’t know if this is a valid seduction tactic where she comes from, but I figure it must be. I can think of no reason to ride naked atop a faux-horse, save for the sole purpose of rubbing one’s tingly parts against the corduroy saddle and, presumably, turning everyone on. Nigel and the Dennis brothers must be made of tougher stuff than me, though, for not only was I not turned on, I was getting quite a cramp in my back from all the silly knees-bent running about she was making us do. The fact that I hadn’t managed to dislodge Big Dennis from my rump made it that much worse.

We gallumphed through more corridors, and finally came to a stop when an unfamiliar male voice hailed Titania. The man approached and jiggled Big Dennis. He spoke in with a thick, unidentifiable accent. “This is the one who put the sponge in the oven of my beloved Crystal Clown?”

Titania laughed — the most menacing thing I’d ever heard. “Bun, darling. Put a bun in my oven.” Her chuckle would curdle milk. “Two buns, actually.”

“With all those clothes on him, I can see why he appealed to you.”

“And I like your pretty new pink dress. It matches your hair and your nose perfectly.” She leaned over and I heard a sharp honk.

Oh no! I hoped I was wrong, but knew I probably wasn’t. The only clown I could think of who favored pink so heavily was the notorious BimBam Tickles, the Iron Clown of Svenborgia. What the hell was he doing on my wife’s airship?

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Unnerving As Clowns Are

  • by Kentselling your blood
  • flutes of champagne
  • offset the terrifying symptoms of insanity
  • there are going to be some great parties
  • “Nah, he’s alive.”

Tune in next time part 856      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Unnerving as clowns are, generally, there is none more chilling than the notorious BimBam Tickles, the Iron Clown of Svenborgia. Let me explain why.

Circus traditions vary greatly by country. In Svenborgia, for example, you must pay for your ticket with a special currency obtainable only by selling your blood to the clown on gate duty, who shares it with the rest of them by adding it to flutes of champagne. During the actual show, you will partake of the cotton candy that is spun by a rare breed of caterpillar and flavored with exotic moth-wing dust that is said to offset the terrifying symptoms of insanity (and by the tenth minute of the performance, you’ll need it). As the spectacle unfolds, you’ll know that while you toss and turn in your bed that night there are going to be some great parties — with jugglers, acrobats, and especially clowns — raging on until the dawn.

The Iron Clown asked, “So did you kill him then? For double-bunning your spongy oven?”

Laughing again, the Crystal Clown replied, “Nah, he’s alive.” I felt her shrug. “I think.”

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“He Might be Mostly Dead”

  • by jena necromancer’s take
  • in a neon-lit lab
  • gauge the reactions of actual spiders
  • by the way he’s gesturing
  • wrap your lips over your teeth

Tune in next time part 857      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“He might be mostly dead, or all dead,” BimBam said sagely. “There’s really no way to be sure without a necromancer’s take.”

“Unfortunately,” Titania said, “our necromancer is in a neon-lit lab, trying to gauge the reactions of actual spiders to the fake plastic kind. Since he’s half-mime, his assistants have to interpret the results by the way he’s gesturing, so it’s going to take a while.”

The idea of a clown-mime necromancer made me feel like it feels when you bite into something so sweet you wrap your lips over your teeth and whimper — but, like, all over.

I hoped the colorfully lit lab they were referring to wasn’t on board the airship.

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“Does It Really Matter How Dead He Is?”

  • by Kentknown to fancy folks as
  • superglue and duct tape
  • and (occasionally) laudanum
  • laser-focused idiot
  • eat Sour Patch Kids as cereal

Tune in next time part 858      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Does it really matter how dead he is?” asked BimBam. “I don’t see how that matters to our plans.”

“Not to our plans, perhaps, but I have plans that don’t concern you. So mind your own business and tell me what you’ve learned.”

