Author’s Note: This is my fifth installment of POM skits. My first was regular link, sekunde was link skits, third were link skits, and the fourth showcased link in various antics. For this installment, they will all be humanized scenarios. Any title with a Roman Numeral inayofuata to it has a skit note associated with it at the end. I hope wewe enjoy!
41) The King of Rock and Roll [XXI]
Julien strutted down Park Avenue with his manager, Maurice, at his side. He wore a two hundred dollar pair of jeans, a leather koti, jacket over a purple slim-fit silk polo shirt, and a pair of black Maui Jim sunglasses. A dhahabu chain hung from his neck and an Asscher cut, fourteen karat dhahabu topaz ring on his right middle finger. Maurice, decked out in a simple business suit, rolled his eyes as he continuously shot finger guns and a wink at the attractive women he passed on his way.
“So, what is inayofuata on the agenda for today, Maurice?” he asked in his suave Jamaican accent.
Maurice pulled a small tablet from his inside breast pocket and searched through it for a moment. “We have auditions for a band to play at your club this Friday being held in two hours,” he answered.
“Ah, yes. How many do we have signed up to audition?” Julien asked.
Maurice tapped the screen a couple zaidi times. “Nineteen.”
Julien opened his mouth to ask another swali when a neon guitar, gitaa flashing in a window and caught his attention. It was a muziki store kwa the name of “Classics.” Julien walked up to the window to look at the records displayed behind it.
“Hmph,” Julien scoffed, “you call this classic?”
Maurice read some of the album names: “Nine Lives” kwa Aerosmith, “Who Made Who” kwa AC DC, “Born in the USA” kwa Bruce Springsteen, “Rapture” kwa Anita Baker.
“Lame,” Julien added. “Who listens to this stuff anymore?”
Then an album that alisema “The King of Rock and Roll” caught his eyes. He frowned.
“Maurice, who is this that claims to be the ‘King of Rock and Roll’?” he asked folding his arms over his chest.
“Oh, that’s Elvis Presley. He was one of the most famous rock and roll singers of the mid-1900s,” Maurice answered.
“So! He has no right to claim he is king, especially now! Only I am the king of rock and roll! And dance! And music!” Julien insisted. “Am I not?”
“You didn’t name your club ‘The King of Dance’ for nothing, sir,” Maurice answered indifferently.
“Got that right,” Julien replied smugly. “King of Rock and Roll,” he alisema with a laugh. “Who’s his wife, the Queen of Disco?”
42) It’s All About Appearances
“No, I don’t think so,” Skipper said, turning down yet another suit Marlene had picked out for him.
Marlene sighed with frustration. “Why did wewe even ask me to help wewe if you’re going to shoot down all my suggestions?”
“Because you’re better when it comes to finding the right outfit. My superior wants me to look nice for this Veteran’s siku Ceremony, and I just don’t know how to pull off nice,” Skipper answered with his face contorting.
Marlene put her hands on her hips. “You wear nice clothing every siku to work.”
“No, I wear professional clothing to work. Nice and professional are two different things. I mean, if I wore a tux to work, can wewe imagine how many times I’d have had to replace them?” Skipper argued. “I don’t know how other detectives do it.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Fine. Go take that one off and I’ll find wewe another one.”
Skipper went into the dressing room, undid his tie and hung it on the hook inayofuata to the mirror, and pulled his shati off. He was about to pull off the patashika, longi when he looked at the tie hanging on the wall. He peeked through the dressing room curtains to see Marlene busy thumbing through the different tuxedos on a rack. He smiled and wrapped the green tie around his forehead and looked in the mirror.
He lowered his center of gravity and found a fighting stance. “You are no match for my ninja skill,” he whispered before striking the air with his fist.
Meanwhile, Marlene found a simple black tuxedo with a sky blue tie and pulled it from the rack. Seemed like it would suit Skipper just fine. She walked back to the dressing area to give it to him when she heard him whispering behind the curtain. She stopped beside it and listened.
“. . . make wewe run crying to your mother!” he whispered. “You will never defeat me! Hi-yah!”
Marlene put her hand over her mouth and tried to avoid snickering.
Skipper silently laughed at himself and peeked through the curtain again to see where Marlene was. When he didn’t see her where she was before, he slowly started to peek his head out to try to find her, and jumped when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned to see Marlene standing there, leaning against the ukuta that separated him from the inayofuata stall.
“You ready to try on the inayofuata one?” she alisema refraining from laughing.
Skipper smiled awkwardly and took the suit without answering, slipping back into the dressing room.
“And the tie goes on your neck, kwa the way!” Marlene called through the curtains.
“Duly noted!” Skipper snapped. Marlene snickered.
A few dakika later, he came through the curtains wearing the suit, adjusting the tie on his neck.
“How do I look?” he asked turning his body at an angle.
Marlene looked over him. “Looks pretty good. wewe like it?”
Skipper walked to the wall-to-wall mirror and looked himself from juu to bottom. A moment later, a crease formed between his brows and he pressed his lips together.
“What?” Marlene asked coming to his side. “What is it now?”
“Don’t wewe see it?” Skipper asked.
Marlene looked over him again. “See what?”
“I look like a penguin!” Skipper alisema turning toward her, gesturing toward the mirror.
Marlene blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I look like a penguin!” Skipper repeated.
Marlene cracked a humorous smile. “I think you’re way overthinking this,” she alisema crossing her arms.
“Are wewe kidding me? It’s completely obvious!” he alisema looking back into the mirror. “I can’t give a speech like this!”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Skipper, you’ve declined every tux I’ve picked out for you. So unless you’re going in your underwear, I don’t know what to tell wewe except that wewe look great in that suit and wewe don’t look like a penguin.”
Skipper sighed indignantly. “Fine. But if I get any maoni about it, I’m blaming you,” he alisema turning back to her.
Marlene smiled and fixed his tie. “Fine with me. Besides, I’d think you’d make a cute penguin.”
43) Friendships That Last Forever
The kengele rang and Skipper left his chemistry class and turned right, heading toward his locker down the hall. He switched out his chemistry book for his pre-calculus just as Kowalski strode up to him.
“Hey, how’d the chemistry test go?” he asked as they started down the hall.
“I think I at least made a C,” Skipper alisema with confidence.
Kowalski laughed. “Loser.”
Skipper scoffed. “At least I have a girlfriend.”
“Pft, please. She has to know you’re her boyfriend first,” Kowalski alisema with a smile.
“All in good time,” Skipper shot back.
“Only if wewe plan to live for eternity,” Kowalski retaliated.
Skipper shoved him from the side. “Nerd.”
Kowalski slapped his arm with his history book. “Failure.”
“Weakling!”
“Butt monkey!”
“Street scum!”
“Hey!” a teacher called from a classroom they passed. “Lower your voices, and be zaidi respectful,” she alisema sternly, eyeing them over her glasses.
Skipper and Kowalski nodded passively and continued down the hallway.
“So, wewe wanna grab some snowcones after school?” Skipper alisema stopping kwa his classroom.
“Sure. See wewe later, skunk face,” Kowalski alisema turning and continuing to his class.
Skipper smiled. “Later, panya rump.”
44) Date Night Revenge
“So, your cousins from out-of-town, wewe really think we’ll hit it off?” Skipper asked Marlene skeptically as he stood in front of the mirror, fumbling with his tie.
“Of course,” Marlene replied. “They’re very . . . sweet.”
Skipper sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel a little strange going on a tarehe with your cousin.”
“Well, at least Kowalski will be with wewe to bail wewe out of awkward topics of conversation,” Marlene pointed out, stepping mbele and pulling Skipper’s arms away from his neck so she could tie his tie for him.
