Negative Charge

"There's something of the old electromagnetism going on here," thought Alex as he straightened his tie in the mirror. "The electricity is palpable and the attraction is undeniable."

He stopped by the punch bowl for two cups of the potent concoction. There was no time like the present for his daredevil charm assault on the lovely Krista. He approached her deliberately, giving one eyebrow a rakish lift.

"M'lady, I have taken the liberty of procuring a cup of this festive nectar on your behalf."

"Excuse me?"

Patience. Perseverance would be rewarded. He would insert himself under that lovely skin.

"I have hailed the coachman of intoxication to your curbside, sweet maiden." Alex proffered the cup of punch.

"Oh, thanks but I'm sticking with beer tonight," Krista replied, waving a Bud Light long-neck in his face. She turned away to continue another conversation.

His ability to become subcutaneous beneath her silky smooth epidermal armor would be determined by the winner of the battle of his inchoate, instinctual id versus his unsteady, frightened super-ego. He believed the working class referred to this as "hanging in there."

"If I may be so bold as to request the honor of your accompaniance upon the dance floor of this most excellent ballroom?" he rejoined.

Krista was taken aback by his impertinence. She muttered something to her companion and moved quickly away, disappearing into the crowd.

Alex fingered his mustache and salved his wounded ego with the knowledge that electricity can also be generated by friction.

Seed words: subcutaneous, coachman, daredevil, electromagnetism, versus, insert, impertinence, inchoate, hanging, frightened

Head Voice

He had heard of the "head voice," or singing through the cavity that connects the mouth and nasal passages with the esophagus. He imagined that the pharynx was being over-selected in the evolutionary process of Western culture, since the predominant vocal style in popular music seemed to be the thin, nasally whine favored by indie-rock boys and diary-pop girls. Unimpressive in his estimation, but nonetheless commercially successful.

He had a recurring pang of awareness that his perspective on most things was not shared by the general populace. The notion had arisen out of his affinity for a risque form of chant music practiced by French Catholic prostitutes of the 18th century. "Now there was a head voice," he thought to himself as he crushed a solitary almond and blended it with jojoba oil into a paste he would later apply to his aching heels. Holistic remedies for orthapaedic ailments did not generally find favor in the mainstream either.

Since the prostitutes had been excommunicated from their beloved Church by the very church leaders who formed their principle clientele, they made unlikely but convenient teammates with the Protestants and other revolutionaries who sought to overthrow the Church and the French monarchy. He now embraced his mission to overthrow the mainstream in his own century. If he could carry it off with the aplomb displayed by the prostitutes and Protestants, perhaps he could emancipate the voices in his head. Perhaps.

Seed words: aplomb, teammate, pharynx, predominant, almond, risque, pang, arisen, unimpressive, chant

The Giant Suck Off

The following post is from guest Challenger Jeff Hausman. Great job, Jeff!

The moment of reckoning was upon him. The time was at hand. A million other popular expressions ran through his mind. And still, despite tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife, he just couldn't allow the stress of competition get to him. He had to focus!

So thick you could cut it with a knife? What was with him and these old shopworn sayings?

Ben stepped to the floor of the arena. The thousands of people waiting for him to arrive cheered his appearance as he took the long lonely walk to the center of the coliseum. They cheered and clapped at the spectacle before them as they drank their mead and talked casually amongst themselves. Besotted with various intoxicants, they viewed the championship match merely as "entertaining".

For Ben it was a different matter altogether. He'd spent a lifetime preparing for this moment. Once deregulation entered the sport and even the New Peasantry could enter the competition, he'd set about to make it his life's goal to reach this moment. No longer were the common people afraid to challenge the staid and once complacent Old Aristocratic Order or run afoul of the secret police.

And now here he was. He stepped forward to meet his opponent. They were each handed an identical lemon flavored jawbreaker. The bell rang...

Jeff used the seed words from March 28's post, "New Business Model:" afoul, arrive, rang, besotted, jawbreaker, deregulation, entertaining, reckoning, staid, stress

Mizu Shobai

The deal seemed kind of iffy, but Charlotte was desperate. She adjusted her kimono in her reflection in the one-way mirror and reminded herself that she was only playing a character. Just as joystick-toting teenaged stoners believe that they're doing research for a future video-game design career, she always believed that the acting classes she took were preparing her for a blockbuster role. Well, this was it. She just never thought it would involve the Japanese mafia.

A door opened and she was summoned into the office of the shateigashira, the family's second lieutenant. The cheap laminate paneling and the pungent smell of overripe bananas seemed below a man who had risen to such a rank. She was careful not to look around or register any reaction to her surroundings. While the Yakuza are generally ignored by Japanese authorities, there is a sort of Mob McCarthyism regarding those thought to be connected to the sex trade. She didn't want to so much as flare a nostril, lest she arouse suspicion.