BimBam growled, but then said, “The airship’s outer hull is made of a material known to fancy folks as Ballooninium, but it’s just superglue and duct tape. The maintenance crew has a nine-hour rotation, and when they’re not on duty they overindulge in marshmallow peeps, Pop-Rocks, and (occasionally) laudanum. The chief engineer is a laser-focused idiot who likes to eat Sour Patch Kids as cereal.”

“And the cargo?”

Now the Iron Clown made a rumbling chuckle that I could feel in my bones.

“It’s right where you said it would be.”

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The Iron Clown’s Laughter

  • by jenmy teeth start tingling
  • Whenever I eat grapes near her
  • skyrocketing banana demand
  • Blink once if
  • wrote “I love you” in his own blood

Tune in next time part 859      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Iron Clown’s laughter reverberated through me and made my teeth start tingling. I clamped my jaw tightly shut to make it stop, but it did little good. The tingle intensified. (Whenever I eat grapes near her, my wife gets incredibly horny, something she also describes as an intensifying tingle. I can only assume the two sensations are not actually very similar.)

Titania said, “Once we empty this airship’s larders, our faction’s skyrocketing banana demands will be met at last. Blink once if you’re as excited as I am.”

Whether BimBam blinked or wrote “I love you” in his own blood, I could not tell because my head was still swaddled in the horse costume, but Titania seemed pleased.

“Without their favorite yellow snack, all the children aboard will be quite upset,” BimBam said with smug glee.

“All of them but mine,” Titania agreed. “I’ll bring mine along to our banana-filled paradise, their father as well.” I felt her pat Big Dennis’s butt. “I have further plans for him.”

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The Atmosphere Inside the Horse Costume

  • by Kentusing our peripheral vision
  • little aliens in my earwax
  • rampant lumber-jack-o-phobia
  • green motorcycle goggles covered his eyes
  • given to mild theatrics

Tune in next time part 860      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The atmosphere inside the horse costume was becoming tense and swampy, as both Small Dennis and myself stood in the presence of clowns both Crystal and Iron and absorbed the diabolical vibrations of their laughter. I knew Small Dennis was about to crack, but owing to the constraints of the costume we could only communicate by using our peripheral vision. I gave up trying to calm him and concentrated on my own dilemmas. Time was running out before the ruse with Big Dennis would be discovered, and it was hard to concentrate when every utterance from BimBam or Titania seemed to awaken little aliens in my earwax.

Suddenly, BimBam declared, “But that’s where they do all the logging!” And I dared a small smile, because I realized that the airship’s course would create an opportunity to use the rampant lumber-jack-o-phobia among clowns to my advantage. I even risked a peek through the seam between the front and back halves of the horse, and there beyond Titania’s shapely shin I beheld the notorious BimBam Tickles, the Iron Clown of Svenborgia. His flaking greasepaint had all the ochre hues of a corroded shipping container, and his hair stood in a venomous pink mohawk. Black fangs protruded from his leering lips and green motorcycle goggles covered his eyes.

The urgency of Small Dennis’s plight fully registered then. He’d been subjected to this visage all along, through the horse suit’s eyeholes. Based on the fact that he worked pantsless, I had to assume that he was given to mild theatrics even under normal conditions.

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Such Close Proximity

  • by jenEmbroider otters on all
  • sucking gleefully our respective oranges
  • slowly and most wickedly
  • (please ignore the ears)
  • who am I to dispute the research of the National Confectioners Association?

Tune in next time part 861      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Such close proximity to Small Dennis’s sweaty naked butt made my eyes water. Back at the Academy, he’d joined my twin brother Jason in founding an experimental boy band. They’d been inexplicably popular, and soon one would hear Embroider Otters on all the school’s pirate radio stations. There was a choreographed dance for their biggest hit “We Be Sucking Gleefully Our Respective Orangesicles” in which they moved their limbs slowly and most wickedly, and I shuddered to imagine what it would be like if Small Dennis did that very dance here, right now, inside our shared horse costume.

I tried to bring my thoughts back to the idea of exploiting the clowns’ fear of lumberjacks to gain the upper hand, escape my predicament, and foil their nefarious banana-thieving plans.

