Word: Flapdragon

flapdragon

\ FLAP-drag-uhn \  , noun;

1. an old game in which the players snatch raisins, plums, etc., out of burning brandy, and eat them.

2. the object so caught and eaten.

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             “Man, this party is dragging.”  Ben said.  He looked around at the group of people in the large room.  They were talking and drinking lightly to some decent music.

                “What’re you talking about?”  Sean said.  “It’s fine.  Everyone’s having a good enough time, so it’s fine.”

                “No way, man.  It’s lame.  Totally dull.”

                “You know, now that we’ve graduated, we can probably expect most parties to be like this.”

                “That sucks.”

                “Really?  I’m ok with it.” 

                “Well I’m not.”  Ben’s shoulders slumped.  He had been a major partier in college, and now that he was out, the relative lightweight social gatherings were just not up to his standard.  “You know what?  I’m gonna go fix it.  Wait here.”

                He left before Sean could say anything in protest.  Sean waited for his friend with an sense of impending doom.  Ben came back with a small bowl of something nearly ten minutes later.  Ben set the bowl down on a nearby table and began fishing in his pockets for something.

                Sean looked into the bowl.  The deep brown liquid inside smelled of alcohol, but Sean couldn’t immediately tell what kind it was.  It looked like there were small things resting on the bottom of the bowl as well. 

                “What, uh, what is this?”  Sean asked.

                “Brandy.  Don’t worry, it’s pretty cheap stuff.”

                “You’re not planning on drinking all this, are you?”

                “Nope.  Well, not right away.”

                “So what are you doing?”

                “I’m gonna light it on fire.”  Ben said.  He pulled a lighter out of his pockets and immediately started flicking it.

                “What!?”  Sean exclaimed.  “Why would you do that?  That’s like, the worst idea ever.”

                “It’s something I read online.  It’s an old game where you light put things like raisins and plums and stuff in Brandy, light it on fire and pull the stuff out.”

                “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.  You’re not doing that.”

                “Oh yeas I am.  I’ve already put the stuff in there. I got some chocolate balls, some dried fruit, and stuff like that.  It’ll be great, I promise.”

                “You’re just gonna hurt yourself.”

                “Nah, I got this.”  Ben said.

                “What’re you boys doing?”  Said another person.  Both guys turned to look at the intruder.

                It was a young woman who had come over to them when she saw the large bowl of Brandy.  She was a slight thing.  Short, thin, and with a face that could be considered cute more than anything. 

                “I’m gonna light this stuff on fire and pull stuff out.  It’s a game I found online.”  Ben said, looking far too proud of himself.

                “Sounds like fun.”  The woman said.  “Can I play?”  Sean opened his mouth to protest, but Ben spoke first.

                “Sure thing.  Just so you know, this is 80 proof, so it’s pretty strong.  You think you can handle it?”

                “Yup.”  She said cheerfully.  “Besides, it doesn’t seem like we’re drinking.  Just eating things that’ve been soaking in it, right?”

                “Yup.”

                “You know, it’s still going to be on fire, right?”  Sean said.

                “Yeah, so?”  Ben asked.

                “I don’t have any problem with that.”  The newcomer said.  Sean looked from one to the other and sighed. 

                “Fine, but I want no part in this.  Also, just be aware, if you get burned, I reserve the right to laugh at your pain until the ambulance comes.”

                “Duly noted.”  Ben said.  “Now, let’s get this party started.”

                He flicked on the lighter and placed the flame to the liquid.  The blue, white, and orange flame rose a good distance off the surface of the bowl, and immediately drew a crowd as people became curious about the flame.   

                Ben rolled up his sleeve and quickly reached into the bowl.  His hand was only in it for a second, and he came out with a piece of dried fruit, which he promptly shoved into his mouth.  The woman went next, doing the same thing, and quickly eating the chocolate she came up with.

                The game continued uninterrupted for quite some time.  At first, Ben seemed quite confident in his ability to win against his much smaller opponent.  But soon the strong alcohol and hot flames started to get to him.  He many times he would reach in and come up with nothing.  Others, he spent too long in the bowl, and ended up with a few singed arm hairs.  The woman, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any problems.  Although there were times when she came up empty handed as well, it was far fewer than Ben, and she never kept her arm in the bowl for more than even a second. 

                Ben was also starting to show signs of drunkenness.  His body became shakier and hi arm less and less steady as the game went on.  By contrast, his opponent had no such trouble.  The alcohol didn’t seem to be having any effect on the small young woman, even though she was eating more of the liquor soaked food stuffs.      

                Sean watched in morbid fascination as Ben lost more and more of his coordination and judgment, while the woman remained almost unaffected by their competition.  He was amazed by how well she was holding her liquor.  All he could think of was what her upbringing must have been like for such a small woman to have such tolerance.

                Ben didn’t last much longer.  He went to dip his hand into the burning alcohol, and missed completely.  His entire body ended up on the floor instead.  Sean, and most likely everyone else, was quite glad he managed to miss the table on his way down.

                “I guess that means I win.”  The woman said happily.  Her voice was a bit off.  Not as clear as it had been at the start of the game.  Otherwise, she seemed fine.  “That was fun, we should do this again sometime.”  She said.

