Yo yo yo! (I promise, I won’t ever open a blog post like that again.) Now that the hullabaloo surrounding the launch of Struglend Tales has calmed down a bit (I’m waiting for a proof copy of the print version, which, if approved by me, will go on sale for $ 7.99) I finally find myself in a position to start working on my backlog of Bouffon Story requests again. This time it’s time for another prompt from GaryCXJk, who gave me these three items to work with:

Situation: Alien invasion
Premise: How Earth’s stupidity completely averts and obliterates an alien invasion
The aliens are immune to Earth’s diseases

Okay, let’s GO GO GO!!!

“Take me to your leader”

Splork had been dreaming of the moment he would invade another planet ever since he was a hatchling. His parents always told him he’d never be able to get in the Invasion Force, he just had to take a job as a waiter or something. After all, to become an Invader, you’d have to have the physical appearance of another species in the universe. Parents on the planet Flistoxon watched on in suspense as their egg hatched, like a child opening a Kinder Surprise egg, rejoicing when they found a creature that might pass as a tentacled Monolorg from the planet Soopsteev, or a bejingled graigengracker from Norf. But Splork looked… weird. He had two legs, two arms, and a bulging thing on his face with two holes in the bottom of it. Splork was an outcast.

He kept trying and trying however, eventually becoming the apprentice of Professor Zlipatoop, who researched planets that other scholars considered unlikely to exist at best, and mythological at worst. But the professor persisted in his research, and after many years of research, aided by his trusted assistant Splork, he discovered Earth. Splork was over the moon… no… he was over all of Flistoxon’s 23 moons, when he saw the appearance of the strange creatures inhabiting this mysterious planet. They looked just like him!

Splork immediately rushed off to apply for placement in the Invasion Force, armed with Zlipatoop’s findings. The Invasion Commanders had no choice but to send Splork on his mission: he was to scout out the planet Earth and report back with his findings, after which the Flistoxonians would invade it. After months of rigorous training with Zlipatoop and some of Flistoxon’s top philologists, as well as genetic engineering to prevent him from contracting any of Earth’s diseases, Splork was ready to go. With a tear in his eye, he said goodbye to his father, who wiped his left ear with a handkerchief, and his mother, who buried one of her three heads in her paw.

Thanks to the professor’s calculations, Splork’s journey to Earth went very smoothly. He decided to land in the garden of a particularly stately looking 19th-century manor, assuming it to be some kind of seat of power. He spoke to a shabby-looking man who was hanging around in the garden, finally getting the chance to utter the phrase that had been burning on his lips for so long.

“Take me to your leader.”

“Eh? Huh? Hey? What?” the man replied, strange tics making his head shake between each word.

Ah, thought Splork, so that is how they communicate here.

“Take,” he began, jerking his head from side to side, “me,” jerk, “to,” shake, “your,” tic, “leader!”

“Aha. Aha. Aha. You… you… you mean Napoleon. There he is.”

The man pointed in the direction of a small woman, who constantly held a hand against her stomach, as if she was in continuous abdominal agony.

“Hello,” began Splork, peppering his replies with the necessary tics, “I am Splork. From the planet Flistoxon.

The woman looked at him from top to bottom. “I am Napoleon. I am the boss around here.”

“Pleased to meet you.  I have come to invade your planet.”

“WHAT?!” she burst out. “GUARDS! GUARDS! GUARDS!”

Out of the manor, two men in white coats came running at the source of this commotion. Seeing the new arrival, they hesitated. “What are you doing here?”

“I,” tic, “come,” shake, “to invade,” gurgle, “your,” twitch, “planet!”

“Mad as a doorknob,” one of the men whispered to the other.

“Fine,” the other continued, “but before doing so, you’ll have to come with us first, if you please.”

Splork followed the two men inside, where he was promptly attacked by another man in a similarly white uniform who was holding a syringe. Splork tried to put up a struggle, but he wasn’t quite as dexterous with his limbs as the men in the white coats. They put Splork in a straitjacket, and locked him up. Every day doctors would visit him, study his behaviour, listen to his ramblings about the planet Flistoxon. They wrote research paper after research paper about this elaborate figment of the imagination, triggered by a mental affliction they hadn’t encountered ever before.

