Tagged: wedding

While We Awaited the Arrival of the Dessert Goose

  • by jenlike a bar of soap full of dead ants
  • I’m not particular
  • However, a pirate named
  • but you have a job to do
  • Oh, fork your sister.

Tune in next time part 557     Click Here for Earlier Installments

While we awaited the arrival of the dessert goose and my twin, the pastry chef presented us with something she claimed was our wedding cake. It looked like a bar of soap full of dead ants. I’m not particularly picky when it comes to sweets, but this looked utterly vile.

“What the hell is this?” I whispered to Tessa, eyeing the disgusting trifle.

“Svenborgian tradition dictates a fruitcake be served at weddings,” she whispered back. “However, a pirate named Jorgensen raided the kitchen last week and stole all the raisins.”

“That doesn’t entirely answer my question.”

“It might look a little questionable, but you have a job to do. And that job is cutting this cake with me and eating a bite. You have to act the part of the Viscount so no one gets suspicious. My sister Titania will be on the warpath if she finds out this is all a ruse.”

“Oh, fork your sister.”

“I believe you already did.”

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With Both Jason and the Pumpkin Spice Latte M&Ms

by jenHappy Solstice! During the holiday season we like to choose our stichomancy prompts from festively themed sources. This year we’ve opted for Dickens’s classic A Christmas Carol. We wanted to avoid as many humbugs as possible, so these lines might not be instantly recognizable. But for us that’s part of the fun.

  • Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash!
  • “What, the one as big as me?”
  • pointed from the grave to him, and back again
  • had smelt the goose
  • They were not a handsome family

Tune in next time part 555     Click Here for Earlier Installments

With both Jason and the Pumpkin Spice Latte M&Ms on hand for entertainment, I assumed that Tessa meant we would be dancing to a recording of Metallica. I was wrong. We entered the reception tent to a raucous live metal band. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash!

“We have to dance over beside that amplifier,” Tessa shouted.

“What, the one as big as me?” I shouted back. “Or the one twice as big?”

The band was incredibly loud. On our way past the buffet table I snagged some marshmallows to use as ear plugs. The strobe light began pulsing as we reached our designated dance floor, and Tessa led me to dance the Robot for what seemed like hours.

Finally, the band waved goodnight and sauntered offstage. While the roadies scurried around, packing up the instruments and readying things for the PSLM², dinner service began. As is Svenborgian tradition, a ceremonial grave had been dug beside the buffet table as incentive for the chef to do a good job. As groom it was my job to threaten the poor man with death should the feast be unsatisfactory. He stood there in his toque and apron, holding a platter of roasted fowl, while I pointed from the grave to him, and back again, reciting the ancient verse.

Our ravenous guests had smelt the goose, and gathered around, impatient for me to finish the rite. They were not a handsome family, largely being Arlo’s relatives, and hunger did not do them any favors. I hurried to complete my speech before things got ugly. Or rather, uglier.

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We Rejoined the Officiant

  • by jena number of uninvited guests
  • her attempt at a music career
  • and the tackle box she’d filled with
  • utter his fearful guttural warnings
  • My tradition isn’t weird

Tune in next time part 553     Click Here for Earlier Installments

We rejoined the officiant and finished the walk to the temple where the ceremony was to take place. In accordance with Svenborgian tradition, a number of uninvited guests were chained to seats along the aisle. That kept the invited guests, the ones who actually knew what the Viscount whom I was impersonating looked like, further from me. I might actually be able to pull this off.

We looked quite astonishing. Tessa wore only a clunky gold Rolex, and black lingerie, barely concealed by the flimsy scarf she’d wrapped around herself. It reminded me of the stagewear from her attempt at a music career, back during college. I also looked something like a musician in my mountaineering pants, boots, and vest with no shirt. My chest was much more impressive than the real Arlo’s but there was nothing to be done about that. I adjusted the curly red wig to obscure as much of my face as possible.

The officiant placed tiaras on both of our heads, then led us to the altar upon which was arrayed a collection of stamps, ink pads, Arlo’s passport as well as Tessa’s, and the tackle box she’d filled with rubber worms for the guests to pelt us with as we exited the temple, as they do in Svenborgia.

We stood side by side, our backs to the audience, and listened to the officiant utter his fearful guttural warnings. This is what passes for a wedding ceremony in Svenborgia. I know that every culture thinks “My tradition isn’t weird,” but Svenborgians are wrong. Their traditions are very, very weird.

I stamped the Tessabot’s passport and prepared to be pelted with rubber worms.

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“It’s Ceremony Time!”