Skipper cocked an eyebrow. “You think Kowalski’s the best person to come on this double-date? wewe know he’s still hung up over Doris.”
“Well, I can’t very well have wewe take one of my cousins out to chajio, chakula cha jioni and have the other sit around sad and alone, can I? Besides, Kowalski needs to consider his options. There are a lot zaidi samaki in the sea,” Marlene alisema as she secured the tie firmly, but not tightly, around his neck.
Skipper laughed half-heartedly. “Just try telling him that. I made him promise to just have a good time with someone else for one night, but I don’t know.”
“Well, he’d better,” Marlene alisema crossing her arms. “He’s the only other person that’s fit for this. Rico’s already got a girlfriend, and Private is too young for either of them. I guess there are other people on our floor that I could ask, but I just don’t think any of them are their type.”
Skipper sighed and checked his tie in the mirror. “All right. So, which one am I taking, again?”
“Stacy. She’s the brunette, can’t miss her,” Marlene alisema with a smile.
Kowalski came shrugging into the room. He was dressed in his tux and his hair was fixed, but he looked as if he’d just soiled his conscience.
“Kowalski, come on. Can’t wewe at least pretend to smile? They’ll be here any minute,” Marlene alisema irritably.
Kowalski glared at her for a moment, and then forced the fakest smile he could muster, teeth and all.
Marlene rolled her eyes as someone knocked at the door. “Whatever. If wewe want to be the fourth wheel, that’s your choice.”
She answered the door to two ladies roughly her age. One was a dark-skinned brunette wearing a red asymmetrical dress that came just above her knees, four-inch golden-colored stilettos, and a thin dhahabu chain hung from her neck. The other was a lighter-skinned blonde wearing a golden-colored halter juu dress of the same length, white wedge heels, and a flower-printed scarf tied around her neck flight attendant style. Both had a matching black strapless handbags and had their hair tied back in a messy knot.
“Cousin!” they cried simultaneously as each took a side of her to hug, kissing the corresponding cheek, and migrating into the apartment.
“Ooh, tall, dark, and handsome,” Stacy alisema under her breath to Becky looking between Kowalski and Skipper, and nudging her. “Skipper?” she asked quizzically.
“That’d be me,” Skipper answered.
“I’m Stacy,” the brunette alisema grasping Skipper’s hand and holding it to his lips, “and very single,” she added with a wink.
Skipper awkwardly glanced at Marlene, who was holding her fist to her mouth to try to keep herself from laughing. “So I’ve been told,” he alisema hesitantly pecking her hand.
“Then wewe must be Kowalski. I’m Becky,” the blonde alisema taking Kowalski’s hand and pulling his arm around her shoulders, “also very single.”
Stacy looped her arm around Skipper’s. “I just know we’re going to have so much fun.”
She started leading him to the door, and Becky pulled Kowalski along behind them, who didn’t even have time to think as she did so.
“First, we’re going to dinner. Then we’ll decide where to go from there. Hope wewe like spontaneity!” Stacy alisema beaming at him.
“Spontaneity is our middle name!” Becky added.
Skipper glared at Marlene as they passed her, who sweetly waved goodbye with a smile.
“See wewe later, Marlene!” they alisema simultaneously as they passed through the door and shut it behind them. “Jinx! Jinx again!” they alisema as their laughter faded behind the door.
Marlene laughed. “And that is what wewe two get for setting me up with Fred.”
45) Drop That Beat . . . Somewhere Else
Skipper lay awake in bed, angrily staring at the ceiling. Julien was having another one of his parties down the hall, and he could bet the whole building could hear it. Every time someone tried to call the police, Julien would just pay the fine and songesha on as if nothing happened. As far as getting him kicked out of the apartment building, well, Julien was one of their best-paying residents. Eventually, people just dealt with it and kept earmuffs on hand.
Skipper kicked off his sheets and angrily made his way down the hall, his frustration simmering hotter as the vibration of the muziki grew stronger. He pounded on the door to Julien’s apartment.
“Hey!” he screamed at the juu of his lungs. He could barely hear his own voice. He pounded harder and finally someone opened it.
“Dude,” the stranger alisema looking him up and down laughing, “you’re not joining the party wearing that, are you?”
Skipper narrowed his eyes. “I’d like to speak to your host, please,” he alisema sharply.
The stranger scoffed and downed the rest of something in a can. “Whatever, bro. I’ll tell him you’re here, but I ain’t gonna make sure he makes it to the door.”
He shut the door and Skipper waited a few dakika until Julien answered the door.
“Hey, Skipper! I’d upendo to invite wewe in, but I have a strict guest list,” he alisema leaning against the door frame, closing the door just enough for him to fit through.
Skipper shoved his tongue into his cheek and smiled bitterly. “Can wewe please turn the muziki down just a little?” he alisema through his teeth. He actually pictured himself for a mgawanyiko, baidisha sekunde yanking him out of the apartment and throwing him down the moto escape just down the hall. The muziki was loud, and no one was paying attention. No one would ever know. He forced himself to decide against it.
Julien laughed. “You’re pretty funny. What is a party without the raging music?”
Skipper clenched his fists at his sides. It’d been a really hard week at work. He didn’t need this, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who was sick of Julien’s discourtesy.
“No one is able to sleep with this blaring through their walls,” he alisema again through his teeth.
Julien grinned and raised a tainted bottle. “Hey, this is New York, is it not? The city that never sleeps! Don’t worry, we’ll be done a little after one au two. Maybe three. See wewe later,” he alisema with slight wave as he shut the door.
Skipper took a deep breath to refrain from ripping the door off its hinges and chasing everyone out with it. He looked at his apartment down the hall and marched toward it. He went into his room and grabbed something from his drawer, and then marched back to Julien’s apartment. He thought about pounding on the door again, but decided it would be a waste of time. Instead, he kicked the door in, catching the attention of those nearby. He didn’t even care if he’d have to end up paying for it. Most of the other people in the large room barely noticed. Good thing Skipper wasn’t a murderer (well, with Julien around, there was a possibility of that changing very soon).
He pushed through the crowd of partygoers in tafuta for the DJ. When he found him, he walked up to the turn-tables.
“What’s up, dawg? Got a request?” the DJ screamed over the music, pulling his headphones down and leaning toward him.
“Yes, could wewe songesha away from the table, please?” Skipper shouted into his ear. The DJ gave him a quizzical and hesitant look. “Sir, I suggest wewe step away from the table,” Skipper repeated in an alarming tone. The DJ’s eyes became fearful and he set his headphones down, stepping back away from the table.
After ensuring no one was close enough to get hurt, he stepped back, pointed his stun gun at the turn tables and fired. The two electrodes latched onto the turn-tables and the entire thing short-circuited. The muziki stuttered and finally stopped, and the entire building’s power shut down. The partygoers stopped dancing and screamed, all turning toward Skipper with half-angry, half-scared expressions.
Skipper turned to all of them with a warm smile. They quieted. “You hear that?” he asked, his voice echoing through the room. “Silence. It may surprise wewe that some people actually enjoy it, especially when their trying to sleep. There are many other places wewe can host a party without keeping people up at night. I’ll even help wewe look. But for now, wewe will all be going home,” he alisema holding up his badge. It proved effective as people started filing out the door as if they were being chased kwa the plague.
Julien shoved through the people and stormed toward him. “Excuse me! How daring of wewe to just come here and completely destroy my party! Don’t wewe know what this does to my reputation?!” he alisema as the last few people scrambled out the door.
Skipper smiled calmly at him. “Good. Then maybe people will never want to party here again. Thanks for having me, I had a great time.”
46) Baby Talk [XXII]
There was a knock at the door and Skipper answered. Marlene stood at the door holding a baby.
