Tagged: weather

“Still Want Me to Frisk Him?”

  • by jenrotate your thumbs
  • we turned it on
  • “By Europeans, yes.”
  • one of my favorite activities abroad
  • futile attempt to dislodge me

Tune in next time part 601      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Still want me to frisk him?” Tessa asked.

“Yes,” I said with a half-hearted lisp. “And be sure to rotate your thumbs into every conceivable crevice. This one’s wily.”

John sighed. “Can I at least come in out of the snow?”

“There’s hardly room for the two of us, let alone three!”

“This reminds me,” John said, “of that time in Dusseldorf. Do you remember, Tessa? We were having trouble squeezing everyone into the phone booth until we turned it on its side. Such ingenuity!”

“Ingenuity.” Tessa nodded. “By Europeans, yes.” I could tell that she was not the Tessa who had participated in this caper with John. “Cramming people into phone booths is one of my favorite activities abroad.”

“I realize this isn’t a phone booth,” John said. “But the same principle applies. Scoot over,” he said, shoving me in a futile attempt to dislodge me from my position beside the oil lamp.

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The Big Six-Oh-Oh

It’s another milestone for everyone’s favorite chain story. This one. We’re talking about this one. The one you’re currently reading, which has reached its epic 600th installment. Some might say we need a hobby, but the joke’s on them — this is our hobby!

To celebrate such a grand achievement, Jen and Kent will be working on today’s entry together. Jen will go first and write until she manages to work in the first prompt phrase, then she’ll hand the keyboard to Kent. We’ll alternate until we hit the bottom of the list, then we’ll hit the showers.

Through the years we’ve accumulated a small collection of writing advice and style guides, and various and sundry reference books. We’ve drawn today’s prompt phrases from a handful of them: The Deluxe Transitive Vampire, Woe is I, The Writer’s Journey, Writing Better Lyrics, and American English Compendium.

Tune in next time part 599 & 600      Click Here for Earlier Installments

  • Frisk whoever enters.
  • moped in my boudoir
  • don’t always land gently
  • Certainly there is magic in the briefcase
  • rose to his haunches
  • aeronautical engineer could give a more precise description
  • ghosts of dead rules and spirits of imaginary taboos
  • where one style maven sees UFO’s
  • American slang and colloquialisms
  • vintage macho expression

For the next hour, while my horny necromancer costume dried, I regaled Tessa with stories of Jessamin’s terribleness.

“I get it,” Tessa said. “Your sister sucks.”

“It’s more than that,” I said, but before I could explain we heard a commotion outside. I pulled my still-damp pants on and told Tessa, “Frisk whoever enters. We don’t want any surprises.”

The noises outside grew more distinct as their source got closer to the door. I could only make out one voice, which sounded angry, mingled with enough crashing of branches and crunching of sleet-crusted snow to suggest a whole brigade. The angry voice said, “I suppose she’d have been happy to have moped in my boudoir all weekend, but I had places to go.”

I recognized the voice, and so did Tessa, judging by the look she threw my way. It was a look that said she was ready to land some punches, and we all know that a robot’s punches don’t always land gently.

The knob jiggled once and stilled. The voice outside shouted, “I know about the briefcase! Certainly there is magic in the briefcase, that’s not even the issue anymore!”

Why John thought I had the briefcase was anyone’s guess. I hadn’t seen that thing in years. The door flew outward and there stood my onetime partner/ofttimes nemesis, in the teeth of the storm. The snow rose to his haunches and was plastered to his clothes so that he resembled a yeti. The wind and ice had sculpted his hair into a lopsided wing, of which I’m sure an aeronautical engineer could give a more precise description. All I could think was that if his head were an airplane it would be doomed to fly in circles.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he boomed. “You’re going to say you can’t give me the briefcase, and you’re going to say your brother has it, and you’re going to cite all these ghosts of dead rules and spirits of imaginary taboos, and all that other Contrarian shit. And I’m sick of it, Jason. Sick. Of. It.” After a few seconds he raised his phone to his ear and muttered, “I’m going to have to call you back.”

Tessa and I exchanged a look. Her eyebrow quirked in a very lifelike manner, and I thought I knew what she meant. I knew our game plan. But then I looked at John again, at that hair, and I was mesmerized. It was as if he’d used a time machine to visit a salon in the 80s where one style maven sees UFO’s and translates them into coiffure.

“Have you misplaced your flock of seagulls?” I asked.

John’s confusion contorted his face beautifully and I had to suppress a snort of laughter. “You know I don’t understand all of your American slang and colloquialisms,” he said. “And it’s rude of you to use them around me.”

