Tweed Crushes And the Speed of Light

Princess Afternoon was sitting at breakfast with Erasurehead and Sophie Pie. They were having banana fudge pancakes and she was trying out Zoe's pancake trick on Erasure. She was just getting into the part about subjective speeding pancakes when Earasurehead took the last pancake and began munching. "No, wait," cried princess, " You have to win the pancake first!"

"Erasurehead looked blank , his cheeks bulging in mid-chew. " Win the pancake?" he asked,his voice muffled by fudge chunks " I thought they were breakfast" "yes, they are, but the last one has to be won by argument over who gets it", said Princess, waving her hands in distress, trying to decide if the trick would work on the remaining 1/2 pancake. Would it speed the same way as a whole? " But there were four pancakes and you had two, so I thought I could have the last one." Erasure head said reasonably, starting on the second half. Princess gave up and slumped back in her chair. She eyed Sophie Pie wondering if she might whip up four more pancakes and try it out on the new Rugger. But she was full now and anyway,  Sophie looked busy writing about tender tongues massaging things, probably not pancakes. She briefly wondered if you could tongue massage a pancake at the speed of light but that got too confusing, she would probably have to borrow one of  Zoe's postmodern theories on the subject for a better grip on the thing. A heavy clumping broke the silence and Mrs. Lytle arrived in the kitchen, dressed in a fresh spring lilac tweed with matching duty-weight hose and a firmly holstered whiffler at her belt. "Good Morning all", she announced in a very definite sort of a way. Princess noticed that Erasure had gone slightly pink on the top of his baldness and was shifting in his seat looking everywhere but mrs. Lytle. "What's the matter, boy.  Is your private clothing too tight? It's terribly unhealthy , I say. You should see to it immediately before injury occurs" She walked over to the side board and served herself some of the warm English Oats with clotted cream 

Zoe flounced in wearing shortie pajamas and a T-shirt that said "Buddhists Do It With One Hand Clapping". Mrs. Lytle looked slightly perplexed, but unwilling to press the matter, although she suspected root sentence structure oddities.  Tiny Bill was still in his tent, Zoe informed the small group, the Amazons had gotten bored and left. She thought maybe someone should tell him it was safe to come out. "Where's Butler and Bagman?" asked Erasure, still shyly avoiding looking at Mrs. Lytle, he was feeling a little overwhelmed by females who were purported to explode with sharp teeth at any moment. " Still considering the possibilities.' said Zoe. "She looked around for the banana fudge pancakes. "No banana fudgies today?" " There were," said Princess, "Erasure had two and I had two." '"But there are three of us!" said Zoe, " you should have saved me one!" "Princess considered trying to explain how Erasure's tongue had massaged the last one at the speed of light but didn't feel up to the subject. Instead she announced, " I am leaving on a trip tomorrow to Long Island for a week"

Critical Mass

Princess Afternoon sighed and leaned against the porch railing, it had been a productive day. She pulled a small paper bag from her pocket and rustled around in it selecting one of the  swiss chocolate mocha melt creams that she had pilfered from Zoe's international chocolate drawer. Well, not pilfered exactly, Princess Afternoon absolutely did NOT believe in stolen property, she intended fully to replace the chocolates if she ever in her life got to Switzerland. She was thoughtful as she virtuously munched the chocolate, things were looking up. Baubo was sending postcards from the forest, she could not actually come to the convocation because ... her thoughts broke off as a thundering noise breeched her consciousness and the distinct clump of mrs. lytle's brough encased stride hit the porch floor coming to stop precisely in front of her. She instantly placed the small bag behind her back, regretting her recent decision that five chocolates at one time would provide a singular taste experience as she likely appeared a somewhat desperate rodent packed with her winter stash. 

"Gel, I..." Mrs. Lytle started after planting herself in a firm no-nonsense stance, then she faltered, something was amiss. She whipped out of her tweed morning suit pocket a quizzing glass and held it up to her eyes. "Saints! You've swollen up like a toad! It looks like mumps, slightly higher up the throat than usual, but nonetheless, a definite result of superfluous pontification, i'm sure, and now your body has reacted violently. Today of all days!" She placed the glass safely back in the tweed and crossed her arms under her impressive chest, fortifying the image of a military gunboat sited for action. " We have impending chaos. Zoe has locked herself in her meditation boudoir, Tiny Bill is running around in a Testicular Protection Device.." Princess Afternoon raised her eyebrows "mmooph?" she asked. "Well, yes, he seems to have imported some several Amazonian maidens from the rainforest, something about ethereal romance, but they apparently involve nutcrackers in their joues de'amor and Tiny is in retreat, having fortified the tent. Anyway, Baubo is mashing her chickens and cannot attend the Convocation, Bagman and Butler are still refusing to come impose order, although they did send a postcard and you can't tell one from the other anymore, Zoe is, as i said, ensconced and refuses to emerge, she keeps complaining about stolen chocolates, you wouldn't know anything about that would you?" Mrs. Lytle peered suspiciously at Princess's mouth, something about the odor... "Mmurphug!' said Princess. "Hmmmph." said mrs. Lytle getting her mind back on track, " yes, well, as I said disorder is abounding and there seems to be a Miss Pie , an author of some racy repute who is creating suggestive chicken scandals about the Farm. It is simply not acceptable, I say!" Her voice raised a notch and Princess could see her feeling about for the whiffler she usually kept attached to her belt in a special holster. She  had seemingly forgotten to don it in her haste this morning, and so became slightly distracted. " Well, you must tend to your condition and return to defend the Queen's Farm! I am imposing Military Curfew until order is restored!" She did a quick about face and marched inside to find the necessary piece of defensive equipment she needed to fully arm herself from the impending Anarchy. Princess Afternoon quickly swallowed the chocolates and ran into the kitchen to e-mail Butler and Baubo: Code Red, she wrote, insanity level reaching critical mass, report immediately.

Gathering of the Convocation

Princess Afternoon was running back and forth between fiber-optic venues and starting to feel slightly disoriented. However, Zoe had broken off meditation exercises to come outside and begin to uphold the freedom inherent in Postmodernism with her Burmese silks floating in the spring breeze. Mrs. Lytle was right behind her, of course, her bosom cutting the air like the prow of a military gunboat, ready to uphold the Queen's lexicon as taking primacy over any foolishness about freedom and prefixes involving "post-". Bagman and Butler were still behaving in a shady manner pretending they were receiving phone messages from Danish pornographers as an excuse for not answering calls. Tiny was disturbed by the cyberspotlight that had swiveled in his direction and was presently burning him in the eyeballs, so that he couldn't see and the screen door hit him in the face after Mrs. Lytle sailed out. 

Things were starting to cook

Where Audacious Speech is Considered

Princess Afternoon was out of breath. She had been stamping back and forth saying provocative things for some time and she felt a wheeze coming on. Zoe had briefly peeked out the upstairs window where she had been performing a special kind of meditation that involved a lot of silence and green silk pajamas from Burma.  There was a suspicious rustling in the bushes and she caught the tail end of Bagman's fringed lemon yellow sarong disappear into the brush. "Smokin' Jehosephat", she swore," this goading business is feverish stuff" She hoped the dam would break soon or she might have to consider the explosive mix  of politics, religion and sex to blow the doors off the reluctant bunch and send them streaming towards her in a maddened froth. Hmmm... that could have its drawbacks if she continued to the end of that particular image. She sighed and went into the kitchen for a glass of lemonade. She would take a break and think this over.