“Um,” Skipper started, eyeing the baby with wide eyes, “I didn’t think it’d been that long since I saw wewe last.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “It’s not mine, Skipper. I found this poor little guy in a car kiti, kiti cha on the side of our hallway. No one was around. I don’t know what to do with him.”
Skipper pursed his lips and awkwardly looked around. “Well . . . last time I checked, I’m not exactly a father. Why did wewe think I would know anything about babies?”
Marlene shifted on her feet impatiently. “Well, I was thinking wewe could help me try to find his mother au father. You’re a detective! Please?”
Skipper looked at the baby. “I don’t know, Marlene. I’m not supposed to take unauthorized cases. wewe should really just take the baby to child services.”
Marlene stepped closer to him. “Skipper, look at that baby. Go on, look at him.”
Skipper took a deep breath and looked at the baby. He had little steel-gray eyes and a bald head almost the shape of an egg. He wore little yellow one-piece jammies with an outline of a rubber ducky on it. He couldn’t be zaidi than a few months old.
“Can wewe honestly tell me you’re willing to send this little guy through the torture of child services? I know you. wewe never rest until a case is solved. That’s why I came to you, Skipper. If anyone’s gonna stop at nothing to find this little guy’s parents, it’s you,” Marlene alisema softly.
Skipper assessed her serious brown eyes and sighed. “All right, Marlene. I’ll see what I can do.”
Marlene smiled. “Really?” she alisema happily. “Thanks, Skipper. I know wewe won’t let the little guy down.”
She handed him to Skipper and he took him into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He braced his arm under the baby’s hindquarters and his opposite hand on his back.
“What am I gonna call you?” he asked the baby, as if he could answer. He looked at his little confounded face and smiled. “You are a little egghead, aren’t you?”
The baby coughed spit onto his cheek and Skipper closed his eyes, waiting a moment before looking at the baby again, who was smiling humorously.
“Oh, wewe think that’s funny?” Skipper asked as the baby giggled. “Well, just for that, I’ll be taking a kuoga before getting started on your case.”
The baby put his middle and ring fingers into his mouth and alisema something in baby gibberish.
“Yeah?” Skipper responded. “Well, same to you, Eggy.”
The baby laughed again. Skipper rolled his eyes and looked around the empty room uncomfortably. Then he looked back at the baby.
“Why am I talking to you? wewe can’t understand me.” He started walking toward the kitchen. “Let me give wewe to Private while I shower. No mischief, mister.”
Skipper stopped in his tracks and threw his head back. “I’m still talking to the baby.” He started walking again. “I’m talking to a baby. That’s not crazy. Just a normal guy talking to a baby that his neighbor just gave him. Nothing to see here.”
47) Lion-Hearted
“Aha!” Skipper alisema from under Marlene’s jikoni sink. “Found it!”
He held out his hand from under the sink, with a little ring on the end of his pinky finger.
Marlene sighed with relief and took the ring from him. “Thank you! wewe have no idea how much this ring means to me.”
Skipper pulled his hand back under. “No problem, Marlene! Just gotta reconnect these pipes and—ow!”
Marlene frowned as his legs flinched and he pulled himself from under the sink. “What’s wrong?”
Skipper looked at his left arm, where a cut stretched across his bicep, just above the elbow. “There was a nail sticking out of the cabinet,” he alisema grabbing a rag and pressing it against the wound.
Marlene set the ring on the counter and knelt inayofuata to him. “Here, let me see.”
Skipper gently took the rag away from the cut, which was now soaked with blood.
“Wow, that’s pretty deep. wewe should let me take care of that for you,” she alisema getting to her feet.
“Nah, it’s fine. It’ll stop bleeding in a couple minutes,” Skipper alisema standing up and pressing the rag to his arm again.
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Don’t be difficult, Skipper. Follow me,” she ordered walking past him. Skipper rolled his eyes and followed with a sigh.
She led him into the bathroom and grabbed a first aid kit from under the sink. “Sit down,” she alisema gesturing to the toilet.
“Yes, ma’am,” Skipper replied with a humorous smile as he put the kiti, kiti cha down and did as told.
Marlene pulled out a wad of gauze and wet it with a small bottle of alcohol. “This might sting a little,” she warned as she pulled Skipper’s hand away from his arm. She pressed the gauze to the cut and Skipper winced.
“So, he does feel pain,” Marlene alisema with a half-smile.
Skipper smiled. “Very funny. It’s nothing, it’s just a little sting.”
Marlene continued to clean the cut for the inayofuata couple of dakika before firmly holding the gauze to his arm. “Hold this here,” she said. Skipper put his hand over hers and Marlene slipped hers away. “It’s pretty deep, so I’m going to sew it up for you.”
Skipper frowned. “But, doesn’t that mean—”
His swali was answered for him as Marlene pulled out a needle and thread. He stood up abruptly.
“Actually, Marlene, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Skipper alisema gripping his arm tightly.
Marlene held the needle and thread in front of her as she stood up. “But, Skipper, it’ll heal faster if I—”
“No, no,” Skipper insisted with a nervous laugh. “I’ll be fine, I promise,” he alisema looking at the needle glinting in the fluorescent light.
Marlene huffed impatiently. “Skipper, I really think wewe should—” She stepped closer to him and he abruptly stepped backward, practically smacking into the ukuta kwa the bathtub. She noticed his eyes flitting to the needle and she finally took in his tensed shoulders and his knuckles almost white from gripping his arm.
“Um, Skipper,” she alisema trying her best not to smile, “are you—”
“Afraid? No!” Skipper alisema straightening up, trying to relax his shoulders. “I just—don’t think this is necessary,” he insisted.
Marlene finally couldn’t help but grin humorously. “You’re afraid of needles.”
Skipper laughed melodramatically. “That’s funny, Marlene. Me, afraid of needles. I have the moyo of a lion,” he insisted with narrowed eyes.
Marlene nodded slowly. “All right. I believe you,” she turned to put the needle and thread back and Skipper silently sighed with relief behind her back. A mgawanyiko, baidisha sekunde later, she turned back sharply, holding the needle at eye level, causing Skipper to stumble back and trip over the edge of the bathtub. He ended up landing flat on his butt in the tub with the curtain coming down on juu of him.
When he looked back at Marlene, she was holding her hands over her mouth with her eyes wide as quarters.
“I suppose wewe find this funny,” he alisema irritably.
Marlene tossed the needle into the first aid kit and pulled the curtain off him with a smile. “No,” she alisema offering a hand. Skipper declined the offer and helped himself out of the bathtub. “I just didn’t think, of all things, you’d be afraid of needles.”
“I’m not afraid of needles, okay?” Skipper persisted. “I just don’t like them,” he alisema looking at his arm again to avoid eye contact. “I think the bleeding is stopping.”
Marlene grabbed a roll of gauze and a wad of cotton from the first aid kit and pressing the cotton to the cut, she started wrapping his arm firmly with the gauze. “There wewe go, king of the jungle,” she alisema holding back a snicker. Skipper narrowed his eyes.
“Ah, shut up.”
48) Interest
Julien admired his complexion in the hallway mirror as he smoothed back his thin bleach blonde hair. He frowned when there was a knock at the door, interrupting his mirror time. He went to the door and looked through the peephole. He saw the lobby manager, Alice, outside his door frowning. He sighed passively.
“No one is here! Leave a message!” Julien called through the door. He saw Alice roll her eyes.
“I know you’re there, Mr. Ringtail. wewe still haven’t paid your dues,” she called back.
Julien narrowed his eyes irritably. “Mr. Ringtail is not here, but if he was, I’m sure he wouldn’t know what you’re talking about!” he called back.
He watched Alice facepalm and pinch the bridge of her nose.
