Tagged: yeti

I’d Learned to Tune Out Exhaustion

  • by Kentweird cotton candy grapes
  • how many dollars a live yeti could be sold for
  • “Oo, yeah. Robots.”
  • find you a new cloak
  • dark and sexy

Tune in next time part 884      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I’d learned to tune out exhaustion over the years, so it took a moment of deliberate reflection to assess my current state. Yeah, I was borderline delirious with lack of sleep. And, I was ravenously hungry. Functioning without nourishment is another skill one develops in the spy biz, but the key is to focus on the task at hand and deny your body’s basic physical imperatives, so now that I’d considered food I could think of nothing else. Alarmingly, the thing I craved was the weird cotton candy grapes they had in the commissary at Enigma Fortress. But perhaps that wasn’t so strange. My memories of my time in the Paradoxica Mountains were fond ones. That frozen landscape  seemed a place where I could be happy, especially if I didn’t have to be in command of the garrison. I might find out how many dollars a live yeti could be sold for. I might find a place to settle down with Tessa and/or her many robot duplicates.

Small Dennis said, “Oo, yeah. Robots.”

I had no idea how much I’d said out loud. If I couldn’t keep my shit together better than that, leaving the spy game wasn’t going to be optional. I chanced a look at Fleur. She was smiling. That always makes me nervous, but it looked like a kind smile.

“I could tell the captain to change course,” she said. “Drop you off at Enigma Fortress in a day or two, which gives us time to find you a new cloak, something dark and sexy.”

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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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When Jason and I Were Young

  • by jenbask in the sugary afterglow
  • with bleach and everything
  • every fake-tanned, acrylic-nailed, selfie-taking woman
  • going to do “the fetish stuff”
  • near the twins, swinging

Tune in next time part 505      Click Here for Earlier Installments

When Jason and I were young, we once raided the White House pantry and ate an entire Sacher Torte that had been intended as the desert at an important State dinner. We had no time to bask in the sugary afterglow, though, because our mother discovered us and was enraged. She made us clean the entire kitchen, with bleach and everything, and then made us bake a replacement. Our skills were nothing compared to the staff bakers, but our cake was good enough to charm every fake-tanned, acrylic-nailed, selfie-taking woman at the party, so Mother was satisfied.

Furry Boots somehow knew this story. She whispered its details in my ear, thus proving she had a connection of some sort to my family. Perhaps she really was Jason’s lover. That didn’t mean I could trust her.

“Come with me,” she said, gripping me by the lapels of my climbing uniform. She explained that she was going to do “the fetish stuff” with me someplace private, which really didn’t narrow down her intentions much.

At the pace the auction was going, it wouldn’t be over anytime soon. I could afford to step away for a bit. And in private I might be able to figure out who Furry Boots was and what she was after.

We traveled through several rocky passages before entering a cavern decorated with plush yetis. A single crib held my newborn children, and near the twins, swinging a pair of nunchucks lazily, was Jason.

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I Did Not Kiss the Yeti

  • by jendude deserves a crown
  • should have been written on toilet tissue
  • be a couple publicly
  • “I actually looked at it
  • , not just snow.

Tune in next time part 503      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I did not kiss the yeti.

I would have been willing to if it would make the damn auction move faster, but the yeti wasn’t into it. She recoiled. While she argued about propriety with the furry-boots woman, I ducked under the buffet table and retrieved her headband. She snapped it back in place and stomped off. The furry-boots woman said to me, “If she’s married, dude deserves a crown for putting up with her.”

I froze. It was a coded message that should have been written on toilet tissue and passed discreetly between dance partners. Hearing it spoken aloud I wasn’t sure how to respond. Was it just a coincidence, or was this woman really saying that she wanted to be a couple publicly with me? I’d never met her before, but perhaps she and Jason were engaged in a secret romance.

Furry Boots herded me into the corner. “I can tell by your tongue that you’re not Jason,” she murmured. “I actually looked at it really closely and saw the golden tattoos.”

I didn’t want to admit to not being Jason. “How do you presume to know so much about the tongues of my brother and myself?”

“I know so much about Jason’s tongue because he licks many things off of me, not just snow. Jason’s tongue has a blue tattoo, but none in gold.”

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My Yeti Costume was Uncomfortable and No Longer Necessary

  • by jengiven as a a gift to assorted emperors
  • playful gleam in his dark eyes
  • you are rubbing your shin
  • hardly the strangest or rudest
  • only one manservant

Tune in next time part 501      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My yeti costume was uncomfortable and no longer necessary now that Tatiana had given birth. Everyone here thought I was Jason anyway. I wiggled out of the sweaty fur sheath, which was a difficult thing to do underneath the buffet table. I snatched up my mountaineering boots and put them back on, then crawled to the far end of the table and emerged surreptitiously from my hiding place.

The bidding was up to $2,256,004, and creeping higher.

I heard a very pompous voice that I recognized as King Woody say, “Gherkins like these were given as a gift to assorted emperors and empresses, such as my mother Empress Holly.” He had a playful gleam in his dark eyes, and was standing far too close to Maxine.

