Tagged: uncle

The Gruff-Voiced Individual

  • by jenI like a good montage
  • I’m like, Hey! A little privacy here!
  • buckle the fuck up
  • the bird in the paper bag
  • his undershirts snap at the crotch

Tune in next time part 615      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The gruff-voiced individual appeared from behind the door of the minifridge and stood to his full height. He was wearing a fluorescent green wig and sharing a palm-tree-shaped bikini with another similarly bewigged man.

“Bandits,” Tessa whispered.

This underground adventure had been going on so long, it was getting tedious. I like a good montage from time to time, so I’ll employ one now.

Tessa gives me a taste of my own medicine by doffing her clothes and pouncing on Uncles Gramophone and Daguerreotype. I use the bathroom (I forgot to do that when I was in the actual outhouse) and get walked in on by a different set of Uncles, and I’m like, Hey! A little Privacy here! and they’re like, This is our bathroom, bub! Buckle the fuck up and get the fuck out! and I hurry out and find Tessa in the position we call The Bird in the Paper Bag, and Tessa tells the uncles not to be jealous because “his undershirts snap at the crotch” and I get so embarrassed I run down the tunnel without her, all the way to Twerkistan, while she just laughs and kisses all the uncles.

End of montage.

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This Was All Very Distracting

  • by jenlying naked in front of an open refrigerator
  • touching a stranger or
  • sheet of hotel stationery
  • suffers the indignity of being accused of
  • one hour each week

Tune in next time part 611      Click Here for Earlier Installments

This was all very distracting. I knew I had important business, but the details were growing foggier by the second. To tune out the bewigged erotic bandits and what they were doing with their hands, I pictured myself lying naked in front of an open refrigerator, my bare feet touching a stranger or perhaps an acquaintance holding a single sheet of hotel stationery, but it did no good. I was in the moment, for good or ill, and in the moment I was in a murky tunnel under an outhouse with a quartet of unusual, glowing, scantily clad women. I’m not a man who gladly suffers the indignity of being accused of easy virtue, but — as they say at the Academy — if the shoe fits, wear it for at least one hour each week.

“I believe he’s ready, Uncle Albatross,” said one of the octopus women.

“I believe you’re right, Uncle Periwinkle,” replied her bikini-sharing partner.

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With the Tinsel Garrote Out of the Way

  • by jenWhen you owned your own world
  • for I was born in the North Country
  • put those running shoes on the feet of
  • engraved THIS MAN IS A PRICK
  • “Your own son?”

Tune in next time part 151                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

With the tinsel garrote out of the way, I recognized the man. It was my great uncle, Jinx Damocles! He groaned again, but in not quite the same way he had with Lyudmila in that Rhode Island church basement.

“Never mind me, Jason,” Jinxy said, fixing me with his one good eye. “Don’t let Hildegard escape!”

“She’s long gone,” I lisped, imitating my twin. “How did she manage to overpower you?”

He looked down at his missing left arm and then glared at me.

“Sorry.”

I tried to think. What could Jason and Uncle Jinx be doing in Harmonia? When Jinx was presumed dead, I had inherited TinselTown from him. Was he perhaps here to reclaim it? Could he be the one who had rebranded it Valentine Village, in all likelihood destroying whatever message I was meant to find there?

Grabbing his right (and only) hand, I hauled him to a standing position. “When you owned your own world, your own amusement park, why on Earth did you give it a Christmas theme?” I asked.

The old man stared hard at me. “It reminded me of home, for I was born in the North Country.”

That struck a chord with me. My mother chose to deliver Jason and me at the North Pole. She said it was a family tradition, but both she and Father were born at military facilities in the States, as were the majority of my siblings. My head was swimming. I found my mental Nikes and put those running shoes on the feet of my dark thoughts, and let them race. They ran laps around all the inconsistencies I’d heard through the years about “Uncle” Jinx. They reminded me of how Mother was unusually close to her alleged uncle, and how no one else in the family had the surname Damocles, and how Father refused to ever be in the same room with him. They finally came to rest in front of a sign that was engraved THIS MAN IS A PRICK BUT MOST LIKELY YOUR REAL FATHER.