  • by jensibilance stretching the second word
  • can’t spell his own name
  • part of a movement referred to as “goth”
  • engraved THIS MAN IS A PRICK
  • label was in his handwriting

Tune in next time part 551     Click Here for Earlier Installments

“It’s ceremony time!” announced the officiant, an odd sibilance stretching the second word.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to marry a man who can’t spell his own name,” the Tessabot raged.

The officiant looked at me askance. He wore as much eyeliner as those teens who are part of a movement referred to as “goth” by the press.

“I can spell my name,” I assured. “My betrothed is merely experiencing cold feet.”

“Cold feet!” Tessa barked. “Cold feet! I should have known what a dick you are the first time I saw the medallion you always wear upon which is engraved THIS MAN IS A PRICK.”

As I suspected, her short circuit had her confusing me with the real Viscount Arlo.

She whispered conspiratorially to the officiant, “To make it all just too perfect, the label was in his handwriting.” She shook her head. “His OWN handwriting!”

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“Take That Wig from Arlo”

  • by jenPlus, we have tiaras
  • Your princess of a husband
  • I stamp hers and she stamps mine
  • black hair cut rather short
  • “I am *deeply* involved in the occult,”

Tune in next time part 545     Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Take that wig from Arlo and put it on yourself,” Tessa said.

I really didn’t want to do that. The red hair looked quite sweaty. But I was still under the Tessabot’s hypnotic control, so I complied.

“Excellent,” she said. “Now you can stand in the Viscount’s place during the wedding ceremony, so that his family and guests will not become suspicious. The wig should go a long way to disguising you. Plus, we have tiaras that we’re both supposed to wear…”

“No!” cried Arlo. “Your princess of a husband-to-be is me, not him! He’s already married to Fleur! He can’t marry you as well! I won’t stand for it!”

“Jason,” Tessa said, “take the Viscount into the bungalow and shut him up. The guests will be arriving shortly.”

Then she told me the details of the Svenborgian royal wedding rite, and made me memorize them. The most important part is when we exchange passports in place of rings. I stamp hers and she stamps mine, and then it’s official. Though how official a marriage between an already married man and a robot could be was a question I couldn’t answer.

A man with black hair cut rather short approached. “I am deeply involved in the occult,” he said, gesturing to some arcane symbols carved into his short hair. “And I will be conducting the ceremony today. You’re looking quite resplendent, Viscount. I’d been told you were an unattractive man, but I seem to have been misinformed.”

I still couldn’t speak, so I nodded as regally as I could without dislodging the sweaty red wig, and continued my furious Goldfishing. I needed to shake Tessa’s post-hypnotic control.

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The Lyrics Tattooed on the Bottom of the Viscount’s Foot

  • by jenhalfway around the world
  • Shouldn’t you be working?
  • all but impossible to achieve with paint
  • my new sex buddy
  • give a really miserable look

Tune in next time part 541     Click Here for Earlier Installments

The lyrics tattooed on the bottom of the viscount’s foot were from one of the many songs Jason performed at my wedding to Fleur. The ceremony and celebrations had lasted two weeks and taken place halfway around the world at the White House. I didn’t remember the viscount being present, as he claimed, but there had been quite a large crowd.

“Shouldn’t you be working? On new lyrics?” I asked Jason. “Instead of critiquing these old ones?”

“I don’t think that’s even a real tattoo,” Jason said. He licked his thumb and scrubbed at the words on Arlo’s ticklish tootsie, but they did not smear. It was the sort of effect that is all but impossible to achieve with paint, implying that it was truly inked there.

Between squeals of laughter, Arlo pulled off his wig and threw it at Jason. “Buy a guy a drink first! The way you’re massaging me makes you seem like my new sex buddy!”

That comment made Jason give a really miserable look to his thumb. “Anyone got any hand sanitizer?” he asked.

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Henry Blinked at the Quarter in his Palm

  • by jen“I want you to know something.”
  • cheerfully retorted
  • stop looking at your hand
  • harken back to the bygone days
  • grotesque and uncomfortable

Tune in next time part 539     Click Here for Earlier Installments

Henry blinked at the quarter in his palm. Without looking at me he said, “I want you to know something.”

I waited, but he did not continue. “If that’s all, then get a move on,” I cheerfully retorted. But he stood still, eyes riveted to his palm. “Hey, Henry, stop looking at your hand. It’s getting a little weird.”

“I’m an accountant you know,” he said in hushed awe. “But everything is electronic now. Coins like this harken back to the bygone days of my youth, back when money was a promise, not the grotesque and uncomfortable thing it is now.”

