Tagged: zeppelin

In the Zeppelin’s Toolbox

  • by jenpopular amongst the citizens
  • those fearless travelers and explorers
  • Oh, here’s a winner
  • visionary, fantasist, poet, and painter
  • still in the buckled position

Tune in next time part 343      Click Here for Earlier Installments

In the zeppelin’s toolbox I found an enormous roll of duct tape in the silvery color most popular amongst the citizens of the world. I took it and exited the gondola through the service door at the rear that let me into a mechanical room. The gauges on the auxiliary gas supply showed that I didn’t have a lot of time to fuck around.

I climbed a ladder through a hatch in the ceiling, into the envelope. There were actually three seagulls in there with me, roosting contentedly on the roof of the gondola. I studied the zeppelin’s hide until I located all three of their entry points, ragged holes where daylight streamed in.

I tucked the flapping gulls into the jacket of my morning suit and began to climb the zeppelin’s framework. When I reached the first hole, I slapped several layers of duct tape over it. I repeated the process at the second hole. I had to traverse the entire inside of the envelope to reach the last hole, swinging from truss to truss like a contestant on Ninja Warrior. Finally I reached the last hole, the largest of the three. I reached into my jacket and shoved each struggling bird one by one out through the hole, then tore off yards of duct tape to close them out and keep the buoyant gasses in.

I felt like those fearless travelers and explorers you read about in the history books. I had saved the day! As I made my way back to the mechanical room I could picture the looks of adoration I would receive from my wife and her sister, the admiration I would get from Jim. I could imagine Fleur saying, “Oh, here’s a winner! A hero, a visionary, fantasist, poet, and painter!”

When I reentered the gondola, I was quite sweaty and covered with feathers. Fleur and Isolde were still bickering, and Jim was at the controls, still in the buckled position in the copilot’s seat, bouncing the infants in his arms. My heroics went unheralded.

I still did not entirely trust Jim. Nor the warlord’s daughters, when it came right down to it. I eyed the roll of duct tape in my hands, wondering if I should seize the moment to finally get some answers.

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Fleur’s Jaw Fell Slack

  • by Kentthe monopolist institution of marriage
  • mouth turned down
  • “Bollocks.”
  • stuck on the bottom of the furniture
  • — especially for a Hawaiian film festival

Tune in next time part 340      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur’s jaw fell slack. Even slacker than the hallucinogenic coffee had made it. Isolde’s twirling slowed and stopped, then she spun the opposite direction to reel her flimsy clothes back on. None of us in the zeppelin held the monopolist institution of marriage in much regard, but even we hesitate in the face of incest.

Jim stewed on what I’d said, his mouth turned down. After a minute of this, just as I was about to chide him for dereliction of his dirigible-flying duties, he threw me a sour look.

“Bollocks.”

The Britishism, ground under the boot-heel of his accent, sounded like “bawl-lucks.”

“What?” I replied.

“Why would you think Mom’s sister is any less dishonest than she is? It’s just talk.”

He had a good point, and I had no proof. I shrugged, and then repeated the motion several times because it made the infants in my arms giggle.

Isolde hugged herself. “Something makes sense, now. A thing Father used to talk about…”

Fleur barked, “No! That’s private! It’s family business.” Her anger seemed to have brought her lucidity along with it.

But Isolde continued in a keening voice. “He would brag that he knew what kind of gum was stuck on the bottom of the furniture at the White House. And also, he ended so many of his speeches by declaring, ‘I love all of my children, except the triplets.'”

“That’s enough!” Fleur shouted. The babies started crying, and her stern face softened. “Oh, bring the darlings here.”

Because Jim still hadn’t bothered to do anything with the controls, we had been effectively following the seagulls all this time. I looked down at the water and saw what had attracted them: a flotilla of garbage barges. Soon I could smell their cargo.

A flash of color aboard one of the barges caught my eye. Through binoculars I could see that it was a red-and-white striped pavilion tent. People lounged on chaises beside it, under a banner reading, “Hawaiian Film Festival Or Bust!”

They must be unusual fans for a film festival — especially for a Hawaiian film festival — to choose this mode of transportation to reach it. But Fleur’s instruction to follow the gulls made me edgy. Had she known about the scows, about these people?

Jim cleared his throat. “Which way, brother-of-mine?”