“You’re not my uncle at all, are you?” I asked.

“And you’re not Jason.” He pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at me.

“You’re going to shoot me?” I asked. “Your own son?”

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Lyudmila Beckoned To Me

  • by jengirlfriend and your sister
  • more involved than he was willing to admit
  • only has one birthday a year
  • casting frightened glances back over their shoulders
  • took them to a nearby orange grove

Tune In Next Time Part 46                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Lyudmila beckoned to me with her crooked index finger. While my uncle Jinx Damocles continued unpacking the nesting boxes, she and I quietly moved from the sofa and into the shadowy corner of the basement room.

I felt her warm breath on my ear as she whispered, “I always wanted to be your girlfriend, and your ‘sister‘ over there,” she indicated Jason with a roll of her eyes, “was always in the way. Not to mention Tessa of course.”

“Jason is bad news,” I whispered back. “Where trouble’s concerned, he’s always more involved than he was willing to admit. We need to watch our backs.”

I tried to imagine how we looked to Jason from his seat beside Uncle Jinx. Probably like two fools casting frightened glances back over their shoulders.

Jinx Damocles’s voice rang through the basement, “Here is the message we must decode: What do you call a man who only has one birthday a year?”

“That’s easy,” I said, moving back to rejoin him, hoping Lyudmila remembered enough of our pillow talk to catch my hidden meaning. “That means that Jorgensen has the coordinates and the jewels. He took them to a nearby orange grove, the one the coordinates referenced, and buried them.”

Lyudmila looked at me with wide, wide eyes. There were no orange groves in Rhode Island where we currently were, of course. I nodded almost imperceptibly, directing her to make her move.

She shrugged her shoulders and gave me a look that said, “if you insist.” I waited for her to use her contortionist skills to befuddle Jason enough that I could overpower him, but instead she moved closer to Jinx Damocles. Before I could say anything to stop her, she reached down his pants and took hold of the Sword of Damocles.

The rest of us froze, stunned.

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I Lost a Lot of Sleep

  • by jenI lost a lot of sleep
  • save for spasmodic jumping
  • sing and rejoice
  • According to your own statistics
  • already shedding clothes

Tune In Next Time Part 44                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I lost a lot of sleep a decade ago when I heard that my beloved Great Uncle Jinx’s plane went down in the Andes. I don’t remember much about what I did with all those hours of insomnia, save for spasmodic jumping back and forth between the two twin mattresses, my cell being too small for effective pacing. Seeing him alive now should make me want to sing and rejoice, but instead it filled me with questions.

“According to your own statistics, Uncle Jinxy,” I said, very carefully not lisping, “we stand a better chance outside, where we have room to scatter.” I knew damn well that Jinx Damocles believed no such thing. This was a test to smoke out yet another potential impostor in a week already too full of them.

Jinx Damocles stared at me with his one good eye. “If that were your plan, you’d be already shedding clothes.”

I grinned. It was really him!

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Good Morning!

  • by jenwe’re crawling into your bed
  • with new ice cream flavors like
  • five men, all Danes
  • she sank into my uncle’s arms
  • In the sea, yes.

Good morning! We’re crawling into your bed to tempt you with new ice cream flavors liked by many the world over, according to our prognostications. Do not be alarmed! We are five men, all Danes, and as everyone knows, Danes are the happiest people on Earth! Just yesterday we visited your neighbor with our new ice cream flavors, and she was so excited she fainted, and in doing so she sank into my uncle’s arms. That gentleman on the left, with the mustache, is my Uncle Hans. He is the one who discovered the new ice cream flavors, and you’ll never guess where! The recipes for these delicious new ice cream flavors were recorded in the sunken library of Atlantis! In the sea, yes. I can tell that you are surprised. But not nearly as surprised as Auntie Birgit when Uncle Hans brought home his little waterlogged book of mermaid recipes and asked her to make these delicious new ice cream flavors. Which is your favorite?

