Sealtiel sat in his cell and sulked, believing a break-out like his brethrens' to be beyond his begetter as adept attorneys had advised police to prohibit packages with perilous perishables and thus Sealtiel, so ceaselessly smart and subtle, hardly held any hope.
Heedful of hindrances like the victual veto, the man's mother mailed him a mild monograph, a tame tome causing no controversy amongst cops for the text's tedious title aroused no apprehension, for Critical Applied Linguistics sounded stuffy, stodgy, stale, and subdued.
Sealtiel wolfed down words, reveling in reader, finding faculty in phraseology, might in morphemes, power in portmanteaus, and commenced to communicate to his captors in insipid institutional idioms, prison parlance, the lexicon of law, judges' jargon, warden wording, police patois.
Baffled, befuddled, and bewildered by the rhetorical rampage, the confused custodians conjectured they had caught a cop, withheld a watchman, locked up a lawman, detained a deputy, and with abounding apologies, set Sealtiel free.
Showing posts with label WTF?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WTF?. Show all posts
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Seven Escapes: Barachiel's Breakout
Worried wardens wilted while worrying about how to contain convicts conceived by canny creators, for Sister Archipelago continually connived and contrived and saw her sons set free, so they set in solitary her bastard boy Barachiel, preventing all pleasures, save certain self-published paperbacks and parcels procured by post.
Barachiel, mindful that mailed munitions would wind up with the warden, guffawed greatly upon emptying envelopes from his forbearer, finding not firearms, flamethrowers, nor files, but a plethora of prepackaged peanuts, and rapidly ripped them from their wrappers.
The clever criminal clambered on his cot and doused the ducts with dust, putting the peanut powder in the pipeline, ground the goober grit through the grates, and patiently paused as the particles promulgated throughout the penitentiary.
Sister Archipelago had ascertained that acute allergies afflicted all attendants surveilling her son, and since anaphylaxis acts apace, Barachile gave ear to garbled groans and strangled squalls as airpipes astringed six seconds after cell doors had been unsecured for Sunday night supper.
Barachiel, mindful that mailed munitions would wind up with the warden, guffawed greatly upon emptying envelopes from his forbearer, finding not firearms, flamethrowers, nor files, but a plethora of prepackaged peanuts, and rapidly ripped them from their wrappers.
The clever criminal clambered on his cot and doused the ducts with dust, putting the peanut powder in the pipeline, ground the goober grit through the grates, and patiently paused as the particles promulgated throughout the penitentiary.
Sister Archipelago had ascertained that acute allergies afflicted all attendants surveilling her son, and since anaphylaxis acts apace, Barachile gave ear to garbled groans and strangled squalls as airpipes astringed six seconds after cell doors had been unsecured for Sunday night supper.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
The Spirit of Quetzalsinsina
Professor Randy Redaris earned dueling degrees in sociology and anthropology from Southwest North Dakota State, earned a third online in amateur archaeology from the Community College of Mainland Maine, and downloaded a Certificate in Conjuration from a school in Kazbekistan, an oft-overlooked former Soviet state, after answering 15 of 20 correctly on an online quiz. With credentials tucked under arm, he boarded a boat in New Iberia bound for Belize.
Redaris wished to summon the spirit of Quetzalsinsina, goddess of mint tea and superfluous nipples, whose glistening tears could increase male virility tenfold. Redaris learned of the goddess through an ex-lover who was one-third Belizean and two-thirds bipolar, a woman he colonized with the best of intentions, but it ended all badly when she broke his Burmese bassoon after he failed to properly cover her couscous before reheating. Redaris successfully expunged her name from his brain, but how could he forget Quetzalsinsina?
Deep in the jungle near Benque Viejo, Redaris drew a chalk circle on the forest floor then stood in its center, and began with his chanting, enjoining the spirit to flow forth so she might cry in his phial, to bawl in his bottle. His plan? To package her plight in pill form to sell on poorly produced infomercials on late night TV.
Poor Redaris. Perhaps he misspoke the words of the witchery, or his fractional Belizean deliberately deceived him with syntax most suspect, for Quetzalsinsina never materialized; he did, however, unintentionally invoke Ixtab, the prestigious psychopomp from the Mayan pantheon. Seeing that her summoning singer was not yet dead (a prerequisite for their postmortem pilgrimage) Ixtab lent him a hand by splitting his skull in twain.