“Excuse me,” Maxine said. “But you are rubbing your shin against my thigh and I would like you to stop.”

Woody laughed. “I’m sure it’s hardly the strangest or rudest thing to rub up against you, my dear.”

Maxine alerted a yeti security guard, and it took only one manservant to escort the rude, blustering royal from the auction.

With one fewer bidder, maybe things would move more quickly now.

“Two million two hundred fifty six thousand and five!”

I sighed.

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Another Way You Can Tell

Our weird and wonderful writing-prompt chain story journey has reached an exciting milestone — our 500th episode! If you’ve been around here a while you know how we approach these centenary increments: Jen and Kent share the keyboard and alternate the prompt phrases. Also, we choose a specific source for the prompt rather than using our awesome generator. (You should really check it out!)

In honor of hitting the half-thousand mark, this time out we’ve extracted all the prompt phrases from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, which we watched again on our most recent night off. The movie provided us with tons of fodder, so much so that Jen had to winnow it down to just ten items. Kent randomized the order, and here we go!

  • this outrageous accent
  • carved in mystic runes upon the very living rock
  • quite indefatigable
  • you have to know these things when you’re a king
  • shrubberies are my trade
  • farcical aquatic ceremony
  • exciting underwear
  • this isn’t my nose
  • silly knees-bent running about
  • nibble your bum

Tune in next time part 499 & 500      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Another way you can tell Troy and Trent apart is by their toes. Trent’s toe muscles have this outrageous accentuation from his years of ballet, and looking at the toes of the faux-yeti standing before me as he scratched himself, I knew instantly that it was Trent pretending to be Troy. His beefy foot-digits traced the words of Oksana’s manifesto, carved in mystic runes upon the very living rock of the cavern’s floor.

While I pondered my brother’s toes, the bidding continued at a leisurely pace, creeping ever higher. As an auctioneer, Oksana was quite indefatigable. From my station beneath the table, I overheard someone pompously remarking to John, “Sometimes it takes a week to finish the bidding on the first item. Doesn’t do to rush in right at the start, dear boy.” John muttered something I couldn’t hear. But the reply was, “Mother warned me, while I was still a prince, that you have to know these things when you’re a king.” He slurped loudly from a beverage.

“And what are you king of?” John asked.

“Boxwoods, my dear boy! Boxwoods! They call me King Woody. Shrubberies are my family legacy and shrubberies are my trade.”

“Well,” John huffed, “if it takes as long as you say, the spring thaw will make a farcical aquatic ceremony of things in here.”

“But it will be worth it,” King Woody assured drunkenly. “Rumor has it that Jim has some very exciting underwear beneath his fashionable trousers.” The table over me lurched as John used it to keep his balance. King Woody’s laughter drowned in another slurp from his drink, then he said thickly, “I’ll bet you’ve got a nose for such things!”

“But this isn’t my nose,” John said levelly, moving around to Trent’s side of the table.

If I didn’t want to spend the remainder of the auction trapped under the buffet table, I had to get John and Trent to move away. If I did the snowcock cry again, John would undoubtedly start his silly knees-bent running about routine, but did I dare risk the chance that Trent would look under the table in search of the bird?

Luckily, King Woody seemed to pick up on John’s subtle hints. He shuffled away, trying to save face by exclaiming, “I’ll leave the rest of the crudités for you, then, so you can nibble your bumpy gherkin and imagine how demeaning it will feel to lose this auction to me!”

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An Expensive Snakeskin Jacket and a Notoriously Bad Memory

  • by jenon her face and neck
  • “Look at that thing, man.”
  • strange suction-cup-shaped marks
  • sees my face
  • nickname was Cookie

Tune in next time part 497      Click Here for Earlier Installments

An expensive snakeskin jacket and a notoriously bad memory? There was only one person John could think he was talking to, my brother Troy. Troy, whose nickname was Cookie, looked exactly like his twin Trent, but he didn’t look much like me. “As soon as John sees my face and its total lack of strange suction-cup-shaped marks, he’ll know I’m not Troy,” I thought. “Or Trent for that matter, but Trent is known for his exceptionally sharp memory and his ludicrously expensive but little-worn crocodile skin jacket. It’s easy to tell them apart.” Worse than John discovering that he was not talking to Troy would be having John discover he was not talking to Troy by discovering the real Troy. I needed a distraction so I could get away from John and observe from a distance.

“Look at that thing, man.” I pointed to a woman on the other side of the cavern with a large tattoo on her face and neck. When John turned away, I ducked under the buffet table. And none too soon. Almost immediately a pair of bare feet approached, sticking out of white yeti pants.

“Why are we bothering to bid on Jim?” Troy asked. He didn’t even try to do a yeti voice.

John’s voice was exasperated. “We just talked about this! Your memory is a shambles!”