And back on Flistoxon, every day Splork’s mother looked out the window, hoping for a sign that her son would return.

Before I get started on the next Bouffon Story, let me first share some good news with you: the cover for Struglend Tales is very nearly finished! So things are looking very good in that respect, and it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be holding that precious (e-)book in your hands.

Now to business. lizbethlizard came up with this rather unique prompt:

the story must include:
- the line: “Uschi, I love you, I want a child from you” (it has to be said by a girl, by the way)
-Pepsi has to play a major role
-a minimum of 3 chuck norris facts
-Aaaannnd … um… the word “Isoprophylprofimilbabitursourphenyldementylaminop hyrazolon”

All my thoughts were pushed into one direction (I blame the name Uschi, which simply has to be the name of a model). Just read it, if you dare (fair warning: it kind of might not be appropriate for all audiences).

Love?

Lotte was sitting at her desk, rubbing her temples with her slender fingers. Now and then she pinched herself to make sure this wasn’t all a bad dream. It wasn’t, and the post-it note before her made that clear enough.

2 pm: meet Uschi at fertility clinic

How… how had it come to this? She, who had always dated boys, having fallen in love with that girl, who she didn’t even know two days prior? And not just falling in love, no, declaring a desire for an undying, childbearing bond. She decided to go over the events of the previous day once more, to see if she might not be able to figure out just what had happened that changed her so.

* * *

“Okay, uh… Ursula, right?”

“Oh, just call me Uschi.”

“Okay. Could you just turn a bit to the left there? Like that? Yeah. Perfect. Oh, and hold the bottle to your lips, but be careful not to smudge your lipstick.”

As Lotte pushed away at the shutter button of her camera, she daydreamed of her future success. This was her big break. An ad campaign for the new and revamped Pepsi. This one commission would ensure financial independence once and for all.

“You’re doing fine, Uschi.”

Uschi smiled at Lotte, her cherry red lips curving up charmingly. Lotte snapped another few pictures to capture this moment of charm.

“Right, I think it’s time for a short break. Do you smoke, Uschi?”

“No… I think I’ll just have a bit of this stuff,” the model answered, indicating the bottle she was holding. “I wonder if it’s really that good.”

“Fine, I’ll just go and have a smoke, then we’ll continue.”

Up to that moment, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. When Lotte returned to the shoot, she blinked a few times. There was Uschi, still assuming the same pose as before, but one thing was different: her clothes. She didn’t have them on.

“Uh… Uschi… I don’t think it’s that sort of shoot.”

“Oh, come on, can’t a girl have some fun now and then?” she said, winking conspicuously. “Hey,” Uschi continued, after taking another swig out of the Pepsi bottle, “why don’t we play a game? I guess the colour of your underwear, you take off your clothes so I can check my answer. Deal?”

“No! What’s the matter with you, anyway?”

“With me? Nothing. I’m just curious about the colour of your underwear, that’s all. Is it red, like Superman’s?”

“What? Superman’s underwear isn’t red, is it?”

“Oh yes it is, baby. Don’t you know? He once fought Chuck Norris for a bet. The loser had to wear his underwear on the outside.”

Lotte just stood there, gazing at her model incredulously.

“What are you looking at? Oh, you must be fancying me, huh? That’s good. That’s very good.”

Another blatant wink. This was too much for poor Lotte. She went to fetch Uschi’s coat and demanded that she leave.

“Oh, I can take a hint, babe. But before I go, you simply must taste some of this new Pepsi. It’s divine.”

“Fine, whatever,” said Lotte, who decided she might as well play along with this nonsense, feeling like Alice in Wonderland. She took a sip, and felt a tingling sensation all over her body. This stuff did taste good! She looked at Uschi and smiled, baring her teeth.

“Did you know,” Lotte went on, “Chuck Norris once invented the best energy drink of the universe?”

“Oh yes?” Uschi answered, casually unbuttoning Lotte’s shirt.

“Yes… but he decided to give one half of the recipe to Coca-Cola and the other to Pepsi, for fear that the universe might explode if the whole recipe would be made.”