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I Had No Intention of Following the Seagulls

  • by jena variety of lovely agonies
  • Right?
  • meeting him for the first time
  • because she was wearing a tiara
  • entirely muffled in scarlet silk

Tune in next time part 339      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I had no intention of following the seagulls, or the commands of my intoxicated wife. “Let’s put ourselves in a holding pattern until she comes down,” I said to Jim, gesturing at the controls.

Jim buckled himself into the copilot’s seat and his face finally took on a serious expression. Behind us I could hear Isolde voicing disappointment that he was no longer flirting with her, distress that she could no longer admire his physique, and a variety of lovely agonies along those same lines. Jim threw me one last smirk. “Women. Right?”

For our whole lives it was like this with Jim. Women meeting him for the first time fell immediately under his spell. Apparently he expected sympathy from me over it.

Isolde elbowed her way between me and Jim and thrust a baby into my arms. The twins looked an awful lot alike, but I knew this was my daughter because she was wearing a tiara on her tiny head. I scowled and plucked the tacky thing off. Isolde, now entirely muffled in scarlet silk, handed me my son as well and began a swirling, twirling dance to remove her diaphanous wrapping.

Fleur’s own drug-induced choreography brought her close and I saw fury in her blue eyes. She was going to attack her sister if I couldn’t stop her.

“Hey Jim,” I said in a loud, deliberate voice. “Aunt Xylona told me that Mom had at least three kids with the Warlord of Contraria. And since you, Jemma, and Jemima are the only triplets in the family…”

“Aw shit,” Jim said. “You think I’m your wife’s half-brother?”

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“A Magician Never Reveals His Tricks”

  • by Kentmicrowaving isn’t just the best way
  • had a new family
  • get your guests in the mood to party
  • the odd, symbiotic relationship between sloths and moths
  • just saying what everyone’s thinking

Tune in next time part 336      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“A magician never reveals his tricks,” Jim drawled.

“You’re no magician!” I shot back. I really did want to know how he managed to board Fleur’s vessel.

Jim held up his hands. “We’re all on the same side, here,” he protested. “But I’ll give you just one hint: microwaving isn’t just the best way to make popcorn.” He winked, somehow giving all three of the other people in the zeppelin’s gondola the impression that the gesture was aimed at them. Fleur fanned herself, Isolde winked back, and I scowled at the obscure inside joke from our childhood. “Anyway,” he drawled on, “knowing you had a new family I felt duty-bound to offer some protection.”

I folded my arms and shook my head. “Do you honestly expect me to believe a word you say, after what happened the last time we met?”

He flashed a grin, which again made my wife and sister-in-law seem weak in the knees. “Hey, brother, don’t be so touchy about bygone days. Now that I’m here, I just want to get your guests in the mood to party.” He winked again, and all I could think about was how he had to know that these women weren’t my guests. What was his real game? Which faction was he working with? Their politics was filled with pretzel logic and arcane mutual dependencies as cryptic as the odd, symbiotic relationship between sloths and moths.

Isolde cleared her throat tremulously, and when she’d caught my eye she said, “Could you and Fleur, I don’t know, look out the windows for a bit?”

Jim chuckled. “She’s just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“Not me,” I said. To Isolde I asked, “What would Harry say?”

“Who?” she responded in a sleepy voice.

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The Brunette Man’s Tight Jeans Were Sweaty

  • by jenseemed to me, judging from his fingers,
  • like sunny springtime afternoons come to life
  • on live television for five hours
  • there is liquor aboard
  • this creepy incognito turtle

Tune in next time part 335      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The brunette man’s tight jeans were sweaty, his torso bare. It seemed to me, judging from his fingers, all wrinkled and pruny — and of course those sweaty jeans — that it must have been a veritable sauna inside that panda suit. Fleur and Isolde didn’t seem to notice his dishevelment. Or perhaps they found it attractive. They looked at him like he was a vernal deity, like sunny springtime afternoons come to life. I knew he was used to that reaction. I saw him talk about it on live television for five hours on at least two occasions, and in person innumerable times. He was my brother Jim, and women really liked Jim.

Fleur smiled coquettishly at him and said, “Welcome to my zeppelin. There is liquor aboard.”

“What are you doing here, Jim?” I asked. “The last time I saw you was in Dr Belladonna’s subterranean rocket surgery.”

“What was I supposed to do? Leave my niece and nephew unguarded when I saw the viscount putting on this creepy incognito turtle costume?”

“It was an armadillo,” Isolde said, batting her eyelashes.

