The Lutefisk (ba dum ching) raised her arm and began to strum, her lute singing in the ocean breeze, saccharine notes mixing with the salty sprays in a musical equivalent of sweet and sour sauce. My mouth and Trevor’s salivated at the music. And then the singing began:
O sing me a song
About a woman of men
The men in the woman
And her essence all spent.
A gleam in her eye
As the men sprayed her head!
The pretty little lady
Known as M’lady Me-gan!
I looked at Trevor, then at Abita, who had somehow managed to sleep through these innumerably non-prime days. God bless her, I love her so. I had a bad feeling about this song. Abita would not be too pleased with its direction either. Kaila continued:
She ran through the forests
And out into the mines
Searching all the land
(And behind it) for love
Until that fine day
When the Shaman approached
He seized up M’lady
And in her he broached!
The anger rose in me. This damn fish was mocking me, I knew it. How did she know my sister?
“Oh Shaman,” she pleaded
“Fill me with knowledge
Find me love today
And give me a lesson.”
I will do as you ask
With joy in my heart
Come into my tent
I’ll show you my art
I specialize in staffs
In wands and in branches
In spikes and in rods
In poles (if you snatch them).
I’ll show you my shafts
My bars and my sticks
My mace and my scepter
My flog, hard as a whip!
You’ll learn to love thickness
Girth a la mode
The durability of timber
Plastics and molds!
My things are most precious
Keep them deep inside
They’re here for your love
From love you cant’ hide.”
I looked around the dinghy for something to throw at that damned fish. Nothing. No harpoons, nothing sharp, nothing especially sturdy. I had no way of killing her. And then she continued:
“Shaman, your hand
Is most wonderfully large
I feel like a woman
Whilst near your midst
Canst love shine through
When the hand is enclosed
In a rounded out fist?”
“My lovely young lady,
The best parts come from there.
The fist can be used
To show peace or pull hair.
I don’t think you’re ready
For the power it holds
But close thine sweet eyes
And do as you’re told.”
Trevor clapped in rhythm to the hideous music, a stupid smirk on his face, his shirt off, and his body uncannily oiled in a light sheen. He was of no help to me. I grabbed the nearest thing I could, the rage in me building as I searched for ways of ending this disgusting ditty. I found a sturdy object, not knowing what it was due to the anger seething throughout me. The song continued:
“My dear, sweet M’lady
Stand right in this stride
Relax all your muscles
And open your legs wide—“
She could not finish her song. Kaila the Lutefisk (ba dum ching) fell into the depths, a hard object striking her head and breaking her lute. She sank into the murky depths in an unconscious stupor. I was victorious. The vile song had ceased! I looked around to celebrate. Trevor looked at me dumbstruck. I smiled proudly at him, jumping up and down. My smile slowly faded as I looked around the boat and realized something: Where was Abita?
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Chapter 6 - The Cruise of Destiny: Into the Arms of Death, Sex and Secretion in the Underbelly (Blood on the Alamo)
"Gentleman John has returned to his lair."
Lady Maurine swept out of the kitchen and wiped her hands on her velvet dress. The blood had still been on her fingers, but for naught consequence as her garment also ran dark as life.
"My seductress of the flesh, I'm home from school and I hunger."
Gentleman John tossed his heavy overcoat over the stone chair in the corner and embraced his pale partner.
"Come, let us drink from the Cup of Blood," she whispered. "It's in the kitchen."
"Perhaps my appetite is for the flesh, dark seductress."
Lady Maurine pulled down the high neck of her dress, exposing her neck.
"Then you may feast, lover."
Gentleman John let out a heavy laugh and pushed the neck of her dress up.
"Later, at the witching hour. I have a headache right now."
He walked past her into the living room and fell on the spider-skined couch.
"Were your pupils uncouth, my prince?" She asked as she followed him. She fell into his lap.
John sighed.
"Yes, they constructed a ball of spit and did project it into my head. Alas, I was the fool."
Lady Maurine drew her breath in.
"How dare those rapscalions, do they not know you feast of the flesh and, aye, they have flesh."
He shook his hand.
"No, we shall not speak of that. The Council of Judgement did not approve the last time." John said.
Maurine shook her hand in the air.
"Damn the PTA," she cried.
"No," John said as he grabbed her arm. "We shall not defy the elders that put blood on our table."
In a instant the candles around the room went out, and it went dark.
"Oh my Lucifer, a spirit has joined us," Maurine yelled.
Before them in front of couch apparated a man in red, white and blue.
"John, it is I, Evel Knievel."
Gentleman John dropped to his knees.
"What is your bidding, my master?" John said as he bowed.
The ghost began to speak.