“That’s… really interesting…” Uschi answered, without really listening. She was completely absorbed by Lotte’s eyes, which closed as both women’s breaths merged into one stream of warm air, a process that ended abruptly when their lips met for a long, passionate kiss.

Half an hour later, they leaned back onto the couch, completely exhausted but satisfied.

“Uschi, I love you, I want a child from you,” Lotte said. It was a casual remark, but backed by a bountiful bliss bubbling up from the bottom of her heart.

“I love you too,” Uschi answered. After a peck on Lotte’s cheek, she put on her coat, not bothering to dress up any further, and as she left, she asked Lotte to meet her the following day at the fertility clinic, at two in the afternoon.

* * *

Lotte shook her head. Had that really happened? She looked at her watch. It was already 1:30. But what could she do?

She took up the slightly moist and sticky bottle of Pepsi, the only testament of yesterday’s events, and was about to throw it away, when her eyes fell on the label. One item on the list of ingredients caught her attention: Isoprophylprofimilbabitursourphenyldementylaminop hyrazolon.

She walked over to her bookcase, and pulled out a thick volume, a present from her mother, who was a doctor.

“There, found it.”

She started reading the entry.

Isoprophylprofimilbabitursourphenyldementylaminop hyrazolon: experimental polymer, acquired through a complicated process of artificially building molecules with a 3D nanoprinter. Clinical tests are not conclusive, but the substance has produced symptoms including, but not limited to, abnormally high hormone and pheromone levels, paired with an uncontrollable urge to talk about Chuck Norris. Further research necessary, but everything points to an impending ban by the FDA, which is just as well, because if this would be cleared for human consumption, we’d probably end up with a promiscuous anarchy.

Lotte trembled at the realization that she was, after all, normal, and she’d just been under the influence of some strange drug. She decided to go to the fertility clinic right away, to explain everything to Uschi (if she hadn’t found out herself already), and to warn her not to drink any more of the new Pepsi.

An hour later, Uschi still hadn’t shown up, and Lotte decided to go home. She sat down on the couch (though not before thoroughly wiping it) and switched on the television set.

“Earlier today, a woman has been arrested by the police. She was standing in the street, completely naked, shouting random Chuck Norris facts at passers-by. At first it was thought to be a joke, but when she started fondling and groping the policemen making the arrest, a thorough investigation was announced. Furthermore, disciplinary action has been taken against one policeman who seemed to be enjoying the arrest a bit too much. More news on this in our next bulletin. Now, in sports news…”

Lotte quickly switched off the TV again. She buried her head in her hands, feeling shame, but also relief. And then, when there was a knock at the door, anxiety was thrown into the mixture, followed by panic when she heard the words: “Miss… uh… Lotte? Open up please, this is detective Müller. We’d like to ask you a few questions…”

This one is hard. It is, in fact, probably the hardest writing prompt I’ve been given so far, and virtually impossible. Still, I’m giving it a try! Here’s the prompt, handed to me by GaryCXJk:

Eldritch Abomination / Cosmic Horror
Romantic comedy
On the set of Jeopardy

Play it as straight as possible, meaning, the romantic comedy element should not be played as some form of parody but as an actual romantic comedy, and there actually should be a cosmic horror, Cthulhu style, either as a love interest or as an actual being of horror which brings the two lovers closer to each other. The last one especially would be hard without letting it devolve into straight-up horror and without letting the cosmic horror element down, although the former would be very challenging to let it be both romantic and comedic without making it feel like some parody.

Yeah… so here we have two genres that couldn’t be farther apart if you put one on a one-way trip to the sun and drop the other into a hole in the ground that goes straight to the Earth’s core. In addition, romantic comedy is not really my genre of choice, and I haven’t read any Lovecraft… yet. Still, I’ve got an idea in my head that might make this work, I just wonder if it’ll end up any good.