But it wasn’t long before the confusion on his face shifted rapidly to a vintage macho expression, a confident smirk, as he said, “You, ‘Jason,’ seem to have misplaced your lisp!”

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“There’s No Time to Explain”

  • by jengiraffe bikini
  • making laser noises from the shadows
  • thick, plastic liquid that hardens in a few hours
  • brothers and sisters I’ve apparently never met
  • gripping the animal by its dainty hooves

Tune in next time part 595    Click Here for Earlier Installments

“There’s no time to explain,” I said. “We have to get to Twerkistan.”

“We can’t.” said Tessa. “The weather is awful, and all you’re wearing are giraffe bikini briefs.”

I sighed. “You’re right. I wish my clothes would dry faster.”

“So since we do in fact have the time, why don’t you tell me who you think the cop is.”

“She’s not really a cop. She just likes to dress like one.” I tried to think how best to describe her. “Her name is Jessamin. She’s my sister, and she’s a villain. I’ve been chasing her for years, and she’s always one step ahead of me, making laser noises from the shadows and laughing. Once she broke into my room and dipped all my most precious things in a thick, plastic liquid that hardens in a few hours.”

“You have brothers and sisters I’ve apparently never met,” Tessa said.

“I have brothers and sisters I’ve never met. My parents got around.”

I shuddered at the memory of my stuffed pegasus, once so soft and cuddly. I pictured Jessamin preparing to encase it in plastic, gripping the animal by its dainty hooves, a wicked grin on her face.

But what was she doing interfering with a police investigation in Twerkistan?

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“I’m Not Fond of the Smell in Here”

  • by jenenhanced by the extreme slipperiness
  • Then again, maybe it’s the perfect place
  • the librarians themselves did not have the slightest idea
  • where these fingertips came from
  • to believe in magic

Tune in next time part 593    Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I’m not fond of the smell in here,” I said as my nose wrinkled. “Twerkistan is primitive as cities go, but it’s got to be better than this poop shack.”

I opened the door and stepped out into a burst of sleet, which, enhanced by the extreme slipperiness of the Bumpbengryndian snow, dumped me on my ass. I grabbed the doorframe and pulled myself back in, saying, “Then again, maybe it’s the perfect place to ride out this storm.”

Tessa slammed the door closed. I stripped off my now-soaked clothes and began the very slow process of drying them by the heat of the miserly oil lamp. Tessa took up the newspaper that was on hand for use in butt-wiping, and read to me an article about a gruesome discovery at the Twerkistan public libraries. “The librarians themselves did not have the slightest idea where these fingertips came from, or whose they were. But they quickly grew tired of finding them in the card catalog drawers every morning. Usually not ones to believe in magic, they made an exception and called upon a local wizard for help. After his visit, there were no more fingertips in the card catalog. Instead they were found, first thing each day, stuck to the keyboard of the public computer.”

A shiver ran down my spine — not one caused by the icy conditions outside. “Fingertips! You know what that means.”

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I Led My Yodelers into the Teeth of the Blizzard

  • by jencreating different shadows
  • shoes I never want to walk a mile in
  • silver-haired former yacht builder
  • heavy gold watch chain
  • with a great deal of giggling and modesty

Tune in next time part 467      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I led my yodelers into the teeth of the blizzard. Their headlamps didn’t do much to light our way, creating different shadows every second as the shifting winds threw the snow around.

Contrarian mountaineering boots are made of wood and lined with fur. They are shoes I never want to walk a mile in on flat ground, but they are quite warm. I made a mental note to, upon my return to Enigma Fortress, dictate a letter of appreciation to the silver-haired former yacht builder who took up cobbling in his retirement at the behest of the Warlord, and now uses his boatbuilding skills to construct the cozy footwear of the Mountain Garrisons.

Soon our way was practically vertical. I made great use of the ice axe that dangled between my legs on a heavy gold watch chain. My yodelers complimented my climbing technique, which I’d learned from John, who learned it during his childhood at the Tibetan monastery. They kept praising me, really going overboard with it until, with a great deal of giggling and modesty, I taught them my secret axe-wielding maneuver.

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I Stand in the Rain

  • by jencan’t you hear the thunder?
  • “You shut up!”
  • one gold, one black
  • brown skin and a flat skull
  • Leonard is a strange person

I stand in the rain, gazing at the man beside me. Leonard is a strange person, but undeniably attractive. His eyes entrance me, one gold, one black, nestled in brown skin and a flat skull like faberge eggs in an ornate display case.

