Sometimes a minute feels like forever, especially when you're chillin' in a hammock with Mrs. Tamara GRRR Diablo Thrill of the Balance de Razor Perditis Yo Legarto
Welcome to the serialized story of Mr. Harmless Bullet! For the audio version - scroll down. Genre: satire, absurdist comedy, adult humor (16+)
We crossed the river from the gates into the main street. The road on the other side of the town was reasonably broad and well-lit, but crowded for that time of the night.
At first glance, everything seemed normal: birds chanted in sweet, so-recognizable disharmony; a couple of ladies were shedding their skins and faces on the go; the sky was full of the unicorn-flies. But something wasn't normal. Or someone.
In the middle of the path, surrounded by a dozen wild dogs, stood the woman: pale, angry, and not young. When I noticed a revolver in her hand, I immediately dismissed the idea that she was a destination tourist or an unlucky visitor like myself. What was even odder was that she was carrying an empty can of Coke on her neck, about the size of a small kettle; every now and then, she raised it and seemed to speak into it.
I pulled my shoulders back and whispered to the startled first assistant, "Who is the woman with the gun, Ale?"
"I'm not sure... A friend of mine mentioned her once, I think," Ale de Sandwich replied, puzzled.
"My name is Tamara GRRR Diablo Thrill of the Balance de Razor Perditis Yo Legarto," the woman shouted, her cobalt-colored lips tightened over her orange teeth.
"Hello! I'm Bullet. Are they your dogs, Mrs. GRRR?" I sucked in a breath, inspecting her muscles beneath her tight black top.
"Yes. I imported them a while ago. They are New Guinea singing dogs." She paused, then added, "It's important I speak with you, fellas."
"What did you say your name was?" The first assistant said in a high-pitched voice while hiding behind my back.
"Tamara GRRR Diablo Thrill of the Balance de Razor Perditis Yo Legarto, or, if you want to simplify, I am the third wife of Mr. Alphonso Beard."
"Riiiight," the first assistant sighed.
In that exact second, an unpleasant change had come over his face: his jaw dropped slightly; his cheeks changed color to the dark, muted cyan; and he was breathing rather quickly, like he was frightened. I kept darting sidelong glances at him while listening to a stranger with the dogs.
"I specialize in the future, Bullet. Before I discuss the matter, let me ask you, and it is of the most vicious importance, to sign a non-disclosure agreement. It will take only one minute."
"Future, you say… hm, like five years from now?" I tried to bide some time to find the best way to escape the crazy situation.
"Five, twenty. Or why not 200."
"I'll be dead by then, Mrs. GRRR. What do I need a non-disclosure for?"
"I'm not trying to fool you, Bullet," the woman smiled. Her pose and expression suggested she was irritated by my sudden disobedience. "I work for Mrs. Fairly Breathing, the first wife of the ruler of this land."
I saw how the first assistant put his hands on his throat - almost hysterical terror took over him.
"Would you like to take a closer look at the paper's content in my lounge down the rock, Mr. Harmless?" the woman continued.
"Before we do that, I think I need to visit the soon- to-be wife of your ex-husband," I chuckled.
"I'll shoot you down if you try to leave now. Understood?" Mrs. GRRR barked.
I realized she was waiting for my response. Despite my stiff body, I moved closer to the edge of the road, only to discover the steep rock wall, and peered over. There was a long chain of stairs leading down to the lounge, which was covered in lights. I opened my mouth to answer, but the words resisted coming out of my throat.
I looked back to ask the first assistant for advice. One of the wild dogs sat on his chest, pressing on his lungs, stifling him. Deep in my heart, I wanted to scream that I was ready to follow Mrs. GRRR to the end of the Earth, but my conscious brain had lost control of my tongue. I gasped out only a single word, "No."
I don't know how, but the first assistant, red and hot, planted himself in the center of the road, waving his arms and eyeballs impatiently for a better effect; he tried to scare away the dogs, or, perhaps, attract the attention of people who lived nearby.
Mrs. Tamara GRRR Diablo Thrill of the Balance de Razor Perditis Yo Legarto spat on her hands, then quickly approached the first assistant and gave him a hard blow with her can of Coke. I watched that operation in silence.
The collision made a mess on the road where the first assistant had stood only a couple of minutes ago. I bravely decided to break the mournful silence and jump from the edge of the wall. The dogs (after taking me into the ring) followed my unplanned voyage.