“Please open the door, Mr. Ringtail,” she alisema sharply.
Julien sighed and pulled the door open with the chain on the lock keeping it from opening zaidi than a couple inches. “Yes?”
“Your dues, Mr. Ringtail,” Alice repeated, “you still haven’t paid them.”
“Hm,” Julien thought, “dues?”
Alice smiled bitterly. “Broken window. Busted door hinges. Hole in the wall. My dawati lamp,” she listed.
Julien thought for a moment. “Not ringing a bell.”
“No, but it is ringing a bill. When are wewe going to pay it?” Alice shot back.
Julien closed the door, unlocked it, and opened it enough to fit his body through. “You know, Alice, I happen to think you’re very much underpaid.”
Alice’s eyebrows rose. “Maybe. What of it?”
“What would wewe say if I alisema I could get wewe a cruise for an entire week, with no cost to you?” he alisema suavely.
Alice thought for a moment. “Go on.”
“Massages, smoothies, entertainment, delicious meals,” Julien listed.
Alice smiled. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll go add that to your bill, too,” she alisema turning on her heel and walking down the hall. Julien stepped out into the hall.
“Wait!” he called. “That wasn’t the deal!”
She disappeared around a corner and his manager, Maurice, stepped out of the apartment.
“Well, sir, to be fair, wewe pretty much just offered to spend three au four times the amount wewe owe to give her a week’s vacation,” he pointed out.
Julien rubbed his chin. “I guess I wasn’t thinking this through very well, was I?”
49) A Very Special siku Indeed
Dr. Francis Blowhole paced back and forth in his office. It’d been four months since his last encounter with his arch-nemesis, Skipper. It had not turned out in his favor. He needed a good plan of revenge, and had been brainstorming ideas, but so far, none sufficient enough had come to him. His watch read just past nine o’clock in the morning. He needed zaidi coffee.
When he stepped out of his office, he immediately noticed that his employees weren’t anywhere to be seen. He became annoyed and started his way for the break room.
The break room was dark when he approached it and he cocked an eyebrow. He slowly pushed the cracked door open and cautiously stepped inside. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he flicked the light on and all his employees screamed, “Surprise!”
“What is the meaning of this?!” Francis asked irritably as someone strapped a pointy party hat on his head. He ripped it off and threw it on the floor.
“Happy Birthday, boss!” one of them said.
Francis blinked. “Beg your pardon?”
“Happy Birthday!” another repeated. “Come on, wewe can’t tell me wewe didn’t remember you’re turning—”
“Stop! Who told wewe that?!” Francis asked angrily.
“I did!” alisema a voice from the center of the crowd. The employees stepped aside and an elderly woman came through.
Francis’ eyes widened. “Mom!” he cried in shock. “How did wewe find me?!”
“Oh, I’m your mother, pumpkin, boga pie,” Ms. Blowhole alisema pinching his cheek, “you can’t hide from me forever.” She paused. “I only wanted to see wewe for your fortieth birthday!”
One of the employees held back a laugh. “I knew he wasn’t thirty,” he mumbled.
Francis’ face burned red. “Mom,” he alisema through his teeth, “did wewe have to onyesha up at my work?”
“Well, yes, I wanted to see what you’ve made of yourself! I have to say, wewe make an excellent travel agent,” Ms. Blowhole answered.
Francis smiled bitterly. “Travel agent. Is that what they told you?” he alisema glancing toward his employees.
“Of course! Now, who wants cake?” Ms. Blowhole alisema walking to the rectangular box on the table. “There’s a lot of candles to light!”
The employees laughed and Francis felt zaidi heat rush into his cheeks. One of the employees braced a hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, cheer up, boss. We can’t stay young forever,” he alisema mockingly.
Francis grabbed his collar, alama and pulled his face close to his. “If that woman brings out the baby pictures, you’re the first to go. And I don’t mean to the unemployment office.”
50) Sweet and Sour [XXIII]
Hans sat at the bar in a coffee duka in Midtown, thinking about how he was going to go about his inayofuata plan of revenge against his arch-nemesis, Skipper. He tasted his coffee and decided it needed zaidi sugar, so he picked up the sugar dispenser and tipped it over his cup, and the sugar trickled out.
It was his fault they were wanted men in Denmark. If Skipper hadn’t betrayed him on that mission infiltrating the Ministry of Open-Faced Sandwiches, then he wouldn’t have had to bring him down with him. Then he left him there to rot in prison for twenty years? Hans was thankful for his contacts that busted him out before he was officially locked up.
He’d spent years trying to find him again to seize revenge. Finally, he found him in Manhattan, New York. His first plan was to try to gain his trust again, try to make him think he’d let what happened in Denmark stay in Denmark. He’d broken into classified records, changed his record to onyesha that he’d graduated from the Police Academy, and even was able to assign himself to Skipper’s unit, where he planned to wait for the moment he trusted him most, frame him, and take over his position as the head of his unit, and laugh in triumph as he left him to rot in jail just like he had.
Unfortunately, the plan went downhill when he caught wind of his plan and had turned the tables on him. Hans had to go into hiding down in Hoboken, New Jersey until he came up with another plan. That is, until a plan ended up on his doorstep.
So, this guy that goes kwa “Blowhole” shows up on his doorstep with a proposition. Apparently, he was a nemesis of Skipper as well. He was going to have Hans lead Skipper into a trap, steal his memories, and use them to tap into the classified files he had access to, and use that information to wipe out their database at a time they’d need it most—the New York’s Annual Vocals Improv Festival, where a bunch of New Yorkers would gather to onyesha off their range kwa imba everything.
Blowhole’s plan from there was to find Skipper’s unit—Kowalski, Rico, and Private—and brainwash them into being evil, stripping them of everything they thought of as good. But, just when he got close, they were able to slip away into the crowd of New Yorkers in the streets during the festival. Blowhole decided to play it off, and had a battle with the team with his surprisingly angelic vocals.
It went downhill from there, since Skipper eventually remembered who he was and came into the picture. They defeated Blowhole, and all the naïve New Yorkers believed it was all a show. So, that plan failed just as badly as the last.
He’d tried getting creative after that, even inventing his own freeze ray, the Hansmatic 9000, he’d called it (which also made a delightful cappuccino right in the handle, his own personal touch). Then some broad in an apron made him believe he’d killed her, and he freaked out (he wanted to take vengeance out on Skipper, he didn’t want to bring innocent mother-figures into the whole mess). Then she . . . well, that part was too embarrassing to think about.
He was running out of ideas. He needed a good plan, a plan that he would never see coming. He needed a plan that—
“Um, sir?”
He pulled himself from his thoughts and looked up at the waitress across the counter, who was staring at his cup with wide, inquisitive eyes. He looked at his coffee and realized he’d poured about a fourth of the sugar in the dispenser into his coffee and he jerked it upright. He looked back to the waitress.
“I—I’m sorry, I—”
The waitress coughed out a laugh. “I’ll, um, get wewe a new cup,” she alisema taking the cup he had and taking it away.
Hans slid the sugar away from him and propped his head up on his fist. The waitress came back a moment later with a fresh cup of coffee.
She set it on juu of a napkin in front of him. “Here wewe go, sugar,” she alisema with a humorous grin.
Hans smiled bitterly. “Funny, wewe should be a comedian,” he alisema sarcastically.
The waitress held her hands in front of her. “And wewe should be a sour, wamekula patch kid.”
— § —
[XXI] Donna Summer was an American singer-songwriter during the 70s that became known as the “Queen of Disco.” As a side note, all the albums mentioned are actual maarufu albums from the sekunde half of the 1900s.
[XXII] I obviously got the inspiration for this from Paternal Egg-Stinct. Babies just make us do the craziest things, hm?