Titania chuckled evilly and said, “The easiest way to get him off the airship is to paint him like a clown.”

“I’ll get right on it,” BimBam said.

I relaxed a little. If BimBam was the one to apply clown makeup to Big Dennis, that would delay the discovery that he was not me. That is, as long as he didn’t try to apply any makeup to Big Dennis’s ears (please ignore the ears). My ears are quite distinctively small (please please ignore the ears) and the difference would surely give away my ruse (please please please ignore the ears). Tessa once told me about a study she’d seen that claimed most people’s ears are larger than Peanut Butter Cups. That sounds unlikely to me, but who am I to dispute the research of the National Confectioners Association? (In any case, please please please ignore Big Dennis’s ears!)

I held my breath and listened to the squealchy sounds of an evil clown applying greasepaint to an unconscious man’s face. Would BimBam ignore the ears?

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“Hurry It Up”

  • by Kent“Is this *really* what I want to be famous for on the internet?”
  • returned my salute
  • a language that literally no one
  • Does he? Who knows
  • aspiring avant garde DJ

Tune in next time part 862      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Hurry it up,” Titania growled. “That trove of bananas will be no good after tomorrow.”

“It has to look convincing,” BimBam grumbled in reply. Then, “Huh. That’s odd.”

Please don’t be the ears. Please please don’t be the ears. Please please please don’t be the ears!

“Here, use this,” Titania declared, yanking the tail off the horse costume. “Cover his head with a bushy wig, and no one will notice if the face is a little amateurish.”

“Hey! I am in fact a professional,” BimBam protested. “I got my start with a video channel where I dissected fan theories about Lost while I transformed myself from one kind of clown to another. But one day I had to ask myself that question.”

For several seconds there was no sound other than that of greasepaint being slathered on Big Dennis’s face. The hole where the horse’s tail used to be let in a welcome draft of fresh air.

“What question?” Titania asked wearily.

“Is this really what I want to be famous for on the internet?”

“You’ll be famous for making a disgusting crater underneath this airship if you delay me further!” the Crystal Clown roared. “I thought you Svenborgians were sticklers for protocol, yet you still haven’t returned my salute!”

“Bah. Protocol means nothing. Knock-knock jokes have protocol. I’m a rebel, striking terror in a language that literally no one can comprehend: the language of clowns! I sometimes wonder if you are truly a clown yourself.”

“Leave the philosophy to the university clowns, BimBam. Perhaps the unconscious man you’re tending to feels his inner clown awakening now, as his true face comes into being. Does he? Who knows. And who cares! We need those bananas.”

From what I recalled about Big Dennis, I thought it more probable that his new getup would trigger his inner aspiring avant garde DJ to wake up. I just hoped that he wouldn’t literally wake up anytime soon.

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For All his Complaints

  • by jenexcessive body hair
  • you’re wanted downstairs
  • wrote on me with a red marker
  • fearful of farts
  • if you want your nether regions touching germy public surfaces

Tune in next time part 867      Click Here for Earlier Installments

For all his complaints about the furriness of Big Dennis, I was somewhat surprised to see that BimBam sported what many would consider excessive body hair, all of it shockingly pink.

In the secret language of clowns, Titania murmured, “You’re wanted downstairs.” BimBam splayed his knees wide and, while making a slide-whistle sound, sank into a deep crouch. Titania giggled appreciatively. “Now,” she went on in a breathy squeak, “look closely at my left hip and see what the Dennises wrote on me with a red marker this morning while they were dressing me.”

I gulped. If Small Dennis was anywhere near as nervous as me, I was fearful of farts (or something even worse) filling up the horse suit. Again I tried to back us away from the horrifying clown nightmare.

BimBam leaned in very close to Titania’s hip and slowly read, “Continue reading this message only if you want your nether regions touching germy public surfaces such as the floor.” BimBam gave a honk of surprise as Titania gave a quick karate chop to both his shoulders and he toppled pantsless to the ground.

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