The Universe in Jeopardy

“In those days, Okranotaugh shall come to our planet, to plant terror in the hearts of men. Then shall the Earth belong to the Old Ones, in whose hands we place our humble bodies, as vessels for them to drink from. But the prophet of Ma’litelephar, that blasphemous abomination, also says that in those days a man shall be born who cannot be touched by the ancient horrors of the Old Ones. It is said that he shall resist, and conquer in the end. But fear not, brothers and sisters, for his ignorance shall be his downfall. All hail Okranotaugh!” – From the religious texts of the True Eldritch Worshippers

“Wow, I still can’t believe I’m here, at the set of Jeopardy!”

“Well, Bob,” said Alex Trebek, “you’d better believe it, because it’s true. Now, can you tell us something about yourself?”

Bob leant forward, and said: “I’m Bob.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Yes, Bob, we know. But what do you do in your daily life?”

“I uh… surf the web.”

“And apart from that?”

“I sometimes go to the toilet?”

“Yes. Thank you, Bob. Let’s just move on to the first question. But before we do so, ladies and gentlemen, let me explain something to you. You’ll have noticed that gone are the monitors you’re so used to seeing here. In the interest of not wasting any energy, we’ve decided to replace them with cards, which has the added benefit of someone needing to be there to turn them around. And that someone is… please welcome… the lovely… Anna!”

As a stunningly beautiful platinum blonde bombshell walked in, the audience started clapping. But as she fixed her gaze on each and everyone of them, the clapping stopped. After a few seconds, members of the audience were scrambling to reach the emergency exits. They didn’t know why, they just wanted to get out of there, such was the immense, almost terrible, otherworldly beauty that emanated from Anna’s very aura.

But Bob remained, and Alex knew his duty. He asked the first question. “Okay, for 200 dollars… I… I… feel a little queasy…”

Bob rang his bell. “What did Roman god Bacchus say after drinking twenty vats of wine?”

“Correct,” Anna said in a monotonous, almost mechanical, voice. To any other human being, it would stir up feelings of cold despair, so perfect was the voice. Perfect in its simplicity, but above all in its effectiveness to touch the heart of any man.

Not even the game show host was entirely unaffected by it. “Wowza,” he said.

Bob rang his bell. “What is the name the ancient Amazonian tribe of Woofwoofiba give to their capital during the rainy season?”

“Again, correct,” said Anna’s voice, who by now had Alex’s mind in a stranglehold.

The only thing he could now utter was something that sounded like “KKKGHHHHGGGGGRRRRIIIIIAAAJJJJJJIIIKOOOO.”

And again, Bob pushed the button in front of him and spoke, as if nothing had happened. “What was the first ever sound produced by a phonograph?”

By now, Alex was running out of the studio, his brain having assumed the consistency of chocolate mousse.

“Well?” Bob asked, uncertainly. “Was it correct?”

Anna looked Bob straight in the eye, not once flinching. Could it be that this beautiful lady was somehow… attracted to him?

“Yes,” Anna answered, not taking her eyes off of Bob.

Oh my, thought Bob. Well, it’s now or never. “What is the answer to the question: ‘Will you kiss me?’”

Anna smiled broadly, revealing a perfect set of white, shining teeth. She started walking towards him.

Oh man, this is it, Bob thought. My first kiss, and with such a whoppingly stunning girl too! Oh man, oh man, this will be so awesome!

Bob closed his eyes and opened his mouth, ready for Anna to work her magic. That first kiss was everything Bob could hope for, and more. She was doing things to his tongue with hers that he hadn’t imagined in his wildest dreams. Actually, he didn’t realize those things were anatomically possible.

When she had finished kissing him, she turned and walked away slowly, her hips swaying defiantly. What a woman, Bob thought, bringing his hand to his tongue. But it wasn’t there any more. “Anna, Anna!” he shouted, wanting to tell his beloved that she obviously had something that kind of belonged to him… but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a pinkish red froth, which stopped only when he died, choking on his own blood.

“And Okranotaugh went on to cover the world in a black blanket of blasphemy, not paying heed to the cries of the humans. Their prodigal son had died, succumbing to his own weakness.” – From the religious texts of the True Eldritch Worshippers

“Well, at least I got it half right.” – From the writings of the prophet of Ma’litelephar

Here’s another writing prompt from Ribs.

Below are three sub-sections, one shall have both traits listed included in the story, one shall have only one, and the last section can use either one or two. You can choose which sub-section is used in which way.