[XXIII] A big thanks to link on FanFiction for giving me the inspiration for this skit. wewe were a big help!
Liked these? wewe can link.
41) The King of Rock and Roll [XXI]
Julien strutted down Park Avenue with his manager, Maurice, at his side. He wore a two hundred dollar pair of jeans, a leather koti, jacket over a purple slim-fit silk polo shirt, and a pair of black Maui Jim sunglasses. A dhahabu chain hung from his neck and an Asscher cut, fourteen karat dhahabu topaz ring on his right middle finger. Maurice, decked out in a simple business suit, rolled his eyes as he continuously shot finger guns and a wink at the attractive women he passed on his way.
“So, what is inayofuata on the agenda for today, Maurice?” he asked in his suave Jamaican accent.
Maurice pulled a small tablet from his inside breast pocket and searched through it for a moment. “We have auditions for a band to play at your club this Friday being held in two hours,” he answered.
“Ah, yes. How many do we have signed up to audition?” Julien asked.
Maurice tapped the screen a couple zaidi times. “Nineteen.”
Julien opened his mouth to ask another swali when a neon guitar, gitaa flashing in a window and caught his attention. It was a muziki store kwa the name of “Classics.” Julien walked up to the window to look at the records displayed behind it.
“Hmph,” Julien scoffed, “you call this classic?”
Maurice read some of the album names: “Nine Lives” kwa Aerosmith, “Who Made Who” kwa AC DC, “Born in the USA” kwa Bruce Springsteen, “Rapture” kwa Anita Baker.
“Lame,” Julien added. “Who listens to this stuff anymore?”
Then an album that alisema “The King of Rock and Roll” caught his eyes. He frowned.
“Maurice, who is this that claims to be the ‘King of Rock and Roll’?” he asked folding his arms over his chest.
“Oh, that’s Elvis Presley. He was one of the most famous rock and roll singers of the mid-1900s,” Maurice answered.
“So! He has no right to claim he is king, especially now! Only I am the king of rock and roll! And dance! And music!” Julien insisted. “Am I not?”
“You didn’t name your club ‘The King of Dance’ for nothing, sir,” Maurice answered indifferently.
“Got that right,” Julien replied smugly. “King of Rock and Roll,” he alisema with a laugh. “Who’s his wife, the Queen of Disco?”
42) It’s All About Appearances
“No, I don’t think so,” Skipper said, turning down yet another suit Marlene had picked out for him.
Marlene sighed with frustration. “Why did wewe even ask me to help wewe if you’re going to shoot down all my suggestions?”
“Because you’re better when it comes to finding the right outfit. My superior wants me to look nice for this Veteran’s siku Ceremony, and I just don’t know how to pull off nice,” Skipper answered with his face contorting.
Marlene put her hands on her hips. “You wear nice clothing every siku to work.”
“No, I wear professional clothing to work. Nice and professional are two different things. I mean, if I wore a tux to work, can wewe imagine how many times I’d have had to replace them?” Skipper argued. “I don’t know how other detectives do it.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Fine. Go take that one off and I’ll find wewe another one.”
Skipper went into the dressing room, undid his tie and hung it on the hook inayofuata to the mirror, and pulled his shati off. He was about to pull off the patashika, longi when he looked at the tie hanging on the wall. He peeked through the dressing room curtains to see Marlene busy thumbing through the different tuxedos on a rack. He smiled and wrapped the green tie around his forehead and looked in the mirror.
He lowered his center of gravity and found a fighting stance. “You are no match for my ninja skill,” he whispered before striking the air with his fist.
Meanwhile, Marlene found a simple black tuxedo with a sky blue tie and pulled it from the rack. Seemed like it would suit Skipper just fine. She walked back to the dressing area to give it to him when she heard him whispering behind the curtain. She stopped beside it and listened.
“. . . make wewe run crying to your mother!” he whispered. “You will never defeat me! Hi-yah!”
Marlene put her hand over her mouth and tried to avoid snickering.
Skipper silently laughed at himself and peeked through the curtain again to see where Marlene was. When he didn’t see her where she was before, he slowly started to peek his head out to try to find her, and jumped when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned to see Marlene standing there, leaning against the ukuta that separated him from the inayofuata stall.
“You ready to try on the inayofuata one?” she alisema refraining from laughing.
Skipper smiled awkwardly and took the suit without answering, slipping back into the dressing room.
“And the tie goes on your neck, kwa the way!” Marlene called through the curtains.
“Duly noted!” Skipper snapped. Marlene snickered.
A few dakika later, he came through the curtains wearing the suit, adjusting the tie on his neck.
“How do I look?” he asked turning his body at an angle.
Marlene looked over him. “Looks pretty good. wewe like it?”
Skipper walked to the wall-to-wall mirror and looked himself from juu to bottom. A moment later, a crease formed between his brows and he pressed his lips together.
“What?” Marlene asked coming to his side. “What is it now?”
“Don’t wewe see it?” Skipper asked.
Marlene looked over him again. “See what?”
“I look like a penguin!” Skipper alisema turning toward her, gesturing toward the mirror.
Marlene blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I look like a penguin!” Skipper repeated.
Marlene cracked a humorous smile. “I think you’re way overthinking this,” she alisema crossing her arms.
“Are wewe kidding me? It’s completely obvious!” he alisema looking back into the mirror. “I can’t give a speech like this!”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Skipper, you’ve declined every tux I’ve picked out for you. So unless you’re going in your underwear, I don’t know what to tell wewe except that wewe look great in that suit and wewe don’t look like a penguin.”
Skipper sighed indignantly. “Fine. But if I get any maoni about it, I’m blaming you,” he alisema turning back to her.
Marlene smiled and fixed his tie. “Fine with me. Besides, I’d think you’d make a cute penguin.”
43) Friendships That Last Forever
The kengele rang and Skipper left his chemistry class and turned right, heading toward his locker down the hall. He switched out his chemistry book for his pre-calculus just as Kowalski strode up to him.
“Hey, how’d the chemistry test go?” he asked as they started down the hall.
“I think I at least made a C,” Skipper alisema with confidence.
Kowalski laughed. “Loser.”
Skipper scoffed. “At least I have a girlfriend.”
“Pft, please. She has to know you’re her boyfriend first,” Kowalski alisema with a smile.
“All in good time,” Skipper shot back.
“Only if wewe plan to live for eternity,” Kowalski retaliated.
Skipper shoved him from the side. “Nerd.”
Kowalski slapped his arm with his history book. “Failure.”
“Weakling!”
“Butt monkey!”
“Street scum!”
“Hey!” a teacher called from a classroom they passed. “Lower your voices, and be zaidi respectful,” she alisema sternly, eyeing them over her glasses.
Skipper and Kowalski nodded passively and continued down the hallway.
“So, wewe wanna grab some snowcones after school?” Skipper alisema stopping kwa his classroom.
“Sure. See wewe later, skunk face,” Kowalski alisema turning and continuing to his class.
Skipper smiled. “Later, panya rump.”
44) Date Night Revenge
“So, your cousins from out-of-town, wewe really think we’ll hit it off?” Skipper asked Marlene skeptically as he stood in front of the mirror, fumbling with his tie.
“Of course,” Marlene replied. “They’re very . . . sweet.”
Skipper sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel a little strange going on a tarehe with your cousin.”
“Well, at least Kowalski will be with wewe to bail wewe out of awkward topics of conversation,” Marlene pointed out, stepping mbele and pulling Skipper’s arms away from his neck so she could tie his tie for him.
Skipper cocked an eyebrow. “You think Kowalski’s the best person to come on this double-date? wewe know he’s still hung up over Doris.”
