The End is Neigh · 1:43am Oct 7th, 2019
I just posted a last (for now) chapter of Thoughtletts as we approach the October 12 EOTWAWKI, and thought it would be a good time to lead up to the final MLP episode with a story that has been perking in the back of my list for about a year now, The Substitute Librarian. As many know, I’m a fan of Estee and the Triptych Continuum. So what would The Traveling Tutor and the Librarian look like in the Continuum?
It’s a fair question. I already took a shot at what Green Grass would look like in his earliest years. So I’ve been doodling on the concept during my odd moments, and put together six chapters. It’s no longer a romance, but a slice of life, and has some angles to it that I’ve never treated before, so it’s been good practice. So starting Monday morning, I’m going to post a chapter a day until the end, and then put it on hiatus.
I may continue it later. I’m not sure. I’m fairly certain you will enjoy it, though. See you tomorrow morning. It's not the end of the world yet.
Looking forward to it
5133365 Yeah, I'm running my last pass through the FimFic document right now to catch the "OhGodWhy" errors. And I'm about done with the next chapter in Farmer Bruener, so that's on the way too, just as soon as we take care of a little hazmat issue.
* * *
“Oh, God!” Corporal Menendez tried not to breathe inside his full MOPP gear complete with M50 gas mask while struggling to get the adhesive tabs disengaged from the little pony’s diaper. It was a difficult task, made all the more difficult by being performed on a hairy pony, on top of a poncho liner in the middle of the Bruener’s driveway, at night, by the light of a military flashlight. “It’s oozing all around the edges, like it’s alive.”
“You two idiots fed her the bacon,” said Lieutenant Forsythe, who was standing behind the two ‘volunteers’ and holding the flashlight. “You get to deal with the— Uhk! Fuck! I’m upwind! Gods! I can’t see! Somebody get me a mask! How can that smell travel upwind!”
“Don’t move the light,” managed Fitzgerald through his tears. “We get any spillage over the poncho liner and they’ll have to call in a hazmat team for the whole driveway! Oh, Christ on a crutch, I think the stuff is dissolving the seals in the filters!”
One of the remaining Rangers managed to edge close enough to give Forsythe a mask, which he donned in probably a record time for his unit.
“We lost containment, sir! Shine the light back here… Oh, God. I can’t un-see this. Wipes! For the love of God, somebody get us a few boxes of wipes!”
“If this wasn’t you two idiots’ fault,” managed Forsythe in short, frantic gasps inside his M50 mask, “I’d put you in for some sort of commendation. Put the wipes in the bucket when you’re done,” he added, pushing the orange ‘Home Depot’ bucket a little closer.
“Dry ice,” gasped Menendez. “Freeze the stench. It’s the only way we’ll survive. OhGodIbreathedinthroughmymouth!”
Clover obviously thought it was funny, and kicked her little legs through the process, which involved three entire boxes of wipes, two diapers (one having been accidently dipped in the residoo-doo), and a second flashlight when the first one was dropped and cracked a lens. In the end, by the power of Army ingenuity and MOPP gear, the three brave Rangers faced their disarmed opponent with matching smiles. The discarded diapers and resulting toxic waste had been stuffed into the frost-covered orange plastic bucket, the air in their vicinity was slowly returning to non-toxic levels of pony poo pew, and the disaster was over.
Then there was a second rumbling noise, even louder than the first, and the process began all over again.
* * *
Otherwise known as, “Where a parent, nurse, or any teenage girl who babysits would deal with daily life while the big bad soldiers screamed.” 😏
Wouldn’t Clover be in cloth diapers? The Cake Twins are, and without soakers, too. I don’t miss those days (I didn’t always have access to a diaper service).
Thanks for the multiple-level flashback. So many soldiers coming home to new babies and being clueless about care. FRG meetings and teaching the lower enlisted parenting skills. Mustard poop. I feel old.