“Speaking of grotesque and uncomfortable,” I said, pointing to the Viscount where he lay in the grass, red wig askew, bleating at Tessa not to take his fancy footwear.

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Jason had Completed his Soundcheck

  • by jenalso share a strange connection
  • “That would be *dangerous*,” she pointed out
  • how effective his tongue is
  • escorted her down the aisle
  • see the tracks in the dew

Tune in next time part 537      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jason had completed his soundcheck, and was relaxing on the porch swing with a refreshing beverage. As identical twins, he and I share our DNA, and also share a strange connection. I can often taste things that Jason is tasting, and he can often smell things I am smelling. The beverage he was enjoying haunted my tongue and made me realize how thirsty I was.

“I need a drink,” I whispered to Tessa.

“That would be dangerous,” she pointed out, tugging me toward the stairs. “We have to hurry.”

Jason stared straight at me and demonstrated how effective his tongue is at broadcasting flavors. My mouth went dry and I yearned for a swig of something cold and lemony. I unlinked my arm from Henry and reached for my brother’s glass.

“Are you actually kidnapping the bride?” Jason asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m helping her escape.”

“Escape?” he lisped. “That’s a funny word for it. This morning, at the rehearsal, when I escorted her down the aisle she was all smiles. Look, you can still see the tracks in the dew.”

And like a moron, I looked where Jason was pointing.

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“Stick Around, Henry”

  • by Kentsomething tells me that I shall soon know
  • drinking Beer® brand beer
  • bedecked in neon and pleather
  • used as an occasional base by murderous pirates
  • begin to giggle audibly

Tune in next time part 530      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Stick around, Henry,” I drawled. “This young lady needs our help.”

Henry dropped the armload of panties and bras and sidled closer, his spurs jingling. “Shouldn’t we just run for it? From what I just heard, she’s just a robot.”

A robot, yes. But not just a robot.

I stooped to start untying her left boot. “Get the other one. You know,” I said, “something tells me that I shall soon know if I’m quicker than a cowboy at taking off a bride’s fancy footwear.”

Henry bent to his assignment, sweat dripping from his forehead. “Not really. I’m an accountant.”

At that moment, the Tessabot’s reboot sequence completed. She smooshed down her frilly skirt to get a look at the men molesting her feet. “Henry!” she exclaimed. “I thought you’d be somewhere drinking Beer® brand beer until you forgot all about us. Then there’s you,” she addressed to me. “Why aren’t you bedecked in neon and pleather, limbering up your embouchure so you don’t sprain anything during the performance?”

“Hey,” Henry said, “you do look a lot like Jason. What are you doing in Brackish Bay?”

I held a finger up to my lips. Having the bot confused about my identity could give me an advantage. But I was glad he’d blurted out where I was, even if it meant I would have to find my way home from a remote island used as an occasional base by murderous pirates.

At last the boots were unlaced, and Tessa helpfully stepped out of them. The stockings were made of ornate lace with gaps through which I could inspect her toes. As I searched for the override buttons said to be between the cute little digits, I heard the Tessabot begin to giggle audibly.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “This self-destruct mechanism seems rather ticklish.”

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In This Life I’ve Learned Not to Be Easily Shocked

  • by Kentanything from mimes to
  • your allergies are getting worse
  • put your finger down my throat
  • felt slick and slippery
  • stealing her underwear

Tune in next time part 528      Click Here for Earlier Installments

In this life I’ve learned not to be easily shocked. There could be danger around every corner, anything from mimes to ninjas to — shudder — my family. Yet, seeing that dress on Tessa shook me. I forbade myself tears, but couldn’t prevent myself from sniffling.

Tessa patted my shoulder. “I can tell your allergies are getting worse,” she said softly. I saw in her eyes that she wasn’t really fooled. She peered into my own eyes, surveying the aftermath of the earthquake inside. “This is going to sound like a strange request,” she went on, “but, put your finger down my throat and press the button back there.”

I drew back.

“There isn’t much time,” she begged. “He’s on his way, and if he gets the ring onto my finger I’m doomed. Unless you can reach the override.” She opened her jaw wide, too wide, waiting for me.

“Are you a…” I stammered. “A new Tessabot?”

She nodded, and flapped her hands impatiently.

I reached in, fitting my whole hand inside her mouth. Everything felt slick and slippery and alive, not robotic in the least. But when I probed her uvula and the vicinity, she didn’t gag. And sure enough, I found a button. I pressed it firmly and withdrew my hand.

Tessa’s head resumed its normal configuration, except that her eyes rolled back to show only whites. I kept a lookout while she rebooted, which is how I discovered Henry the bogus cowboy stealing her underwear.

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