“Well, I can’t very well have wewe take one of my cousins out to chajio, chakula cha jioni and have the other sit around sad and alone, can I? Besides, Kowalski needs to consider his options. There are a lot zaidi samaki in the sea,” Marlene alisema as she secured the tie firmly, but not tightly, around his neck.
Skipper laughed half-heartedly. “Just try telling him that. I made him promise to just have a good time with someone else for one night, but I don’t know.”
“Well, he’d better,” Marlene alisema crossing her arms. “He’s the only other person that’s fit for this. Rico’s already got a girlfriend, and Private is too young for either of them. I guess there are other people on our floor that I could ask, but I just don’t think any of them are their type.”
Skipper sighed and checked his tie in the mirror. “All right. So, which one am I taking, again?”
“Stacy. She’s the brunette, can’t miss her,” Marlene alisema with a smile.
Kowalski came shrugging into the room. He was dressed in his tux and his hair was fixed, but he looked as if he’d just soiled his conscience.
“Kowalski, come on. Can’t wewe at least pretend to smile? They’ll be here any minute,” Marlene alisema irritably.
Kowalski glared at her for a moment, and then forced the fakest smile he could muster, teeth and all.
Marlene rolled her eyes as someone knocked at the door. “Whatever. If wewe want to be the fourth wheel, that’s your choice.”
She answered the door to two ladies roughly her age. One was a dark-skinned brunette wearing a red asymmetrical dress that came just above her knees, four-inch golden-colored stilettos, and a thin dhahabu chain hung from her neck. The other was a lighter-skinned blonde wearing a golden-colored halter juu dress of the same length, white wedge heels, and a flower-printed scarf tied around her neck flight attendant style. Both had a matching black strapless handbags and had their hair tied back in a messy knot.
“Cousin!” they cried simultaneously as each took a side of her to hug, kissing the corresponding cheek, and migrating into the apartment.
“Ooh, tall, dark, and handsome,” Stacy alisema under her breath to Becky looking between Kowalski and Skipper, and nudging her. “Skipper?” she asked quizzically.
“That’d be me,” Skipper answered.
“I’m Stacy,” the brunette alisema grasping Skipper’s hand and holding it to his lips, “and very single,” she added with a wink.
Skipper awkwardly glanced at Marlene, who was holding her fist to her mouth to try to keep herself from laughing. “So I’ve been told,” he alisema hesitantly pecking her hand.
“Then wewe must be Kowalski. I’m Becky,” the blonde alisema taking Kowalski’s hand and pulling his arm around her shoulders, “also very single.”
Stacy looped her arm around Skipper’s. “I just know we’re going to have so much fun.”
She started leading him to the door, and Becky pulled Kowalski along behind them, who didn’t even have time to think as she did so.
“First, we’re going to dinner. Then we’ll decide where to go from there. Hope wewe like spontaneity!” Stacy alisema beaming at him.
“Spontaneity is our middle name!” Becky added.
Skipper glared at Marlene as they passed her, who sweetly waved goodbye with a smile.
“See wewe later, Marlene!” they alisema simultaneously as they passed through the door and shut it behind them. “Jinx! Jinx again!” they alisema as their laughter faded behind the door.
Marlene laughed. “And that is what wewe two get for setting me up with Fred.”
45) Drop That Beat . . . Somewhere Else
Skipper lay awake in bed, angrily staring at the ceiling. Julien was having another one of his parties down the hall, and he could bet the whole building could hear it. Every time someone tried to call the police, Julien would just pay the fine and songesha on as if nothing happened. As far as getting him kicked out of the apartment building, well, Julien was one of their best-paying residents. Eventually, people just dealt with it and kept earmuffs on hand.
Skipper kicked off his sheets and angrily made his way down the hall, his frustration simmering hotter as the vibration of the muziki grew stronger. He pounded on the door to Julien’s apartment.
“Hey!” he screamed at the juu of his lungs. He could barely hear his own voice. He pounded harder and finally someone opened it.
“Dude,” the stranger alisema looking him up and down laughing, “you’re not joining the party wearing that, are you?”
Skipper narrowed his eyes. “I’d like to speak to your host, please,” he alisema sharply.
The stranger scoffed and downed the rest of something in a can. “Whatever, bro. I’ll tell him you’re here, but I ain’t gonna make sure he makes it to the door.”
He shut the door and Skipper waited a few dakika until Julien answered the door.
“Hey, Skipper! I’d upendo to invite wewe in, but I have a strict guest list,” he alisema leaning against the door frame, closing the door just enough for him to fit through.
Skipper shoved his tongue into his cheek and smiled bitterly. “Can wewe please turn the muziki down just a little?” he alisema through his teeth. He actually pictured himself for a mgawanyiko, baidisha sekunde yanking him out of the apartment and throwing him down the moto escape just down the hall. The muziki was loud, and no one was paying attention. No one would ever know. He forced himself to decide against it.
Julien laughed. “You’re pretty funny. What is a party without the raging music?”
Skipper clenched his fists at his sides. It’d been a really hard week at work. He didn’t need this, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who was sick of Julien’s discourtesy.
“No one is able to sleep with this blaring through their walls,” he alisema again through his teeth.
Julien grinned and raised a tainted bottle. “Hey, this is New York, is it not? The city that never sleeps! Don’t worry, we’ll be done a little after one au two. Maybe three. See wewe later,” he alisema with slight wave as he shut the door.
Skipper took a deep breath to refrain from ripping the door off its hinges and chasing everyone out with it. He looked at his apartment down the hall and marched toward it. He went into his room and grabbed something from his drawer, and then marched back to Julien’s apartment. He thought about pounding on the door again, but decided it would be a waste of time. Instead, he kicked the door in, catching the attention of those nearby. He didn’t even care if he’d have to end up paying for it. Most of the other people in the large room barely noticed. Good thing Skipper wasn’t a murderer (well, with Julien around, there was a possibility of that changing very soon).
He pushed through the crowd of partygoers in tafuta for the DJ. When he found him, he walked up to the turn-tables.
“What’s up, dawg? Got a request?” the DJ screamed over the music, pulling his headphones down and leaning toward him.
“Yes, could wewe songesha away from the table, please?” Skipper shouted into his ear. The DJ gave him a quizzical and hesitant look. “Sir, I suggest wewe step away from the table,” Skipper repeated in an alarming tone. The DJ’s eyes became fearful and he set his headphones down, stepping back away from the table.
After ensuring no one was close enough to get hurt, he stepped back, pointed his stun gun at the turn tables and fired. The two electrodes latched onto the turn-tables and the entire thing short-circuited. The muziki stuttered and finally stopped, and the entire building’s power shut down. The partygoers stopped dancing and screamed, all turning toward Skipper with half-angry, half-scared expressions.
Skipper turned to all of them with a warm smile. They quieted. “You hear that?” he asked, his voice echoing through the room. “Silence. It may surprise wewe that some people actually enjoy it, especially when their trying to sleep. There are many other places wewe can host a party without keeping people up at night. I’ll even help wewe look. But for now, wewe will all be going home,” he alisema holding up his badge. It proved effective as people started filing out the door as if they were being chased kwa the plague.
Julien shoved through the people and stormed toward him. “Excuse me! How daring of wewe to just come here and completely destroy my party! Don’t wewe know what this does to my reputation?!” he alisema as the last few people scrambled out the door.
Skipper smiled calmly at him. “Good. Then maybe people will never want to party here again. Thanks for having me, I had a great time.”
46) Baby Talk [XXII]
There was a knock at the door and Skipper answered. Marlene stood at the door holding a baby.
“Um,” Skipper started, eyeing the baby with wide eyes, “I didn’t think it’d been that long since I saw wewe last.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “It’s not mine, Skipper. I found this poor little guy in a car kiti, kiti cha on the side of our hallway. No one was around. I don’t know what to do with him.”