“How did you get on my wife’s aircraft carrier?” I demanded.

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Arlo Put His Unhinged Laughter Aside

  • by jenmaritime follies
  • asked to see the treasure map
  • his engine had an anti-siphon valve
  • “Quick!” said the boy.
  • his chair with his bare feet

Tune in next time part 331      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Arlo put his unhinged laughter aside and peered down at the flaming submarine and foundering aircraft carrier. “We aren’t going to let these trifling maritime follies come between us, are we Fleur my dear?” he asked in his most unctuous voice. “After all it wasn’t so long ago that you asked to see the treasure map tattooed upon my abdomen. We could toss this so-called husband of yours out of the zeppelin and continue the game of Candyland we were playing upon it.”

I’d had enough of this Svenborgian dick. I deftly tucked my infant daughter inside my morning suit’s jacket and buttoned it to hold her in place, then yanked the gondola door’s handle. The door swung outward and I shoved the viscount after it.

As he fell, a flap opened in the back of the armadillo costume, exposing a jetpack. It roared to life and Arlo flew away, flipping us off.

“What the hell!” I said.

“He mentioned his jetpack often in bed,” Fleur said. “But I assumed it was a euphemism. He liked to brag about how his engine had an anti-siphon valve.”

Isolde rushed forward and closed the gondola’s door.

I checked on the children to see if they were okay. My son was still strapped to the blue panda, and seemed to have the hiccups. “Quick!” said the boy. “Quick!” I wished he had a name. But more important than that right now was making sure that whoever was inside the panda costume was not another enemy.

“Isolde,” I said. “Why don’t you play with your nephew?”

“That will be good practice for motherhood!” she enthused. She scooped the boy out of his carrier while he continued to hiccup. She sat and made her lap his chair with his bare feet sticking out where she could tickle them.

I eyed up the blue panda.

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I Was Sure That Fleur

  • by Kenthurts our brains
  • gladden the hearts
  • thinking that it really must be something else
  • another licking kiss
  • I got a history with cowboys

Tune in next time part 330      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was sure that Fleur would tell me to fling Viscount Arlo from the gondola so he might tumble into the flaming wreckage that had so recently been his hideous submarine. But both she and Isolde seemed too shocked to utter a sound.

“Shall I toss him out?” I asked, shoving Arlo toward the exit. He was still laughing, though, and the sisters’ faces were growing paler.

“His laughter hurts our brains,” Isolde muttered.

“Gonna take that as a yes,” I grunted, hustling Arlo up against the door, pinning him by pressing the heel of my hand into his sternum. We stood like that while I tried to figure out the best way of unlatching the door without letting my prisoner slip free, and without dropping my baby girl. I knew seeing him flail on the way down would gladden the hearts that beat in a warlord’s daughter’s breasts.

“You mustn’t,” Fleur pleaded. I puzzled over the obvious meaning of her words, thinking that it really must be something else. Because why wouldn’t she want to be rid of this dick?

Viscount Arlo ran out of air at last, so we got half a second of quiet before his long, rasping inhalation began. His one eye seized my gaze, and then he ducked his chin to swipe his oily tongue across the back of my hand. I flinched, and he gave my hand another licking kiss.

“Stop that,” I grumbled. “It won’t spur me to release you.”

Arlo laughed again, shrill and loud. He crowed, “Spurs? What fun! You should know I got a history with cowboys.”

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Fleur Stayed Riveted to the Battle

  • by jenone of the animal’s spongy feet
  • an explosive movement
  • noticed a strange mark
  • “No son of mine will be
  • watch your fat feet

Tune in next time part 329      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur stayed riveted to the battle outside the zeppelin’s windows, radioing instructions to her fighter jets and the aircraft carrier’s captain. Meanwhile Isolde crooned a lullaby to her stomach, and the babies’ mascots danced and fidgeted nervously. The rainbow armadillo lurched close to me and one of the animal’s spongy feet came down on the top of my fancy dress shoes.

“Ouch!” I complained, but the rest of my outcry was preempted by an explosive movement below us in the water. The viscount’s submarine floundered on the waves, spewing flames.

“Yes!” cried Fleur. “We’ve got him now!”

The armadillo clapped its big, plush hands, its head tipped back in hysterical laughter. The costume gapped between the oversized head and the squishy neon chest plate. Through the gap I could see the person’s neck and noticed a strange mark on the skin, a birthmark in the shape of a mushroom. My blood turned to ice.