The moral, you ask? Remember, dear reader, that although you may possess twice the knowledge of the stooge sitting beside you, it may be half what you need in times of crises; that, and beware of partial Belizeans who are adroit in the bedroom but loath to take lithium.
Redaris wished to summon the spirit of Quetzalsinsina, goddess of mint tea and superfluous nipples, whose glistening tears could increase male virility tenfold. Redaris learned of the goddess through an ex-lover who was one-third Belizean and two-thirds bipolar, a woman he colonized with the best of intentions, but it ended all badly when she broke his Burmese bassoon after he failed to properly cover her couscous before reheating. Redaris successfully expunged her name from his brain, but how could he forget Quetzalsinsina?
Deep in the jungle near Benque Viejo, Redaris drew a chalk circle on the forest floor then stood in its center, and began with his chanting, enjoining the spirit to flow forth so she might cry in his phial, to bawl in his bottle. His plan? To package her plight in pill form to sell on poorly produced infomercials on late night TV.
Poor Redaris. Perhaps he misspoke the words of the witchery, or his fractional Belizean deliberately deceived him with syntax most suspect, for Quetzalsinsina never materialized; he did, however, unintentionally invoke Ixtab, the prestigious psychopomp from the Mayan pantheon. Seeing that her summoning singer was not yet dead (a prerequisite for their postmortem pilgrimage) Ixtab lent him a hand by splitting his skull in twain.
The moral, you ask? Remember, dear reader, that although you may possess twice the knowledge of the stooge sitting beside you, it may be half what you need in times of crises; that, and beware of partial Belizeans who are adroit in the bedroom but loath to take lithium.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Seven Escapes: Raphael's Breakout
Wary wardens obstructed the former sister's visitations but she, the perfidious progenitor of odious offspring, continued her conniving, watching for weaknesses in the puissant prisons confining her kin, until her scheming sights set on the open-aired yard, where hostages shot hoops beneath wide-open skies.
She shipped Raphael a silver suit of shimmering scales and didactic diagrams for donning this gear, for cinching the cowl, for holding the hood on his head, to snap the suit tight to his trachea, zipped to his lips and, when absolutely attired, he should flagellate and flounder high up in the air.
The former sister abided nearby and upon sighting her sun through spyglasses in his slick shining scales, she unhooded an enormous eagle, a phenomenal female falconiform, an accipitridae of preposterous proportions acquired in Talkeetna, Alaska, and whose penetrating pupils spotted the most substantially-sized salmon she'd ever seen.
She soared over razor-wire, swooped inside the structure and, as the guards' maws gaped, snatched up the son with her talons, claws capped with rubber nubs (Raphael praising his parent's precise planning) and conjointly they soared back to Talkeetna, where he made a fine living selling dried moose meat to tourists.
She shipped Raphael a silver suit of shimmering scales and didactic diagrams for donning this gear, for cinching the cowl, for holding the hood on his head, to snap the suit tight to his trachea, zipped to his lips and, when absolutely attired, he should flagellate and flounder high up in the air.
The former sister abided nearby and upon sighting her sun through spyglasses in his slick shining scales, she unhooded an enormous eagle, a phenomenal female falconiform, an accipitridae of preposterous proportions acquired in Talkeetna, Alaska, and whose penetrating pupils spotted the most substantially-sized salmon she'd ever seen.
She soared over razor-wire, swooped inside the structure and, as the guards' maws gaped, snatched up the son with her talons, claws capped with rubber nubs (Raphael praising his parent's precise planning) and conjointly they soared back to Talkeetna, where he made a fine living selling dried moose meat to tourists.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Seven Escapes: Gabriel's Breakout
Upon visiting her second son, the former Sister Archipelago presented him a pair of surgical gloves, smiling sweetly at the guards as she declared her desire to shield her son from the filth within the walls, but Gabriel, bless his scheming soul, presumed her purpose and upon returning to his chamber, disrobed and donned the green mitts, then fingered his fanny, invaded his void, clutched his rectal rim, and proceeded to pull.
The skill requires steady tension so the skin cannot go slack, to persistently pull as the flesh folds inward despite discomfort, until achieving an epidermal reversal, achieving a converse corpus, producing bone scaffolding adorned by gummy organs sheathed in mucus.
