Wednesday, January 10

Jean Sprat in Wonderland: Part 3

Personal Log. Commodore's Liaison, Jean Sprat. 05.08.3001

Part 3

Funny fact, Yo-Yo Ma runs like a girl, but oddly enough the erratic flailing of the arms and hips was the perfect form for dodging through alien tentacles and hump-backs. I chased after the little man with the intent of jamming my crumb cake fork up his nose, but I am a bit embarrassed to admit that I wasn't gaining. So I tried another tactic.

"Stop you little freak!"

It didn't seem to be working.

"When I get a hold of you, I'm going rip off your dong and staple it to you forehead."

I don't normally use the word "dong". It's something I picked up from Johnny Junior.

"Your balls are mine Yo-Yo dip-shit."

That one probably came from 1st Mate Beck.

"I'm going to take this fork and jam it where the sun doesn't shine."

I'm proud to say that one was all mine. Unfortunately my tirade wasn't waning on his spirit like I'd hoped. If I wasn't mistaken we had just passed by the same Fondernuke (a blubbery creature with slimy skin who passes gas out its mouth much like a hippo) for the second time and were running in circles. It was time for another useless strategy.

"Hey. Hey little guy. I promise I won't hurt you. I just want to talk."

The red-headed Yo-Yo Ma skidded to a stop. Who would have seen that coming? In the back of my mind I thought this may be a trick and stopped myself. He looked at me cautiously, as I did him.

"Really? You promise you won't hurt me?"

What a moron, I thought. Could this idiot really be the same man that flip-flopped the X and Y chromosomes? I slowly advanced towards him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not going to do anything but talk. Come on, buddy. Let's go back to the cafe and chit-chat over a cappuccino."

Yo-Yo seemed to consider this for a moment.

"I don't believe you," he said and took off again.

I was getting tired of this. Winding up I chucked the crumb cake fork and nailed him right in the ass. A normal man would have been able to sustain such a wound and keep on going, but like I said, he ran like a girl. The injury to that part of his anatomy threw off his entire flailing equilibrium. He grabbed at his skewered cheek, hobbled for a few steps on one leg, then tumbled to the floor. I was on him in seconds, grabbing him by his collar and pulling him up to my face.

"All right string-plucker. Time to talk. Why the hell did you abduct me and hook me up with a beef log?"

"Uh – uh – I don't know what you are talking about. Could you please pull out the fork?"

"Trust me you don't want me to do that. I pull it out and I'll stick it someplace much more unpleasant. Now you know who I am. Five years ago you abducted me and changed me into a man. My name is Jean Spratt, and I want my ovaries back."

Yo-Yo Ma stared at me in shock. He shook his head. I expected him to spew out another denial of his involvement and was ready to twist off his balls.

"You are not the real Jean Spratt."

Ok, I didn't expect that.




TO BE CONTINUED...

Thursday, January 4

Jean Sprat in Wonderland: Part 2

Personal Log. Commodore's Liaison, Jean Sprat. 05.08.3001

Part 2

"I would like a French Vanilla Cappuccino s'il vous plait."

"For here or to go?" asked the Pendore-bat cafe server in a very cordial tone, but unfortunately with a voice that sounded like gravel being shook up in a tin can. Pendore-bats resemble giant, hairy bats with arms, legs, and leathery wings, but are known as one of the most courteous and gentle creatures in the Universe.

Since the red-headed man – the very man who had swapped my genitalia - had entered the cafe, I went from calmly sipping vermouth mocha to boiling over with unmitigated rage. I didn't care if he was the greatest cello player that ever lived. I didn't care if he brought joy through the sound of music to millions – billions of people throughout the universe. Today, I was going to face my transgressor. Today, I was going to kill Yo-Yo Ma.

"To go," said Yo-Yo, in response to the Pendore-bat.

I slid from my chair, fork in hand and strode across the cafe. In seconds, I was standing behind Yo-Yo with the fork level with his kidney, little bits of crumb cake falling off the prongs. Standing there, noticing the little bald spot on top of his head, I reveled in the fact that I towered a head taller than the man.

"Late for a concert?" I asked in a voice that could make babies cry.

"As a matter of fact – " Yo-Yo Ma turned around and paused when he saw me. His brow knitted. "Pardonez-moi - do I know you from some where?"

"I should think so," I said.

He stared at me for a long time. The cappuccino machine went "woosh-woosh" behind him and I got the impression that the gears in his brain worked in the same, slow, lulling rhythm. I imagined a woosh-woosh as each thought of his came to light.

Then a look washed over his face that could only be described as the expression a person makes when they have just been hit over the head by a large mackerel.

"You," he said in disbelief.

I stood tall, flexed the testosterone engorged muscles I had developed ever since my vagina was turned into a penis, and glared darkly at the man.

"I mean – uh – I don't know you," he said. "Sorry, I mistook you for someone totally different. In fact you look nothing like him. He's fat and – uh – bald and his face is –uh- covered in – uh – warts."

"Here is your lovely French Vanilla Cappuccino, sir," grated the Pendore-bat.

Yo-Yo Ma turned slowly, watching me out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you," he said. He took a sip, the cup shaking in his hand. He turned to me with a layer of froth coating his upper lip and said, "It's good."

I smacked the cup with the back of my hand. It flew from his grasp, arced through the air and landed and stuck upside down on the Pendore-bat's head right between his giant bat ears. Yo-Yo Ma and I sort of forgot our own spat in unison and watched as the Vanilla coffee oozed over the Pendore-bat's fury head.

"I'm so sorry," he said as it trickled off his black nose. "It appears there is a hair in your Cappaccino. Let me make you another one."

Yo-Yo Ma and I looked at each other in one of those moments of circumstantial stupidity, both our mouths agape. He reacted first, taking the opportunity to take two quick steps around me and run out the door. For a thousand year old French-Chinese cellist, he was quite spry....

TO BE CONTINUED