"You must travel far to find your quest. A fair maiden lies of the beach of lost direction. I sent a guide, but they need protection."
He paused.
"You must bring them to the cruise."
Lady Maurine swept out of the kitchen and wiped her hands on her velvet dress. The blood had still been on her fingers, but for naught consequence as her garment also ran dark as life.
"My seductress of the flesh, I'm home from school and I hunger."
Gentleman John tossed his heavy overcoat over the stone chair in the corner and embraced his pale partner.
"Come, let us drink from the Cup of Blood," she whispered. "It's in the kitchen."
"Perhaps my appetite is for the flesh, dark seductress."
Lady Maurine pulled down the high neck of her dress, exposing her neck.
"Then you may feast, lover."
Gentleman John let out a heavy laugh and pushed the neck of her dress up.
"Later, at the witching hour. I have a headache right now."
He walked past her into the living room and fell on the spider-skined couch.
"Were your pupils uncouth, my prince?" She asked as she followed him. She fell into his lap.
John sighed.
"Yes, they constructed a ball of spit and did project it into my head. Alas, I was the fool."
Lady Maurine drew her breath in.
"How dare those rapscalions, do they not know you feast of the flesh and, aye, they have flesh."
He shook his hand.
"No, we shall not speak of that. The Council of Judgement did not approve the last time." John said.
Maurine shook her hand in the air.
"Damn the PTA," she cried.
"No," John said as he grabbed her arm. "We shall not defy the elders that put blood on our table."
In a instant the candles around the room went out, and it went dark.
"Oh my Lucifer, a spirit has joined us," Maurine yelled.
Before them in front of couch apparated a man in red, white and blue.
"John, it is I, Evel Knievel."
Gentleman John dropped to his knees.
"What is your bidding, my master?" John said as he bowed.
The ghost began to speak.
"You must travel far to find your quest. A fair maiden lies of the beach of lost direction. I sent a guide, but they need protection."
He paused.
"You must bring them to the cruise."
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
The Cruise of Destiny- Chapter 5: The Wonders of the Sea Shall Shine Wence Our Voyage is Underway and Monotony Rears Its Ugly Head of Doom
I puked over the side of the boat. I was not having a fun trip.
“Yar, looks like thine sea legs hath not sprouted as of yet,” Captain Trevor said to me in his grizzled drone. “More like you’re just getting your sea stomach remeasured!”
I would have laughed at this joke if it weren’t the thirtieth time he told it. Granted, I probably deserved the first twenty of those, what with the vomit exploding out of my mouth by the gross while stuck on the Sea of Madness. That’s the last time I drink my own urine when I’m caught in a dinghy.
We’ve been sailing for countless days, mostly because the sun never sets in this strange sea, thus making time immeasurable, but also because I have somehow lost my ability to count in anything but prime numbers. It started off fine: 1. 2, 3, but then I got lost. Until I reach my next primal numeric solar cycle anniversary event, I’m afraid I’m stuck with Captain Trevor’s calculations, which are unfortunately based on an obscure Atlantean calendar. “What day is it today?” I would ask, and he would peer at the sun through squinty eyes, counting silently in his head, and remark, “Today is the Day of the Lord, Bloomsday.” Granted, this has been his standard remark for the past three days.
Our voyage thus far has been boring and still. We have no oars, and thus cannot row. We have no sail, and thus cannot produce elaborate backdrops to our one man plays that Trevor and I concoct for entertainment. My one man version of “Chain of Command” went swimmingly, until the end when I really did see five lights. Trevor’s production of “The King and I” was a fine one, except for his deteriorating habit of slipping into pantomime and subtle racial stereotypes. I blame the source material. He makes a fine King of Siam, however.
The days dragged on as such for what seemed like prime +1. I was beginning to understand why it was called the Sea of Madness, although I dubbed it “The Sea of Stupid.” Trevor laughed every time I whipped that one out. God bless him.
We did pass a few distinguishable seamarks. The other day we saw the Rocks of Ages, a ring of stones jutting out of the water. They were too far out for us to reach them, but it was a pleasant sight as we passed. Trevor, upon first noticing the rocks, said, “Let’s take our shirts off and swim to them!” I was nonplussed at this. I didn’t want us to both lose sight of the boat. We just moved on past the Rocks of Ages.
Yesterday we glided past the Wreckage of the Ancients, a vast pirate ship cum petrified wood museum. Trevor was initially excited to see it, as he figured it would contain people that could help us. Alas, it was off for the season, this being Christmas (or Jerkfest, according to Trevor’s calendar). Nevertheless, he offered that we take our shirts off and swim to the petrified wood. Again I nixed this idea.