I try to tell him I love him, but he leans in close. “Can’t you hear the thunder?” he whispers in my ear, making me shiver. “That rumbling is Zeus’s way of saying ‘You shut up!’ to us mortals.”

I try once more to speak. Leonard’s ornately colored eyes hold mine and he lays his finger across my lips. “Shhh,” he breathes, “you don’t want to anger Zeus.”

And he’s right. I don’t. I lean in and press my lips to his just as a bright bolt of lightning illuminates the sky.

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There’s No Way To Predict

  • it’ll pull, you know what I’m saying?
    k-avatar
  • air quotes practically crackled
  • he was genuinely ugly
  • thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow
  • rendered him master of far mightier muscles than his own

“There’s no way to predict how much it’ll pull, you know what I’m saying?”

I did not know what he was saying, but I could smell ozone and grease. The engines’ whine made conversation nigh impossible, and with such a charge in the air, quotes practically crackled with urgency.

“We have no choice,” I shouted into his calm face. He nodded and deactivated the autopilot, giving me full manual control of our lumbering, wallowing vessel. Everyone told us it would be bad luck to break with tradition and use a male name, but everything about the boat told us its name was Archie. He was genuinely ugly, and probably the toughest thing afloat. Archie was a brute among icebreakers and minesweepers, virtually indestructible.

But that didn’t make him unsinkable, and his steering was as genuinely ugly as he was. It pulled quite a bit, as a matter of fact, with the hydraulics cut out of the equation. The storm’s mountainous waves tossed us like a soda bottle. Gales whipped snow and spray across our decks. I concentrated on not smacking directly into any icebergs, although how I would see them through the blizzard I had no idea. I thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow, tuning my mind to the weather gods’ plane for guidance.

“I fixed it,” he said simply, flopping into the other seat and reengaging the autopilot. “Tell me which way to point us.” I loosened my grip on the helm, feeling only then the ache in my hands and shoulders. My companion showed no strain, now that the systems were repaired. The hydro-assist patched into the helm rendered him master of far mightier muscles than his own.

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I Received a Visit From My Nephew Today

  • k-avatarheavy in his breast pocket
  • Yours sincerely, Gordon K.
  • tracks leading off into the blinding snow
  • an industry catering to “needs”
  • like pumpernickel bread
  • with a lip-smacking sigh
  • a band of earnest, friendly gnomes

I received a visit from my nephew today, a band of earnest, friendly gnomes heavy in his breast pocket. He wished to discuss a business loan, which is the reason for this letter. He would tell me little of his scheme, except that it is an industry catering to “needs.” He spoke these words with a lip-smacking sigh, his close-cropped dark hair, like pumpernickel bread, betraying the tingle in his scalp.

Eventually I had to send him away. I can still see his tracks leading off into the blinding snow.

I would greatly appreciate if you could spare a moment to apply your prodigious knowledge of gnomes, and their needs, to the question of my nephew’s scheme’s viability.

Yours sincerely, Gordon K.

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Winter Had Been Going On For So Long

  • by jenamid a gush of bright blood
  • into the shepherd’s hut
  • thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow
  • her husband is even more wonderful
  • dreamlike and dim

Winter had been going on for so long, I thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow in my clothes where I usually smelled my husband’s cigarettes. It was depressing. Add to that my hopes of motherhood disappearing amid a gush of bright blood in my underpants this morning and my mood was pretty bleak. That’s when my sister called to brag about her family. Her children are darling little angels, she assures me every time, and just this morning little Sally was playing with her Fisher Price farm set and put the little baby people person into the shepherd’s hut and called him Jesus. Precious. Of course I envy my sister. Her husband is even more wonderful than her children, whereas mine always has this look in his eyes that is both dreamlike and dim.

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When I Saw Him By The Well

  • by jenI intend to win!
  • I saw him by the well
  • what do you want, Raimundo?
  • a transaction betwixt you, me and the August weather
  • carrying a rubber dinosaur between them
  • I am like the fisherman

When I saw him by the well, I should have turned around and taken another route through town, but I did not and now I regretted it.

“What do you want, Raimundo?” I sighed.

“Nothing at all Celeste, excepting a transaction betwixt you, me, and the August weather.” He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

I snorted at his feeble attempt to woo me.

“Laugh all you like, Celeste,” Raimundo said. “We are both familiar with the old story of the fisherman and the computer programmer carrying a rubber dinosaur between them until one collapsed, proving the superiority of his rival. I am like the fisherman in that story, Celeste, and, just like that fisherman, I intend to win!”

I hate to admit it, but my heart fluttered at his declaration.

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