-A Dinosaur Destroying a Community
-A Giant Game of Chess
-New York City During the Great Depression
-A Daytime Talk Show hosted by Large Wasps who only speak Portugese
-The Letter ‘j’
-The Word ‘the’

I like these sort of puzzley things. After careful deliberation, I have decided to use both of the traits from the first section, the first of the second (since I don’t speak Portuguese, so the whole wasp thing would come out terribly disappointing), and the first of the last section. Now then, let us commence.

Chaos

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a great moment indeed!”

The man who spoke these words was Fitzwilliam Mackenzie, a talented engineer, hired by the United States government to head a top secret project that would create employment opportunities for thousands of New York citizens, thereby ending the Great Depression.

“With a push of this button, our work is complete. Before I do so, let me first say ‘thank you’ to those who have laboured day and night to make this possible.”

Indeed, some had even given their lives completing this giant chessboard. It was much more than a mere chessboard, actually. Mackenzie had painstakingly drawn up a plan to build the world’s first chess computer. A system of piano wires, old sewing machines and copper cogs had resulted in the world’s largest computer.

“I hereby declare the Great Chess Board of 1934… officially opened!”

Mackenzie pressed the button, and soon enough, the skyscrapers of Manhattan were moving about on the city’s street grid. People looked on in amazement as these steel giants moved in a fear-inducing, yet elegant way. This would surely be the greatest tourist attraction of all, forever securing the financial future of New York City’s inhabitants.

Fitzwilliam Mackenzie smiled as he saw this spectacle, that was all his doing. He grinned broadly, then giggled like a baby, then his eyes widened in horror, as he saw his beautiful game of chess being ravished.

The trembling caused by the sky-high chess pieces moving about had awoken an ancient terror: a sea dragon rose up from the Hudson River, disturbed from its seemingly eternal slumber, and started knocking about the skyscrapers. People ran in panic.

For a moment, Mackenzie considered the possibility of turning this terrible plesiosauric creature into another tourist attraction (Hudsie would be a good name), but seeing the total construction, he decided against it, quickly retreating into his lab to seek a solution to this new problem.

The minutes it took him to find what he was looking for seemed like centuries. Finally, there it was, on page 948: neuro-linguistic programming at ultrasound frequencies. He had never attempted it before, afraid of the consequences, but now it had to be done. Fortunately, he had already assembled the necessary parts. It was now just a matter of plugging it in and flicking a switch.

“Damn these electric plugs!” he shouted, as he tried to connect the plug with the wall socket, his hands trembling.

When finally he succeeded, he hesitantly reached for the switch, looking out the window one more time. There, he looked straight into Hudsie’s eye, which, despite the apparent malevolence, was quite beautiful. Knowing that admiring it for too long would mean his death however, he quickly pulled the switch.

The prehistoric animal blinked a few times, as if having no clue where it was. Then she quickly headed back to the river and submerged, never to be seen again.

When Mackenzie had also switched off his giant chess computer, he breathed a great big sigh of relief and exhaustion, and switched on the wireless.

“E-L-L-O! The Ello programme, starring Ack Benny-”

He switched the radio off again, shaking himself. Was this a dream? He tried once more.

“Ello again, this is Ack Benny speaking-”

This… could not be happening, could it? He walked over to the book and turned the page. The sentence of page 948, which he failed to read in its entirety, continued on the next page: “…may have unfortunate side effects, such as the collective removal of a specific letter from the vocabulary of anyone in range of the transmission.”

“Oh,” Mackenzie said to himself. “That’s ust great.”

Oh hey, it’s story time! RetroVortex came up with these three words for me to work with:

Guitarists
Wager
Pie

I think I have come up with a nice idea incorporating those elements.

Dueling Guitars

“Hey, Susan! Are you there?”

Nothing.

“Um… hello? It’s me, Jimmy… hi?”

A ruffling noise, followed by a young woman’s voice.

“Hey, Jimbo! Sorry, Skype was being weird. But I’m here now!”

“Sweet! You mentioned you got this new guitar, right?”

“Oh yeah! Wait, let me switch on my cam so you can see it.”