Skipper pursed his lips and awkwardly looked around. “Well . . . last time I checked, I’m not exactly a father. Why did wewe think I would know anything about babies?”
Marlene shifted on her feet impatiently. “Well, I was thinking wewe could help me try to find his mother au father. You’re a detective! Please?”
Skipper looked at the baby. “I don’t know, Marlene. I’m not supposed to take unauthorized cases. wewe should really just take the baby to child services.”
Marlene stepped closer to him. “Skipper, look at that baby. Go on, look at him.”
Skipper took a deep breath and looked at the baby. He had little steel-gray eyes and a bald head almost the shape of an egg. He wore little yellow one-piece jammies with an outline of a rubber ducky on it. He couldn’t be zaidi than a few months old.
“Can wewe honestly tell me you’re willing to send this little guy through the torture of child services? I know you. wewe never rest until a case is solved. That’s why I came to you, Skipper. If anyone’s gonna stop at nothing to find this little guy’s parents, it’s you,” Marlene alisema softly.
Skipper assessed her serious brown eyes and sighed. “All right, Marlene. I’ll see what I can do.”
Marlene smiled. “Really?” she alisema happily. “Thanks, Skipper. I know wewe won’t let the little guy down.”
She handed him to Skipper and he took him into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He braced his arm under the baby’s hindquarters and his opposite hand on his back.
“What am I gonna call you?” he asked the baby, as if he could answer. He looked at his little confounded face and smiled. “You are a little egghead, aren’t you?”
The baby coughed spit onto his cheek and Skipper closed his eyes, waiting a moment before looking at the baby again, who was smiling humorously.
“Oh, wewe think that’s funny?” Skipper asked as the baby giggled. “Well, just for that, I’ll be taking a kuoga before getting started on your case.”
The baby put his middle and ring fingers into his mouth and alisema something in baby gibberish.
“Yeah?” Skipper responded. “Well, same to you, Eggy.”
The baby laughed again. Skipper rolled his eyes and looked around the empty room uncomfortably. Then he looked back at the baby.
“Why am I talking to you? wewe can’t understand me.” He started walking toward the kitchen. “Let me give wewe to Private while I shower. No mischief, mister.”
Skipper stopped in his tracks and threw his head back. “I’m still talking to the baby.” He started walking again. “I’m talking to a baby. That’s not crazy. Just a normal guy talking to a baby that his neighbor just gave him. Nothing to see here.”
47) Lion-Hearted
“Aha!” Skipper alisema from under Marlene’s jikoni sink. “Found it!”
He held out his hand from under the sink, with a little ring on the end of his pinky finger.
Marlene sighed with relief and took the ring from him. “Thank you! wewe have no idea how much this ring means to me.”
Skipper pulled his hand back under. “No problem, Marlene! Just gotta reconnect these pipes and—ow!”
Marlene frowned as his legs flinched and he pulled himself from under the sink. “What’s wrong?”
Skipper looked at his left arm, where a cut stretched across his bicep, just above the elbow. “There was a nail sticking out of the cabinet,” he alisema grabbing a rag and pressing it against the wound.
Marlene set the ring on the counter and knelt inayofuata to him. “Here, let me see.”
Skipper gently took the rag away from the cut, which was now soaked with blood.
“Wow, that’s pretty deep. wewe should let me take care of that for you,” she alisema getting to her feet.
“Nah, it’s fine. It’ll stop bleeding in a couple minutes,” Skipper alisema standing up and pressing the rag to his arm again.
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Don’t be difficult, Skipper. Follow me,” she ordered walking past him. Skipper rolled his eyes and followed with a sigh.
She led him into the bathroom and grabbed a first aid kit from under the sink. “Sit down,” she alisema gesturing to the toilet.
“Yes, ma’am,” Skipper replied with a humorous smile as he put the kiti, kiti cha down and did as told.
Marlene pulled out a wad of gauze and wet it with a small bottle of alcohol. “This might sting a little,” she warned as she pulled Skipper’s hand away from his arm. She pressed the gauze to the cut and Skipper winced.
“So, he does feel pain,” Marlene alisema with a half-smile.
Skipper smiled. “Very funny. It’s nothing, it’s just a little sting.”
Marlene continued to clean the cut for the inayofuata couple of dakika before firmly holding the gauze to his arm. “Hold this here,” she said. Skipper put his hand over hers and Marlene slipped hers away. “It’s pretty deep, so I’m going to sew it up for you.”
Skipper frowned. “But, doesn’t that mean—”
His swali was answered for him as Marlene pulled out a needle and thread. He stood up abruptly.
“Actually, Marlene, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Skipper alisema gripping his arm tightly.
Marlene held the needle and thread in front of her as she stood up. “But, Skipper, it’ll heal faster if I—”
“No, no,” Skipper insisted with a nervous laugh. “I’ll be fine, I promise,” he alisema looking at the needle glinting in the fluorescent light.
Marlene huffed impatiently. “Skipper, I really think wewe should—” She stepped closer to him and he abruptly stepped backward, practically smacking into the ukuta kwa the bathtub. She noticed his eyes flitting to the needle and she finally took in his tensed shoulders and his knuckles almost white from gripping his arm.
“Um, Skipper,” she alisema trying her best not to smile, “are you—”
“Afraid? No!” Skipper alisema straightening up, trying to relax his shoulders. “I just—don’t think this is necessary,” he insisted.
Marlene finally couldn’t help but grin humorously. “You’re afraid of needles.”
Skipper laughed melodramatically. “That’s funny, Marlene. Me, afraid of needles. I have the moyo of a lion,” he insisted with narrowed eyes.
Marlene nodded slowly. “All right. I believe you,” she turned to put the needle and thread back and Skipper silently sighed with relief behind her back. A mgawanyiko, baidisha sekunde later, she turned back sharply, holding the needle at eye level, causing Skipper to stumble back and trip over the edge of the bathtub. He ended up landing flat on his butt in the tub with the curtain coming down on juu of him.
When he looked back at Marlene, she was holding her hands over her mouth with her eyes wide as quarters.
“I suppose wewe find this funny,” he alisema irritably.
Marlene tossed the needle into the first aid kit and pulled the curtain off him with a smile. “No,” she alisema offering a hand. Skipper declined the offer and helped himself out of the bathtub. “I just didn’t think, of all things, you’d be afraid of needles.”
“I’m not afraid of needles, okay?” Skipper persisted. “I just don’t like them,” he alisema looking at his arm again to avoid eye contact. “I think the bleeding is stopping.”
Marlene grabbed a roll of gauze and a wad of cotton from the first aid kit and pressing the cotton to the cut, she started wrapping his arm firmly with the gauze. “There wewe go, king of the jungle,” she alisema holding back a snicker. Skipper narrowed his eyes.
“Ah, shut up.”
48) Interest
Julien admired his complexion in the hallway mirror as he smoothed back his thin bleach blonde hair. He frowned when there was a knock at the door, interrupting his mirror time. He went to the door and looked through the peephole. He saw the lobby manager, Alice, outside his door frowning. He sighed passively.
“No one is here! Leave a message!” Julien called through the door. He saw Alice roll her eyes.
“I know you’re there, Mr. Ringtail. wewe still haven’t paid your dues,” she called back.
Julien narrowed his eyes irritably. “Mr. Ringtail is not here, but if he was, I’m sure he wouldn’t know what you’re talking about!” he called back.
He watched Alice facepalm and pinch the bridge of her nose.
“Please open the door, Mr. Ringtail,” she alisema sharply.
Julien sighed and pulled the door open with the chain on the lock keeping it from opening zaidi than a couple inches. “Yes?”