Today, after our daily play (an original I titled “Blasphemies of the Spider God”), long hours awaited us in silence. The only break in this monotony was Trevor suggesting we take our shirts off and wrestle. I declined.
He returned to his nap, grumbling about his boredom. He was asleep for only a few minutes when a voice crept up from the side of the boat.
“Hello travelers! Come hither to mine call!”
We scrambled to the side and gaped. A lady’s head stared back at us, her neck penetrating the water. Meh, I thought to myself, but gave my greetings back.
“Wherefore art thou in thine dinghy?” She pushed more of her body into the air. Her torso was that of a human females, and while she was visibly naked, a giant lute, held in her massive hands, covered her body from the front. “Shallst I singeth thee a song?”
“What are you?” I asked her. “Do you need help into our boat?”
“Nay, wary traveler. I canst swim on mine own!” With that she jumped into the air, performing a flip as her scaly fish tail glittered in the sun.
“By the Spider God, a mermaid!” exclaimed Trevor.
“Nay. I am Kaila, a Lutefisk (ba dum ching). And I shallst singeth thee mine song.”
And with that, she began to sing.
“Yar, looks like thine sea legs hath not sprouted as of yet,” Captain Trevor said to me in his grizzled drone. “More like you’re just getting your sea stomach remeasured!”
I would have laughed at this joke if it weren’t the thirtieth time he told it. Granted, I probably deserved the first twenty of those, what with the vomit exploding out of my mouth by the gross while stuck on the Sea of Madness. That’s the last time I drink my own urine when I’m caught in a dinghy.
We’ve been sailing for countless days, mostly because the sun never sets in this strange sea, thus making time immeasurable, but also because I have somehow lost my ability to count in anything but prime numbers. It started off fine: 1. 2, 3, but then I got lost. Until I reach my next primal numeric solar cycle anniversary event, I’m afraid I’m stuck with Captain Trevor’s calculations, which are unfortunately based on an obscure Atlantean calendar. “What day is it today?” I would ask, and he would peer at the sun through squinty eyes, counting silently in his head, and remark, “Today is the Day of the Lord, Bloomsday.” Granted, this has been his standard remark for the past three days.
Our voyage thus far has been boring and still. We have no oars, and thus cannot row. We have no sail, and thus cannot produce elaborate backdrops to our one man plays that Trevor and I concoct for entertainment. My one man version of “Chain of Command” went swimmingly, until the end when I really did see five lights. Trevor’s production of “The King and I” was a fine one, except for his deteriorating habit of slipping into pantomime and subtle racial stereotypes. I blame the source material. He makes a fine King of Siam, however.
The days dragged on as such for what seemed like prime +1. I was beginning to understand why it was called the Sea of Madness, although I dubbed it “The Sea of Stupid.” Trevor laughed every time I whipped that one out. God bless him.
We did pass a few distinguishable seamarks. The other day we saw the Rocks of Ages, a ring of stones jutting out of the water. They were too far out for us to reach them, but it was a pleasant sight as we passed. Trevor, upon first noticing the rocks, said, “Let’s take our shirts off and swim to them!” I was nonplussed at this. I didn’t want us to both lose sight of the boat. We just moved on past the Rocks of Ages.
Yesterday we glided past the Wreckage of the Ancients, a vast pirate ship cum petrified wood museum. Trevor was initially excited to see it, as he figured it would contain people that could help us. Alas, it was off for the season, this being Christmas (or Jerkfest, according to Trevor’s calendar). Nevertheless, he offered that we take our shirts off and swim to the petrified wood. Again I nixed this idea.
Today, after our daily play (an original I titled “Blasphemies of the Spider God”), long hours awaited us in silence. The only break in this monotony was Trevor suggesting we take our shirts off and wrestle. I declined.
He returned to his nap, grumbling about his boredom. He was asleep for only a few minutes when a voice crept up from the side of the boat.
“Hello travelers! Come hither to mine call!”
We scrambled to the side and gaped. A lady’s head stared back at us, her neck penetrating the water. Meh, I thought to myself, but gave my greetings back.
“Wherefore art thou in thine dinghy?” She pushed more of her body into the air. Her torso was that of a human females, and while she was visibly naked, a giant lute, held in her massive hands, covered her body from the front. “Shallst I singeth thee a song?”
“What are you?” I asked her. “Do you need help into our boat?”
“Nay, wary traveler. I canst swim on mine own!” With that she jumped into the air, performing a flip as her scaly fish tail glittered in the sun.
“By the Spider God, a mermaid!” exclaimed Trevor.
“Nay. I am Kaila, a Lutefisk (ba dum ching). And I shallst singeth thee mine song.”
And with that, she began to sing.
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