Fleur directed her pilots to strafe the baby-shaped submarine. “No son of mine will be raised by a Svenborgian.” She spat the last word. “And no daughter, either.”

The armadillo was becoming more agitated by the second. It stomped on me again, edging toward Fleur’s seat.

“Why don’t you watch your fat feet, Viscount?” I said. With one hand I scooped my daughter out of the armadillo’s front carrier, while with the other I yanked the bobbly mascot head off, exposing Arlo’s bald head and eyepatch. With that mushroom birthmark it was no wonder he always wore turtlenecks.

Fleur and Isolde gasped to find the traitor aboard our zeppelin.

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Fleur Turned the Zeppelin Hard to Starboard

  • by Kent“I have heard a rumor.”
  • but your eyes are wide open
  • my body is 65% Kool-Aid
  • the enthusiasm of my stupidity
  • when Napoleon and a farmer squabble

Tune in next time part 328      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur turned the zeppelin hard to starboard and revved the engines, scooting us away from the fracas in the water below. The fighter pilots evidently judged our position to be sufficiently removed from the combat zone, because they opened fire on the ungainly, baby-shaped enemy submarine. The aircraft carrier took a bit of friendly fire, but most of the missiles struck the sub, or the water in its immediate vicinity.

“The crew still aboard the ship are in terrible danger,” I said, not mentioning John or Xylona. “It would surprise me if the ship’s not already taking on water.”

Fleur didn’t take her eyes off the instrument panel. “I have heard a rumor.”

“When?” I asked.

“You must have potatoes in your ears,” the blue panda said, “but your eyes are wide open. Follow along on the readout.”

The zeppelin’s dashboard had a screen showing a schematic of the aircraft carrier. Most of the outlines were green, but most of the keel was drawn in red. The vessel’s waterline was indicated too, and it was rising fast.

I looked from the screen to Fleur to Isolde to the panda, and finally the armadillo carrying my infant daughter. We met each other’s gaze, and the person in the colorful suit crooned, “My body is 65% Kool-Aid. That probably accounts for the enthusiasm of my stupidity.”

“Hey,” I said, “you’re up here instead of down there. That’s not stupid.”

“There’s an old Contrarian saying,” Fleur grumbled, her attention still riveted to operating the airship. “The eggs go sour and the milk gets a shell when Napoleon and a farmer squabble.”

“Such wise words for this disastrous occasion,” Isolde said.

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“That’s the Viscount’s Submarine!”

  • by jensome sort of wacky hardcore fundamentalist sect
  • what a lucky bastard
  • pay you a whole $250 to serve drinks at their poker game
  • instead of being scary
  • for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip

Tune in next time part 327      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“That’s the viscount’s submarine!” Isolde cried. “But why would Arlo attack us, Fleur?”

My wife gritted her teeth. “He’s the leader of some sort of wacky hardcore fundamentalist sect.” She steered the zeppelin higher as the sub rammed the aircraft carrier again. “He tried to convince me to let him baptize the twins into it so that he could tell everyone he was their father.”

It offended me to think that anyone might believe that creepy dick had fathered my children.

“It’s not enough for him to be your lover for months and months,” Isolde said. “He wants to control the heirs to Contraria!” Her hand rested on her abdomen. “He will never even lay eyes on the precious child Harry has given me.”

The blue panda that had my son in a front carrier nudged me and whispered, “Do you know what a lucky bastard you are, bedding both of the warlord’s daughters?”

“How dare you speak to me that way!” I hissed. “It’s not like I’m some asshole who agreed to pay you a whole $250 to serve drinks at their poker game! You are responsible for the safety of the royal infant!” I tried to keep my voice menacing, but instead of being scary it came out sounding quite prissy. The man in the panda suit took a big step backward. I kept my eye on him for further signs of inappropriateness while I tuned back in to Fleur and Isolde’s conversation.

“I knew Arlo was up to something,” Fleur said. “I should have exiled him from Contraria for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip when I was on the verge of labor.”

“It must have been the pregnancy hormones,” Isolde soothed. “I can feel them already, turning my brain to mush.” She smiled beatifically down at her flat stomach. Did she really think she was already pregnant? “I can’t wait until Harry and I can hold our little bundle of joy. I bet it will look just like him!”

Fleur shot me a dangerous look, so I kept my mouth closed.

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