Mrs. GRRR came down to the lounge peacefully by using the stairs. There she checked my wounds (I admit, I was lucky enough to survive the rough two-meter flight) and got right down to business. After I'd signed the non-disclosure, the crazy lady told me that she had a vision: after the wedding, Mr. Beard was planning to send my poor soul to the Slave Market, where I'd be sold to the Beluga Clan.
I was confused by that information.
She smiled, turned her head toward the egg hammock, and spoke in a low, cheerful voice, "Your ex-wife, Martha, said you can give me one minute of happiness."
A sudden horror pierced my body like an arrow. The thought of being together with Mrs. GRRR on that hammock caused every limb of my body to shiver.
I grabbed the bottle of locally made gin, which I spotted on the three-legged table in the corner, and growled, "What does your Martha know? In my world, one minute is an eternity!"
After a minute (or two) of speedy action, I felt dead in more ways than one. I found myself staggering, perhaps because I had eaten only two meals that day and could not remember the last time I had slept properly. Also, I was furious with the fatigue-clumsiness of my usually mighty anaconda, as well as the slowness of my body.
It seemed that Mrs. GRRR was tired, too. She and her eleven New Guinea singing dogs fell asleep under the table, overshadowed by the stone wall. A wet, monotonous wind healed my wounds faster than any first-aid kit. I needed a rest, too, so I crawled into a hole in the floor and closed my eyes.
The following day, I found Tamara's body—eyeless and cold—professionally strangled and placed on the stairs. A plate of cold ham and a napkin were left on the three-legged table. The New Guinea singing dogs were gone, too.
Hm... I might call myself Pompeii after that, I said to myself.
I couldn't decide what the wisest course of action was, so I climbed up to the road and prowled the unknown streets for a quarter of an hour in hopes of finding the bride's castle. When I thought the search was a waste of time, I noticed a peculiar smell. It led me directly to Mrs. Vegas's palace.
Quite courteously, I opened the door with my foot. Above the French doors that framed the entrance were hung twelve dead sheep and forty-two living fish. On the other side of the room stood a half-naked Mrs. Vegas. Her glowing body was a page waiting to be read...
Welcome to Chapter 27: "The Wrath of a Wife," where paranoia and chaos meet, knives dance to questionable beats, and your only hope is Mrs. Vegas or her protection plan, which costs $9,999 per hour.
Have you ever walked into a mansion so fancy that it has a deer house? No, not a zoo—just deer living their best life while you're stuck at your office...
Welcome to the serialized story of Mr. Harmless Bullet! For the audio version - scroll down. Genre: satire, absurdist comedy, adult humor (16+)
Written with the Tristan Tzara method - read about it here
Complete story, chapter by chapter:
CHAPTER 29 - ONE MINUTE HAPPINESS
We crossed the river from the gates into the main street. The road on the other side of the town was reasonably broad and well-lit, but crowded for that time of the night.
At first glance, everything seemed normal: birds chanted in sweet, so-recognizable disharmony; a couple of ladies were shedding their skins and faces on the go; the sky was full of the unicorn-flies. But something wasn't normal. Or someone.
In the middle of the path, surrounded by a dozen wild dogs, stood the woman: pale, angry, and not young. When I noticed a revolver in her hand, I immediately dismissed the idea that she was a destination tourist or an unlucky visitor like myself. What was even odder was that she was carrying an empty can of Coke on her neck, about the size of a small kettle; every now and then, she raised it and seemed to speak into it.
I pulled my shoulders back and whispered to the startled first assistant, "Who is the woman with the gun, Ale?"
"I'm not sure... A friend of mine mentioned her once, I think," Ale de Sandwich replied, puzzled.
"My name is Tamara GRRR Diablo Thrill of the Balance de Razor Perditis Yo Legarto," the woman shouted, her cobalt-colored lips tightened over her orange teeth.
"Hello! I'm Bullet. Are they your dogs, Mrs. GRRR?" I sucked in a breath, inspecting her muscles beneath her tight black top.
"Yes. I imported them a while ago. They are New Guinea singing dogs." She paused, then added, "It's important I speak with you, fellas."
"What did you say your name was?" The first assistant said in a high-pitched voice while hiding behind my back.
"Tamara GRRR Diablo Thrill of the Balance de Razor Perditis Yo Legarto, or, if you want to simplify, I am the third wife of Mr. Alphonso Beard."
"Riiiight," the first assistant sighed.