The blackness on Jimmy’s screen gave way to reveal a girl with short, irregular hair dyed fire engine red, wearing a black top emblazoned with a stylized silver skull. She reached down to reveal a black electric bass guitar with rainbow-coloured flames airbrushed onto its body.

“Wow,” said Jimmy. “That’s… badass!”

“I know, right? Wait until you hear my lay down some mad bass lines on this baby.”

Susan proceeded to work the guitar, one moment producing deep reverberating tones that made Jimmy’s stomach resonate, the other weaving intricate melodies that moved across the entire musical spectrum, from neo-classical to funk and back.

“Damn, that’s some skills you’ve got there, Suzie… But wait till you hear this.”

Jimmy took up his own guitar, a scratched-up blue Stratocaster with a Porcupine Tree sticker on it. Lick after lick, riff after riff, he produced sounds that Susan thought were second only to Jimi Hendrix.

This was of course a highly subjective observation on Susan’s part, but when she joined in with her counter melodies, the result was really something special, and an idea was born then and there.

“Suzie,” said Jimmy, stopping abruptly.

“What?”

“We should put this up on YouTube.”

“Haha, no way.”

“Yeah, totally! Who knows, we may be discovered! You play a mean bass, and I’m good with a guitar… why not? Maybe some band will come along and pick us up.”

“Right…”

“Susan, I’m serious! Okay, I’m even willing to do a little wager. If we get famous, I promise I’ll take you on a trip to South America.”

“Oh, come on, Jim… you’re kidding.”

“No, no, I’m not. Let’s do this. Okay?”

Susan hesitated a moment. “Okay… but you upload it.”

“Deal.”

* * *

Millions of YouTube hits and two years later, Jimmy sat in a classroom-sized space lit by fluorescent lamps.

“Jimmy, Jimmy!” one of the assembled press mosquitoes shouted. “How does it feel to give your first concert in Madison Square Garden tomorrow? Are you nervous?”

“Nah, man… I just, like, go out there and play. Just like I did those two years ago… I just sit down and play my shit… that’s how I roll, you know. Solo is where it’s at.”

Among the hero-worshipping reports was a young lady with long blonde hair, wearing sunglasses. “Mister Wilkinson,” she said, being the only one to address the rock star by his family name, “speaking of that YouTube video, there has been speculation on the…” She paused, looking down at a piece of paper “…4chan forums that the actual star in that video was the bass player, who isn’t shown on screen, but who, with his amazing skills lifted your music up to new heights.”

Jimmy swallowed. “Yeah, well… uh, actually, she was a girl.”

The reporter raised her eyebrows.

“But that was two years ago. I’m living in the present now. She wouldn’t have been able to cope with the fame. I think she’s happy for me.”

“Did you tell her about the recording contract you were offered because of that video?”

The journalists started mumbling.

“Well… not exactly… no… but again, she wouldn’t have been cut out for a life in the spotlights, man. You know how it is.”

“Really now?” the reporter said, removing her wig and sunglasses. Now using her normal voice again, Susan rushed forward, holding a pie in her hand. “Eat this, jerk!” she said as she pushed the cream-filled pastry into Jimmy’s face. She stormed out of the room, where she was apprehended by two security guards.

“Uh… ladies and gentlemen,” Jimmy’s manager said, “this press conference is now over.”

* * *

That night, Jimmy visited Susan in jail.

“Look, Susan… I’m sorry…”

“Sorry? Damn you, Jim, you just took that contract without thinking, leaving me to scrape by for two years. I lived on minimum wage, and I had to feed my baby dog…” She went silent.

“Oh yeah, how is Billy?”

“He’s… dead… run over by a car.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the fucking word!” she screamed, immediately astonished at herself.

“Listen, I can bail you out…”

“Bail me out, pfff… and then? You continue your life as a ‘rock star’, and I? I return to my life of misery.”

Jimmy looked down, then straight into Susan’s eyes. “No,” he said. “I’ve just been to the travel agency.”

He reached into his pocket, producing two one-way tickets to Buenos Aires, and handed one to Susan, who just looked at him, utterly perplexed.