The overpowering putridity prompted the guards to probe and on sight having seen the spectacle, and socked the cellblock in lockdown to catch the culprit of the monstrous misdeed but, discovering naught, declared the prisoners' insurmountable innocence and cast the carcass in the trash.
The former Sister Archipelago waited at the dump, found the fetid form and placed her foot on his forehead while she tugged on his rump, peeling him back until his right self was on the out, as she and God had intended.
The skill requires steady tension so the skin cannot go slack, to persistently pull as the flesh folds inward despite discomfort, until achieving an epidermal reversal, achieving a converse corpus, producing bone scaffolding adorned by gummy organs sheathed in mucus.
The overpowering putridity prompted the guards to probe and on sight having seen the spectacle, and socked the cellblock in lockdown to catch the culprit of the monstrous misdeed but, discovering naught, declared the prisoners' insurmountable innocence and cast the carcass in the trash.
The former Sister Archipelago waited at the dump, found the fetid form and placed her foot on his forehead while she tugged on his rump, peeling him back until his right self was on the out, as she and God had intended.
Seven Escapes: Michael's Breakout
The guards knew not what to do for there was no precedence for mothers visiting sons on conjugal visits, and wishing to avoid trouble (and packs of raving lawyers) they provided a private space replete with supplies such as soap, condoms, tissues, sheets, pillows, and towels, as the entry for Wikipedia prescribes.
The curtain had no sooner closed than the former Sister Archipelago crouched on the gurney, spread her legs and bore forth a dwarf from her elasticy folds and, wasting no time, Michael opened his mouth wide, and in clambered the contraband creature, masked behind molars.
The former Sister Archipelago split after sixty seconds and the guards shared smiles that knew not half as much as they supposed, ignorant that Michael bore in his mouth a miniature mason, a maniacal misfit midget, a villain who could vomits tools from a sleeve sewn in his stomach.
That night the dwarf hacked up his hammer, coughed up his chisel, and then scored the stone, worked on the wall, stripping away layers of shale like some mad excavation, until he butted a block loose with his fists, and on the brisk breeze floating through the hole Michael tasted the flavor of freedom.
The curtain had no sooner closed than the former Sister Archipelago crouched on the gurney, spread her legs and bore forth a dwarf from her elasticy folds and, wasting no time, Michael opened his mouth wide, and in clambered the contraband creature, masked behind molars.
The former Sister Archipelago split after sixty seconds and the guards shared smiles that knew not half as much as they supposed, ignorant that Michael bore in his mouth a miniature mason, a maniacal misfit midget, a villain who could vomits tools from a sleeve sewn in his stomach.
That night the dwarf hacked up his hammer, coughed up his chisel, and then scored the stone, worked on the wall, stripping away layers of shale like some mad excavation, until he butted a block loose with his fists, and on the brisk breeze floating through the hole Michael tasted the flavor of freedom.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Seven Escapes: True Stories of Inspiration
On the thirty-seventh Sunday of 1966, Sister Archipelago birthed septuplet sons in the alley beside the Basilica of Saint Mary, where Father Samuel Sizemore found her and mercilessly defrocked her on the spot, blind to the witnesses--mewling babes, seven sightless mice, screwed faces shriveled pink, baptized by outrage.
Years passed, unsavory episodes supervened, a series of sundry crimes committed, and one by one, the seven sons of Sister Archipelago were brought before unbiased judges, tried by unprejudiced juries, and were condemned to hard time in Level Six prisons, with walls as high and sturdy as those of fabled Troy—-yet we all know how that story ended.
Reader, this is an instructional tale intended to elevate the spirits of even the most cynical crank, as the stories of these men's liberations speak to the ingenuity and perseverance of the human soul—-and if the remorselessly guilty are capable of such feats, just think, to what unparalleled heights might the innocent soar?
(to be continued...)
Years passed, unsavory episodes supervened, a series of sundry crimes committed, and one by one, the seven sons of Sister Archipelago were brought before unbiased judges, tried by unprejudiced juries, and were condemned to hard time in Level Six prisons, with walls as high and sturdy as those of fabled Troy—-yet we all know how that story ended.
Reader, this is an instructional tale intended to elevate the spirits of even the most cynical crank, as the stories of these men's liberations speak to the ingenuity and perseverance of the human soul—-and if the remorselessly guilty are capable of such feats, just think, to what unparalleled heights might the innocent soar?
(to be continued...)
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