Because Jeff Quit his Job

Once upon a time....There was a very beautiful princess named Dickie. She had long blonde princess hair and deep blue eyes and a world-renowned butt. Her favorite person was the neighboring Prince, Prince Jeff, who was an old friend of hers. They would email back and forth while both ran their respective countries.

One day, Princess Dickie got completely fed up with her bullshit job of filing an entire country's paperwork and so she packed a small suitcase with bikinis, mascara, ritz crackers, a few books, a flashlight and a towel. She put on her most worn pair of blue jeans and some red sunglasses and boom, she was ready to go.

The next thing Prince Jeff knew, he was in a very important meeting listening to some judges ramble on and on about taxes and redundancy and taxes and redundancy and taxes... when through the courtyard window at the back of the room he could see a little blonde jumping up and down, frantically trying to get his attention. Straightening up and trying not to make it too obvious, he started to square some papers and cough politely. The lawyers kept droning on, so Prince Jeff coughed a little more and finally, resorted to a loud, fake, racking cough. "Excuse me, your Majesty. Would you like to take a break?" the lawyer with the biggest wig inquired. Nodding, Jeff briskly walked to the back of the room and out the back door.

"C'mon!" Dickie said and started to run to the car. Jeff didn't immediately follow. He started to take a second to think about the repercussions, but then when Dickie turned back to see what the hold-up was, he decided against thinking at all and followed her. "I don't have anything that's not in my pockets," he said when he saw her suitcase thrown in the backseat. "Just some cash and a Swiss Army Knife."

"Its cool, kiddo. I've got Ritz crackers. We shouldn't need more than that."

Appeased, he sank down in the seat and put on his seatbelt as Dickie peeled out of the Royal Backyard.

After a long and winding journey that involved many country line-dancing bars, running out of gas, brief brawls with truckers (Dickie was a feisty princess), sunrises and loud singing, they made it to Mexico. They bought a tiny house with the few gold coins Prince Jeff had in his pocket, complete with a cactus garden and a hammock. Quickly adored by the entire community of the small beach villa for increasing the town's economy with the sheer amount of beer they bought, they lived happily and made many friends. Prince Jeff picked up the language quicker than Dickie, but the Princess had a more even tan. In the afternoons, Dickie would sit in the hammock and work on her novel while Jeff snorkeled. He practiced his set on the stingrays.

They spent the rest of their days lying in the sun then throwing the town large outdoor parties with multi-colored lights and a band paid to play all night. At which, they both danced a lot. Specifically, Jeff danced with his curvy senorita wife. Dickie danced with a tree.

I've Just Seen a Face

Oceanography might seem like a career that requires passion, but its not. Its just the day in and day out tidal movements of study and observation and diligence. What’s under this rock? Coral. What’s under this coral? A neon jellyfish. What’s under this jellyfish? More rock. (Rock beats Jellyfish).

So it was with a usual lack of urgency that our hero, Paul, went to work. He stepped off the dock, onto the Submarine named “Yellow Ticket to Ride” and lifted the heavy top-door. Down he climbed as each step down the ladder echoed. One of his converse shoes slipped from a rung and he caught himself just in time. His pencil fell from behind his ear and tinked down onto the metal floor. Upon reaching the bottom, Paul took off his backpack, leaving it on the captain’s chair, and went in search of the rogue Number 2. There it was, by the west portholes.

Now, a few descriptions:

Paul was a dark-haired man in his late twenties. He had the furrowed brow of the naturally curious and the bright, hidden eyes of the painfully shy. Tall (all my heroes are tall) and lean, he sometimes felt cramped in the sub; like a cricket in a matchbox. All knees. No music.

The “Yellow Ticket” was large for an underwater vessel. She was also equipped with expansive portholes for observation, more like sea-windows really. Its lights were designed to be dim and the chairs to be comfy. Only one captain and one sailor were needed to pilot her and she was as reliable as small submarines come.

The mermaid peeking in the sea-window was slender and pale. She moved with grace and had worn-smooth glass braided into her hair. Her scales were the color of worn jeans. Her cold heart darted like a tiny fish. Mariposa was her name and she was already warming to Paul.Which is why she made the surprising move to press her white hands against the thick thermoplastic window and wait for Paul to see her. Paul, who had crawled under an observation chair to get the pencil, straightened up and came instantly face to face with the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Startled, he dropped his pencil again.

She moved to the right, angling to get a better look at him. He instinctively moved to the left, mirroring her. She blinked. He sighed. And fell in love with her.

That was it. It was over. Poor Paul rested his forehead against the oh-so-cool glass and resigned himself to a life of unhappiness. Naturally curious about this mythical creature but too painfully shy to do anything about it left him doomed and alone. Seeing this, Mariposa, kicked her denim fin and swam away to the surface. Finally moving with a sense of urgency, Paul ran through the sub and climbed up the ladder, heaving himself to the top of the boat. Panting, he stood on the bow, scanning the water for any sign of her. But she was gone.

Ten years later, Paul was sitting on the edge of his beat-up sailboat, the “Silver Hammer”, fishing. The moon was big and bright. The only sound was the water slapping against the side of the boat. Sleepy and sad, he was about to put aside his pole and go to bed when suddenly! A luminescent hand reached out of the calm waters and stole one of his shoes. Paul, seeing this and having only a second to react, dropped everything and jumped in the water. He knew it was Mariposa. His body registered shock at both the freezing cold and the soft lips pressed against his. His stolen shoe floated away. They kissed and sank in the water.

Now, the ending:If this was my story, I would have drowned our tall hero with a happy death. He would have died without ever knowing the heartbreak that was sure to come after losing her again. And he probably would have resurfaced in another life as a neon jellyfish. But its not, and so he returns to the “Silver Hammer” and this blue-jean mermaid swims alongside his boat, as he sails it to an enclosed lagoon where they live for many more years as an amphibious couple. In fact, every full moon Mariposa turns into a girl and comes aboard his boat. They sleep in a hammock and drink wine at night.

For Trisarahtops, on her birthday.

Once upon a time, there was a young constellation named Trisarah. She was comprised of eight small stars and lived in the northeastern corner of the sky, far from her previous friends in the southwestern wings. Trisarah had spun off to explore the brighter skies because that’s what brave star-clusters do. Her old friends missed her, especially Dick13 (named by Richard Karp after a few glasses of red and a particularly difficult algorithm) who spent the lonely hours collecting moons and ignoring Orion’s advances. Dick13 kept promising to visit the far-reaches but she didn’t have enough AUs to make the billion-year trip. This filled her with much angstrom.

Now this wouldn’t be such a big deal except for the fact that it’s a fairly ugly picture when constellations cry. Meteors pour down and asteroids clank around and solar flares spike out and general mayhem ensues. I mean, everyone remembers when all seven of the Pleiades weren’t invited to Taurus’ big supernova blowout in 1054. But no matter, or anti-matter, Dick13 came up with a plan through her apocalyptic tears.

She would send a care package to Trisarah. So she gathered some bassalt, a Kelvin and Hubbles comic book, and a little extra space she had lying around (dusted with a few neutrinos of course), and wrapped it all up in the fluffy Aurora Borealis. Sending it via cosmic ray, it got there just on time.Trisarah, drunk off four shots of Plasma Bombs and Marstinis (ok, Trisarah didn’t know her Roche limit, WHATEVER), received the package and immediately felt the expansive love from her friend. It truly filled the universe. They blew each other kisses on the solar wind.

The End.