“Your dues, Mr. Ringtail,” Alice repeated, “you still haven’t paid them.”
“Hm,” Julien thought, “dues?”
Alice smiled bitterly. “Broken window. Busted door hinges. Hole in the wall. My dawati lamp,” she listed.
Julien thought for a moment. “Not ringing a bell.”
“No, but it is ringing a bill. When are wewe going to pay it?” Alice shot back.
Julien closed the door, unlocked it, and opened it enough to fit his body through. “You know, Alice, I happen to think you’re very much underpaid.”
Alice’s eyebrows rose. “Maybe. What of it?”
“What would wewe say if I alisema I could get wewe a cruise for an entire week, with no cost to you?” he alisema suavely.
Alice thought for a moment. “Go on.”
“Massages, smoothies, entertainment, delicious meals,” Julien listed.
Alice smiled. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll go add that to your bill, too,” she alisema turning on her heel and walking down the hall. Julien stepped out into the hall.
“Wait!” he called. “That wasn’t the deal!”
She disappeared around a corner and his manager, Maurice, stepped out of the apartment.
“Well, sir, to be fair, wewe pretty much just offered to spend three au four times the amount wewe owe to give her a week’s vacation,” he pointed out.
Julien rubbed his chin. “I guess I wasn’t thinking this through very well, was I?”
49) A Very Special siku Indeed
Dr. Francis Blowhole paced back and forth in his office. It’d been four months since his last encounter with his arch-nemesis, Skipper. It had not turned out in his favor. He needed a good plan of revenge, and had been brainstorming ideas, but so far, none sufficient enough had come to him. His watch read just past nine o’clock in the morning. He needed zaidi coffee.
When he stepped out of his office, he immediately noticed that his employees weren’t anywhere to be seen. He became annoyed and started his way for the break room.
The break room was dark when he approached it and he cocked an eyebrow. He slowly pushed the cracked door open and cautiously stepped inside. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he flicked the light on and all his employees screamed, “Surprise!”
“What is the meaning of this?!” Francis asked irritably as someone strapped a pointy party hat on his head. He ripped it off and threw it on the floor.
“Happy Birthday, boss!” one of them said.
Francis blinked. “Beg your pardon?”
“Happy Birthday!” another repeated. “Come on, wewe can’t tell me wewe didn’t remember you’re turning—”
“Stop! Who told wewe that?!” Francis asked angrily.
“I did!” alisema a voice from the center of the crowd. The employees stepped aside and an elderly woman came through.
Francis’ eyes widened. “Mom!” he cried in shock. “How did wewe find me?!”
“Oh, I’m your mother, pumpkin, boga pie,” Ms. Blowhole alisema pinching his cheek, “you can’t hide from me forever.” She paused. “I only wanted to see wewe for your fortieth birthday!”
One of the employees held back a laugh. “I knew he wasn’t thirty,” he mumbled.
Francis’ face burned red. “Mom,” he alisema through his teeth, “did wewe have to onyesha up at my work?”
“Well, yes, I wanted to see what you’ve made of yourself! I have to say, wewe make an excellent travel agent,” Ms. Blowhole answered.
Francis smiled bitterly. “Travel agent. Is that what they told you?” he alisema glancing toward his employees.
“Of course! Now, who wants cake?” Ms. Blowhole alisema walking to the rectangular box on the table. “There’s a lot of candles to light!”
The employees laughed and Francis felt zaidi heat rush into his cheeks. One of the employees braced a hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, cheer up, boss. We can’t stay young forever,” he alisema mockingly.
Francis grabbed his collar, alama and pulled his face close to his. “If that woman brings out the baby pictures, you’re the first to go. And I don’t mean to the unemployment office.”
50) Sweet and Sour [XXIII]
Hans sat at the bar in a coffee duka in Midtown, thinking about how he was going to go about his inayofuata plan of revenge against his arch-nemesis, Skipper. He tasted his coffee and decided it needed zaidi sugar, so he picked up the sugar dispenser and tipped it over his cup, and the sugar trickled out.
It was his fault they were wanted men in Denmark. If Skipper hadn’t betrayed him on that mission infiltrating the Ministry of Open-Faced Sandwiches, then he wouldn’t have had to bring him down with him. Then he left him there to rot in prison for twenty years? Hans was thankful for his contacts that busted him out before he was officially locked up.
He’d spent years trying to find him again to seize revenge. Finally, he found him in Manhattan, New York. His first plan was to try to gain his trust again, try to make him think he’d let what happened in Denmark stay in Denmark. He’d broken into classified records, changed his record to onyesha that he’d graduated from the Police Academy, and even was able to assign himself to Skipper’s unit, where he planned to wait for the moment he trusted him most, frame him, and take over his position as the head of his unit, and laugh in triumph as he left him to rot in jail just like he had.
Unfortunately, the plan went downhill when he caught wind of his plan and had turned the tables on him. Hans had to go into hiding down in Hoboken, New Jersey until he came up with another plan. That is, until a plan ended up on his doorstep.
So, this guy that goes kwa “Blowhole” shows up on his doorstep with a proposition. Apparently, he was a nemesis of Skipper as well. He was going to have Hans lead Skipper into a trap, steal his memories, and use them to tap into the classified files he had access to, and use that information to wipe out their database at a time they’d need it most—the New York’s Annual Vocals Improv Festival, where a bunch of New Yorkers would gather to onyesha off their range kwa imba everything.
Blowhole’s plan from there was to find Skipper’s unit—Kowalski, Rico, and Private—and brainwash them into being evil, stripping them of everything they thought of as good. But, just when he got close, they were able to slip away into the crowd of New Yorkers in the streets during the festival. Blowhole decided to play it off, and had a battle with the team with his surprisingly angelic vocals.
It went downhill from there, since Skipper eventually remembered who he was and came into the picture. They defeated Blowhole, and all the naïve New Yorkers believed it was all a show. So, that plan failed just as badly as the last.
He’d tried getting creative after that, even inventing his own freeze ray, the Hansmatic 9000, he’d called it (which also made a delightful cappuccino right in the handle, his own personal touch). Then some broad in an apron made him believe he’d killed her, and he freaked out (he wanted to take vengeance out on Skipper, he didn’t want to bring innocent mother-figures into the whole mess). Then she . . . well, that part was too embarrassing to think about.
He was running out of ideas. He needed a good plan, a plan that he would never see coming. He needed a plan that—
“Um, sir?”
He pulled himself from his thoughts and looked up at the waitress across the counter, who was staring at his cup with wide, inquisitive eyes. He looked at his coffee and realized he’d poured about a fourth of the sugar in the dispenser into his coffee and he jerked it upright. He looked back to the waitress.
“I—I’m sorry, I—”
The waitress coughed out a laugh. “I’ll, um, get wewe a new cup,” she alisema taking the cup he had and taking it away.
Hans slid the sugar away from him and propped his head up on his fist. The waitress came back a moment later with a fresh cup of coffee.
She set it on juu of a napkin in front of him. “Here wewe go, sugar,” she alisema with a humorous grin.
Hans smiled bitterly. “Funny, wewe should be a comedian,” he alisema sarcastically.
The waitress held her hands in front of her. “And wewe should be a sour, wamekula patch kid.”
— § —
[XXI] Donna Summer was an American singer-songwriter during the 70s that became known as the “Queen of Disco.” As a side note, all the albums mentioned are actual maarufu albums from the sekunde half of the 1900s.
[XXII] I obviously got the inspiration for this from Paternal Egg-Stinct. Babies just make us do the craziest things, hm?
[XXIII] A big thanks to link on FanFiction for giving me the inspiration for this skit. wewe were a big help!
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