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“Thanks For the Tea, Poco”

  • k-avatarthe yellow spheres
  • Screech! I felt it.
  • lick at his sore feet
  • Thanks for the tea, Poco
  • back door moments

“Thanks for the tea, Poco.”

I drained my mug, got up from the table, and was out the back door moments before Poco’s uncle Pico pulled up out front. Pico slammed on the brakes — Screech! I felt it. I shimmied over the fence and beat feet.

In the alley, an old wino let a mongrel lick at his sore feet. I left them to it.

Poco’s aunt Paca would be just finishing up her lesson at the tennis court. I pictured her in a short white dress, as the yellow spheres ricocheted all around her. Then she felt like stretching…

Back door moments, indeed.

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Everyone In Town These Days

  • k-avatara family of ducklings and a baby seal
  • Beatlemania epidemic
  • “Fetch me another drinky-poo, won’t you dear?”
  • fanciful scarves and costume jewelry
  • blaming Mountain Dew

Everyone in town these days went around bedecked in fanciful scarves and costume jewelry. It was no worse than the Beatlemania epidemic from a few years ago, but it meant that Tristan didn’t fit in. As usual.

“Fetch me another drinky-poo, won’t you dear?”

“Sure, Uncle Milt.” Tristan slogged to the kitchen. The fabulousness disease somehow impaired everyone’s normal ability to get things for themselves. The cause was unknown, but for now Tristan was blaming Mountain Dew. Still, that’s what Uncle Milt wanted.

“Here you go.”

“Oh, you’re just as cute as a family of ducklings and a baby seal all rolled into one!”

Tristan knew it was meant as a compliment, but he was in no mood to take it gracefully.

“If you rolled them all into one, they wouldn’t be cute at all.”

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My Left Lung Contains Compressed Natural Gas

  • k-avatarMy left lung
  • “Doc! Moose!”
  • and her pet Arthur
  • unfamiliar with “flipping the bird”
  • Puerto Rico meant nothing to her
  • “Survival of the fittest,” she hissed
  • “Far worse, Uncle Kent,”

My left lung contains compressed natural gas, which gives me a formidable weapon but impairs my stamina. My partner’s toenails can generate an electromagnetic pulse, making her a threat to sensitive electronics and augmenting her tap dancing.

“Doc! Moose!” That had to be Biff, counteragent and general numbskull, calling for his associates. We were in danger.

My partner rounded a corner in the warehouse and stopped short, confronted by all three of our enemies. I peered past her to see the men’s disappointed faces as they discovered she was unfamiliar with “flipping the bird.” Suddenly she leapt aside, and the bullets struck me instead. Moments later she returned fire, dispatching her clueless adversaries.

“Wait,” I groaned as she started to leave.

“Survival of the fittest,” she hissed. Puerto Rico meant nothing to her.

The gunshots had embedded harmlessly in the kevlar envelope surrounding my left lung, but I was woozy. I just needed a hand up, but she was abandoning me for dead. So I flicked my lighter and exhaled forcefully, roasting her where she stood.

Her, and her pet Arthur the Mouse who always rode in her pocket.

“Can this day get any worse?” I muttered.

“Far worse, Uncle Kent,” came my evil nephew’s chilling retort.

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Uncle Timothy Despairs

  • her father’s protege in the city
  • choked with seaweed
  • (she called it fizzy)
  • a great deal of reviewing
  • I slithered to the chemist
  • Uncle Timothy despairs
  • sometime between 1887 & 1889

“Uncle Timothy despairs of finding the antidote in time,” Salome wept. Timothy was not her real uncle, but a longtime family friend; her father’s protege in the city.

The inundation had remade the city, and its dwellers. Avenues choked with seaweed, corner vendors selling sea cucumber sandwiches to lithe, scaly pedestrians.

My preparations for a sojourn had remade me likewise. I slithered to the chemist, the love of my life, Salome, and tried to console her. I knew she would be my salvation — she already had an effervescent concoction (she called it fizzy) that had almost worked.

Sometime between 1887 & 1889, the comet had grazed our atomsphere… the answer was in the Farmers’ Almanac, but finding the right pages would entail a great deal of reviewing.

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