To her surprise, she was rather well received. It seemed her proposition to provide them with young blond American girls interested them. She was told to bring two specimens -- twin sisters -- to their pavilion in the outdoor market the following Saturday. She felt her eyes widen, but she respectfully agreed.

Finding twin virgins would be like finding mini quiche at a Hell's Angels barbeque. But this was her chance. She could only pray that her daughter was still alive.

Seed words: iffy, joystick, kimono, laminate, McCarthyism, nostril, overripe, pavilion, quiche, rather

This excellent list was provided by Mrs. Carmel McCarthy. Mrs. McCarthy explains that she was inspired by the middle of the alphabet. Right on.

150 Million Cubic Metres per Second

The Gulf Stream is nothing to be trifled with. It transports water at a rate of 150 million cubic meters per second in the zone near Newfoundland. Niagara Falls only spills 202,000 cubic feet of water per second during peak season. Ok, that's feet and not meters (or metres), but the difference in national systems of measure is not my concern. It's just hard to focus on things like regulation of the financial system when there's so much water traveling so fast around us.

I like to sit by the creek that runs along the back of my grandfather's property and listen to the birds. They flitter around in the trees and appear to be completely happy with their lives. Until one of them contracts birdie cancer. I feel all secure and content and then I see a newspaper or somebody's got the news on the radio.

Like the other day. I'm watching the current and trying to figure out this word puzzle. "What sleeps on water, dreams to be heard, and is full of destiny it does not know?" So I'm trying to go through the chronology, but it occurs to me that the puzzle doesn't depend on any order. And then this guy upwind from me turns on a news report all about Dutch elm disease and how all the elms in the Midwest are dying.

Yeah, but do you realize what would happen to you if you tried to go swimming at 30 degrees west longitude off the coast of Newfoundland?

Seed words: Gulf Stream, national, regulation, contract, happy, zone, secure, chronology, Dutch, puzzle

These words were suggested by John Bisha. Thanks Dad!

Obscuriana

I've honestly never been much of a poll watcher. Granted, the public interest in my historical-fictionalized accounts of stagecoach robberies has always been tepid at best. But my latest project is sure to be more than a blip on the literary radar. I'm researching piracy along the burgeoning organza trade routes in early-19th century Manchu China. My research chronicles the myriad travails along shipping routes bringing organza from the Chinese provinces to eventually find its way to the profitable new markets in America.

Organza is a thin, plain-weave fabric made from the continuous filament of silkworms. It was a rare commodity originally woven by peasants along the Yangtze River in China. From these tiny villages it would make the treacherous river journey to Shanghai, where it was loaded on ships bound for America. The Manchus of the ruling Qing Dynasty would routinely ambush and pummel the peasants along this river route, using falsely-imprisoned Olympic athletes to perform their dirty work.

If the peasants were lucky enough to make it to the small sconce near the Yangtze delta, they would be bracketed by canon fire in an attempt to frighten them into abandoning their payload. Those who made it through this gauntlet were paid a pittance for their wares and sent off to brave their way back to the villages. Most did not survive.

In the big stewing pot known as plausibly-historical fiction, this ground-breaking new work will no doubt prove to be a sensation.

Seed words: stagecoach, athletes, stewing pot, sconce, tepid, organza, pummel, radar, poll watcher, bracket

These fine words were provided by Elizabeth Lenhard. Thanks Liz!

The Commodore

So, I figure I'll just bide my time. I will be assumed dead before the cash I'm holding is totally depleted. Not that my offenses aren't pardonable, per se. I just don't feel comfortable relying on the mercy of my fellow man.

I was generally considered to be a mountebank, but I never felt like I was particularly flamboyant -- and apparently not deceptive enough, either. I simply practiced a creative brand of amateur aeronautics. People really should have known better. I was known as Commodore Vic Twenty. I was never in the Navy and commodores don't typically have much to do with planes anyway. And c'mon, Commodore Vic Twenty? Seriously? If a contract I was bidding on went to arbitration, the referee would address me as The Commodore. I mean, weren't these people around during the early 80's? Oh, and allow me to introduce Ensign Qbert. Our commanding officer is the intrepid Rear Admiral "Pitfall" Harry.

All right, so the feds did wise up eventually. I can't flash a Rolex and a Jaguar and say, "Scoreboard," anymore. But I can't complain; there's no way the illegal arms trade should have been this good for this long anyway. The Commodore may have to spend a few years sloshing around in the gutter, but that's OK. I have some very good friends in South America. And I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be interested in accommodating my gluten-free diet in the federal penitentiary.

Seed words: gutter, scoreboard, deplete, bide, mountebank, pardonable, arbitration, commodore, aeronautics, gluten

Once again, these words were generated by the random-word generator on coyotecult.com.