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The Silver Serving Tray Upon Which Tatiana had Given Birth

  • by jenonce I was barefoot
  • someone else’s eyebrows?
  • Brodie did the calculation
  • a clarinet of his own design
  • some unlikely and very large costars

Tune in next time part 495      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The silver serving tray upon which Tatiana had given birth was whisked away along with her and the infants, and soon the auction had returned to normal. Or at least as normal as the auctioning of a hallucinating man to the highest bidding secret agent, in a cavern entirely staffed by yeti can be. My instincts told me to either halt the sale of my brother, or simply leave. But Jim had told me, pre-hallucinogens, that he wanted the auction to proceed. And Tatiana, mother to my newest children, had told me to keep bidding. Meanwhile, Fleur and my other infants were back at Enigma Fortress, vulnerable to whatever plan her husband Harry and that dick Arlo had cooking, and my own wife had demanded my presence back in the capital as soon as the skies were clear enough for my war-zeppelin to fly. It was a lot to think about.

The bidding continued at a leisurely pace around me as I tried to work out my next move, but my feet were too hot and I couldn’t concentrate. Under my big hairy yeti feet I was still wearing my clunky wooden hiking boots. No wonder my feet were so sweaty. I ducked into a corner, stripped from the ankles down, and, once I was barefoot, felt much better.

John sidled up to me, fully recovered from his Snowcock freakout, and gave me a shrewd look. I tried to give it right back, but I was wearing a yeti mask, and, have you ever tried to wiggle someone else’s eyebrows? It was like that.

John leaned in and said into my mask’s earhole, “Brodie did the calculation, and we ought to be able to outbid everyone here, assuming we can stay awake long enough. I know you don’t think he’s worth the expense, but Jim has a clarinet of his own design, and we need to get our hands on it before some unlikely and very large costars do.” He nodded meaningfully at the other yeti.

This was all extremely interesting, but just who did John think he was talking to? A ninja-yeti? A yeti-ninja? Did he think I was Jason? Did he know I was me? Or was there someone else specific he expected to meet at this auction, disguised as a bald-footed yeti?

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“Two Million Two Thousand!”

  • by jenflowed quickly from his nostrils
  • many individuals still believe today
  • should be home in bed
  • “I need the backstory.”
  • certainly not cinnamon-colored

Tune in next time part 493      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Two million two thousand!” shouted Tatiana at the same second that John was swigging champagne, and he was so surprised by the thousand-dollar leap in the bidding that he nearly choked. Champagne flowed quickly from his nostrils as he looked around for a napkin.

Turning back to me, Tatiana said. “I and many individuals still believe today in the ancient yeti maternity practices. I will give birth here in the cavern.”

“You should be home in bed,” I growled at her. “Or perhaps in that nice fortress down the mountain.”

“No!” Tatiana grabbed my yeti-masked face in her hands and stared into my eyes. “I need the elderberries. I need the skin contact.” She enunciated every word. “I need the backstory.” Her face crumpled under another contraction. “I need it all.”

I nodded.

She called to her nearly nude companion. “Magnus, get one of the big serving trays from a waiter. It will stand in for the traditional sled. I will give birth upon it. And napkins! Bring many napkins! Whatever sort you can find, except certainly not cinnamon-colored. That would be ill-omened.”

I was starting to feel quite superfluous, but decided to stick around and see my latest children be born.

“Two million two thousand thirty seven!” groaned Tatiana.

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“Elderberries?”

  • by jenalso a valid tactic
  • “No. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
  • He and his family all do it together
  • I guess I have some doppelgängers
  • mink cufflinks

Tune in next time part 491      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Elderberries?” I was incredulous. “You know what else is also a valid tactic? Actual medical care.” I grabbed the yeti midwife’s elbow and tried to pull her to her feet. “Come on.”

“No. I don’t want anything to do with you.” She curled her lip. “Or the ridiculous humans.” She pried my hand off her elbow with surprising strength, and handed me a plastic zipper bag full of tiny, dark purple berries. “Now fuck off and let me enjoy my coffee break, or I’ll report you to the union.”

Whether she was talking about the yeti union or the ninja union, I wanted nothing to do with them. I snatched her rainbow-striped headband and hurried from the room. Tatiana was probably too distracted to notice that I was not an actual yeti midwife, and if I wore the uniform she would probably do what I told her.

I retraced my route to the auction chamber. The bidding was at $2,000,682 and creeping higher. A small crowd had gathered around Tatiana as she labored while continuing her attempts to purchase my brother in the name of her sister. As I pushed my way through the onlookers, I overheard a number of them speculating about who had gotten her pregnant.

“The star charts dictated that it be Jason,” John said. “But his twin was the best we could do.”

“Oh, you were there!” cried Maxine. “How auspicious!”

“He and his family all do it together,” said a foppish man in a fur cape. “Espionage, I mean. Did you know that today’s prize, Jim, is a member of that family? It really is too much!”

“Two million seven hundred and one!” cried Tatiana. Then she spotted me in my disguise. “You look familiar,” she said suspiciously.

“I guess I have some doppelgängers,” I said, trying to imitate the gruff tone of the yeti. I held up my baggie of elderberries. “Let’s get you somewhere comfortable to deliver those babies.”

“I’ll provide the skin contact!” cried the fur-cape man. He tossed his cape aside, revealing himself to be wearing only a mink speedo and crisp white cuffs held in place on his wrists by mink cufflinks.

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