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Space Pope: Chapter 1 By Doug Mathewson QuailBellMagazine.com “Daaaaaddd, it’s the Pope's wife on the phone for you and she sure is mad!” My daughter was enjoying this. I, the adult authority figure was in trouble, and she, the non-adult, non-authority figure was not. “Honey, ask her want she wants.” I said, and added, “ tell her I’m washing the dog. She loves dogs.” “But Daddy,” Kara sighed, “I don’t speak Japanese or whatever. She wants to talk to you, now!” “It’s Sino-Nouveau,” I muttered “and she invented it when she a judge on that show Asian Idol.” Kara knew it, I was sure. Kids all used it now for instant text-messaging. The kanji characters looked great even on a phone’s small screen and were fast to use once you got to know them. These phone calls from Princess made it hard to enjoy my job. “Princess” is not actually a title in this case. It’s her name, or so she says. Princess Meow Spanky-Creeks. Her publicist presents her as ”Royal,” her detractors say she was a karaoke club “take-out girl.” Either story was fine with me as long as I got paid. Usually getting paid was not an issue. Her husband, Papa Enorme (the one and only), was good for it. He knew it was my work promoting his image that won the last two Papal elections for him. Sure, he was big in Mexico before (big anyplace really, at over four hundred pounds), known as “The Wrestling Pope.” I made him wear a miter that made him over seven feet tall. His now famous incense censor routine was mine too. You’ve seen it. He gets smoke in the referee's face, then chokes his opponent with the chain. The Last Supper was already tattooed across his back. I made him shave his back so TV cameras could pick up the image. So a long campaign story made short, we won North and South Americas. There was a lot of media fuss, but the other candidates weren’t serious players. I mean honestly, would you vote for a “Robot Pope”, or a “Cowboy Pope” and that idiot “Zombie Pope” guy was never a contender. That couldn’t match the image I had created for Enorme. Maybe I don’t like to admit it, but credit where it’s due as they say. Princess really saw the future. They started dating for the publicity. The press loved them! Who wouldn’t? She was the biggest thing ever in Asian hip-hop, and he was, well, really, really big. Their courtship complete with rumors, spats, extravagant gifts, and finally marriage was so huge that tabloids dropped any other coverage to salaciously dote solely on the happy couple. The wedding cost an absolute fortune! It was televised worldwide and the coverage lasted for days! Thirty-second commercial spots were bid up to twice Super Bowl prices. Then the World Tour Honeymoon. Stadium shows, mostly. Princess would do a really hot first set, then intermission so the crowd could buy pricey souvenirs, and then the extravaganza-of-a-lifetime final set. Dancers did gymnastics off Papa while he and Princess sang love songs to each other surrounded by the laser-show. They closed the show with Papa Enorme in Papal spandex blessing the crowd while his theme song “Mariachi Star-Wars” blared through the house, and Princess kneeling adoringly at his feet. Quite an amazing show! People couldn’t get enough. About this time, like I said, Princess saw the future. What could they do next, what could she imagine (that I would be obliged to make happen) that could possibly in the whole world be bigger? And that’s when see saw the future. We would take it beyond just Earth and go off-world. Make Papa “The Pope of Outer Space”. That was my assignment, that’s why she’s on the phone and that’s why I’m in trouble. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
DreamGiver By Tyler Carter QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
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Hazed By Matt Hammill QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Mummies Achieve Equal Rights Ancient Aristocrats that lurched and moaned their way through the mist last Spring marching for Equal Rights can now sit back and know that their marching was not in vain. The new Proctor Act has passed into law insuring all Mummies will be treated with the same respect they give-- ‘This law is great news for Ancient Aristocrats,’ said Nicodemus Hayden, Professor of Ancient Aristocratic Studies at Carivell University who was quoted last Spring on the Mummy Marches, ‘this is absolutely the first time it is against the law to discriminate against Ancient Aristocrats on grounds of Dress, Habits, Smell & General Culture A definite giant leap forward for all of us—’ Most ecstatic perhaps of all is Danny Proctor whose law suit against Liberty Shoes last Spring acted like a catalyst for involving all Mummies. Although, the law suit was settled out of court, Sinfai’s City Council was quick to draw up the bill which would profoundly prohibit discrimination against Mummies. But not everyone’s convinced. ‘This bill passed so hurriedly and is so full of holes that it will hardly make a difference said Mummy Mayor of Deuth, Istok Koburi, ‘perhaps amendments can be made but for now I’m pessimistic.’ Pessimism was not present in Mummy communities, however. The only thing on display was good cheer and many parties that had their doors open to All. Liberty shoes also released a statement extending its warm Congratulations to the Ancient Aristocrats. "A giant leap forward for all of us." The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Angry Beard By TKSH! Films & Stop Motion QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Sushi Bar By Chris Whitley QuailBellMagazine.com Baby Lemonade has a long willowy figure, thinner than sliced rainbow. She's a mellow buttercup-babe. I sit looking into her wide blue eyes listening to the ping pong music, while we wait for our food to arrive. When her tiny fly like meal arrives it's as colourful as a tray of kids toys. From the next table two horse-faces stare irritatingly at Baby Lemonade like pains in a doctor's waiting room – their bodies seem to eat the edges around themselves like human black holes. Out of nowhere, as if by automagic, Anna the Hat shows! She’s called ‘Anna The Hat’ because there is an absolute herd of Annas here, and because she wears a stream of bizarre hats. Like the one she’s wearing now -- a green affair that looks like something between a tower and a ship with veils that swoop down the tower walls. The horse-faces are now transfixed by Anna's hat – almost copulating with curiosity. I didn't get a chance to introduce any one -- Anna was already in full swing. I only manage to say hi. Anna can talk over you, through you, and around you. She is rapid with the minimum of pauses, going from one item to the next with her unzipped inteligence up and bristling. Her great skill is her concentration -- an ability to focus just on what she wants to say, while ignoring and putting any interruption out like the garbage. With a glow-worm at work in her head she lowers her eyelids behind her thick black spectacles, continues talking, and simply disappears people. ‘I saw you sitting here through the window’ -- then she starts going on about a reading she's organising, and how she like me to read something. ‘If you could do about thirty minutes of your more agreeable stuff -- well people are expected – one doesn’t want to break their poor soft balls, or they’ll slag us off, or worse, write nothing at all.... I have the Two Pauls – you haven't seen them, ok a bit over the top, but well... And Mac-Scot is bent on doing some of Ginsberg’s Howl – can you imagine -- in his Glasgow growl. I said I'd get back to him. I won't invite Bernard Holt – I’m sick of those dreary reflections, and his mundane monologues on just about nothing – and his insistence on wearing that silly white suit of his -- like some bloody whimpering angel of angst.’ The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Henhouse By Elena Pomares QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Real Wives of WestminsterDirector: Tykeya O'Neil Photographer: Andie Younkin Stylist: Lindsey Story Models: Anika Roth & Amy Gatewood Clothes: Bigna Vintage QuailBellMagazine.com Editor's Note: The models featured in this Photo Tale are past winners of our new "Bell(e) of the Week" voting series in The Real. What secrets do these elegant ladies of the manor hold? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Betty & The Baron By George Koehler QuailBellMagazine.com Betty had purchased the book, Mind Power - Making Your Dreams Reality by Doctor Jeremiah Fetus from the peddler on his way through town last week. The Doctor asserted that a person could concentrate the power of the mind to activate cosmic "eitherons" in the universe thereby changing one's destiny. Betty was busy concentrating on channeling "eitherons" to create her new destiny when her mother came flying around the corner of the farmhouse. "Betty you better get those clothes moving against that washboard right this minute or your five brothers won't have a thing to wear tomorrow." Betty directed her gaze to her mother. "Mother this is 1924. It is the modern time. Women don't have to serve men any longer." Mother shocked at such newfangled ideas said, "Betty, you need to get your head out of the clouds and get your feet back on the ground, you're 18 years old and with an attitude like that you will never trap a man." "Trap a man from this little town? I want an exciting man of adventure, who will transport me to thrilling times in far away places." "An adventure man? Do you expect somebody like that to just fall out of the sky?" Mother said, shaking her head and throwing her hands into the air as she hurried back into the house. Betty grabbed her book and headed out to her secret place in the pasture over the hill. Soon Betty was concentrating with all her might on her wish when suddenly she heard a motor. As she looked around an amazing looking aeroplane blasted over her head. It had three wings and was all painted in red. It circled, then came in to land. "I am the Red Baron. Manfred von Richthofen, at your service," the young, good looking, man said, bowing. "At least that is the character I play. My family go from town to town putting on a flying circus using these World War planes. I saw you here in the field, and for some odd reason felt compelled to land and say hello." "Pa," Mother yelled into the farmhouse. "You better git out here and see this." Pa came to the front door and could not believe his eyes. He'd been a Doughboy in the Great War and he reckoned he knew a German plane when he saw it landing in his front yard. "We're being invaded by Germans," he yelled, running into the house. The Baron got down and helped Betty from the machine. "You see Mother I had my head in the clouds, just like you said. In addition this man, The Baron, an adventure man fell out of the sky just like you said would not happen. I've come to get my duds, he's taking me away." The Baron bowed. Just then Pa came to the door. He had on his World War uniform, and was holding a pitchfork. "Surrender to the 6th Marine Devil Dogs," he yelled at the Baron. Well, The Baron, never did surrender that day but flew off into the clouds with Betty to start a long happy life with her. She learned to fly and flew as high as her dreams that day she left town. Which goes to show, if you have a dream and concentrate on it hard enough. Well then, even Barons can fall from the sky and lift you soaring into the clouds. |