In that exact second, an unpleasant change had come over his face: his jaw dropped slightly; his cheeks changed color to the dark, muted cyan; and he was breathing rather quickly, like he was frightened. I kept darting sidelong glances at him while listening to a stranger with the dogs.
"I specialize in the future, Bullet. Before I discuss the matter, let me ask you, and it is of the most vicious importance, to sign a non-disclosure agreement. It will take only one minute."
"Future, you say… hm, like five years from now?" I tried to bide some time to find the best way to escape the crazy situation.
"Five, twenty. Or why not 200."
"I'll be dead by then, Mrs. GRRR. What do I need a non-disclosure for?"
"I'm not trying to fool you, Bullet," the woman smiled. Her pose and expression suggested she was irritated by my sudden disobedience. "I work for Mrs. Fairly Breathing, the first wife of the ruler of this land."
I saw how the first assistant put his hands on his throat - almost hysterical terror took over him.
"Would you like to take a closer look at the paper's content in my lounge down the rock, Mr. Harmless?" the woman continued.
"Before we do that, I think I need to visit the soon- to-be wife of your ex-husband," I chuckled.
"I'll shoot you down if you try to leave now. Understood?" Mrs. GRRR barked.
I realized she was waiting for my response. Despite my stiff body, I moved closer to the edge of the road, only to discover the steep rock wall, and peered over. There was a long chain of stairs leading down to the lounge, which was covered in lights. I opened my mouth to answer, but the words resisted coming out of my throat.
I looked back to ask the first assistant for advice. One of the wild dogs sat on his chest, pressing on his lungs, stifling him. Deep in my heart, I wanted to scream that I was ready to follow Mrs. GRRR to the end of the Earth, but my conscious brain had lost control of my tongue. I gasped out only a single word, "No."
I don't know how, but the first assistant, red and hot, planted himself in the center of the road, waving his arms and eyeballs impatiently for a better effect; he tried to scare away the dogs, or, perhaps, attract the attention of people who lived nearby.
Mrs. Tamara GRRR Diablo Thrill of the Balance de Razor Perditis Yo Legarto spat on her hands, then quickly approached the first assistant and gave him a hard blow with her can of Coke. I watched that operation in silence.
The collision made a mess on the road where the first assistant had stood only a couple of minutes ago. I bravely decided to break the mournful silence and jump from the edge of the wall. The dogs (after taking me into the ring) followed my unplanned voyage.
Mrs. GRRR came down to the lounge peacefully by using the stairs. There she checked my wounds (I admit, I was lucky enough to survive the rough two-meter flight) and got right down to business. After I'd signed the non-disclosure, the crazy lady told me that she had a vision: after the wedding, Mr. Beard was planning to send my poor soul to the Slave Market, where I'd be sold to the Beluga Clan.
I was confused by that information.
She smiled, turned her head toward the egg hammock, and spoke in a low, cheerful voice, "Your ex-wife, Martha, said you can give me one minute of happiness."
A sudden horror pierced my body like an arrow. The thought of being together with Mrs. GRRR on that hammock caused every limb of my body to shiver.
I grabbed the bottle of locally made gin, which I spotted on the three-legged table in the corner, and growled, "What does your Martha know? In my world, one minute is an eternity!"
After a minute (or two) of speedy action, I felt dead in more ways than one. I found myself staggering, perhaps because I had eaten only two meals that day and could not remember the last time I had slept properly. Also, I was furious with the fatigue-clumsiness of my usually mighty anaconda, as well as the slowness of my body.
It seemed that Mrs. GRRR was tired, too. She and her eleven New Guinea singing dogs fell asleep under the table, overshadowed by the stone wall. A wet, monotonous wind healed my wounds faster than any first-aid kit. I needed a rest, too, so I crawled into a hole in the floor and closed my eyes.
The following day, I found Tamara's body—eyeless and cold—professionally strangled and placed on the stairs. A plate of cold ham and a napkin were left on the three-legged table. The New Guinea singing dogs were gone, too.
Hm... I might call myself Pompeii after that, I said to myself.
I couldn't decide what the wisest course of action was, so I climbed up to the road and prowled the unknown streets for a quarter of an hour in hopes of finding the bride's castle. When I thought the search was a waste of time, I noticed a peculiar smell. It led me directly to Mrs. Vegas's palace.
Quite courteously, I opened the door with my foot. Above the French doors that framed the entrance were hung twelve dead sheep and forty-two living fish. On the other side of the room stood a half-naked Mrs. Vegas. Her glowing body was a page waiting to be read...
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