                Sean helped his friend up to his unsteady feet as the victor walked away, humming to herself.  Someone took the opportunity to use a large metal pot lid to put out the fire, and people were dipping in to the still hot Brandy.  Sean had to admit, the party was much more interesting now than it had been.

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You know, for a guy who doesn't drink, I sure do write quite a few stories that involve alcohol, don't I?  

Also, for the upcoming new year, I decided to try something new:  Actually trying to get readers!  It's been a long time coming, but I've just gotten myself a Twitter account.  This is a big thing for me, since I don't normally go into the whole social media thing (as evidenced by the fact that I haven't logged on to my Facebook account since college).  Now I just have to figure out how it works.  It'll be interesting to see how this all turns out, won't it? 

Word: moosemilk

 

moosemilk

\ MOOS-milk \  , noun;

1. Canadian . homemade or bootleg whiskey.

2. Canadian . a cocktail of whiskey or rum and milk.

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Greg opened his eyes and groaned.  The gentle, early morning sun hit him like flaming daggers, and his head felt like it was being hit repeatedly with a sledgehammer.  He groggily stuck his hand out to the other side of his bed.  He wasn’t sure whether or not to be disappointed by the fact that there was nobody else there with him.  He opted towards grateful. 

                He slowly slid out of bed and threw on the same outfit he had worn last night simply because it was there.  Some vague part of him even recognized that he had, at some point, gotten out of them before going to bed.  He was, again, not sure what to think of that.  He just hoped it was his roommate or himself that had done the clothing removal.

                His roommate, Pete, was already in the kitchen, looking very much like Greg felt.  Greg flopped on one of the other chairs and leaned back, keeping his eyes shut against the piercing kitchen lights.

                “Morning.”  Pete said.  His voice was hoarse and weak.  Greg muttered something that was kind of like a reply and called it good. “So, you remember anything about last night?”

                “Uh…”  Greg said.  He searching his mind for anything.  There was some things he could recall, but most of it had been lost.  “Some stuff.”

                “Great.  Maybe we can figure out whether or not we had fun or something.  Hopefully we didn’t do anything too weird.”

                “Don’t think so.  Let’s see.  Uh, I think we started off ok.  I’m pretty sure you were hitting on a group of girls though.  You might have been trying to hook up with all of them at once.”

                “Oh yeah.”  Pete said groggily.  A slight smile crossed his face as he called up the still fuzzy memory.  That was pretty cool.  Too bad I messed up though.”

                “Yeah, they were pretty hot.  At least, I think they were.”

                “Eh.  Whatever.”

                “Yeah.  Um.  I think things started getting really bad when that big guy showed up.  You remember him?”

                “Not really.”
                “Oh.  I only remember he said he was Canadian or something and brought some really weird stuff with him.  Something about a moose I think.”

                “Weird.  You sure he was Canadian?”

                “No, but what’s it matter if he was?”

                “I don’t know.  I’m just trying to think.”

                “Well stop it.  It’s just gonna hurt right now.”

                “Yeah, right.”

                Both of them fell silent as they each went over the intact memories of the previous night.  Most of Greg’s memories were of the earlier hours of the party, when all he was drinking was beer.  Once that Canadian guy showed up with his moose drink, things started to either run together or disappear completely. 

                “Man, what was in that stuff?”  Pete said suddenly.

                “What stuff?”  Greg replied, wincing at the sudden, unexpected onset of sound.

                “That, what was it?  That, uh, that moose stuff.”

                “No idea.  The guy just said something about moose. I think the word whisky might have come up too, so I’m guessing it was that?”

                “No way.  I’ve had whiskey before.  It did not mess me up like this.”  Pete suddenly fell forward in his chair and nursed his head.  His own voice had aggravated his hangover more than he thought it would when he raised his voice to speak.

                “Hey, that’s all I know.  The moose think is all I remember. The whiskey was probably something different.”  Greg said, trying to make sense of both his own words and jumbled memories.

                “Uh huh.”  Pete suddenly sat up as suddenly as his current condition would allow him to.  “Hey, what if it was actual moose in there.”

                “What?”

                “You know, like, ground up moose meat or something.  Then he does some weird Canadian stuff to it and makes it kick hard or something.”

                “Yeah, I don’t think that’s possible.  Meat doesn’t ferment, even if you liquefy it.  I’m pretty sure it just rots.”

                “Well, who knows what that guy did to it?  Maybe he knows some ancient Canadian secret or something?”

                “Pretty sure there’s no such thing.”

                “All I’m saying is that whatever was in that stuff, it wasn’t normal.”

                “Yup.  No arguing there.” 

                Another prolonged silence filled the small room.  Greg gave up trying to figure out what was in the concoction and his lost memories after drinking it.  He figured some things may be best left forgotten.  All he knew was that he probably wouldn’t be accepting any drinks that had animals in their names from Canadians anymore.    

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Not sure if I got the feeling of a hangover quite right.  I personally don't drink, so I've never had one.  Really, I'm not sure why anyone would drink so much when they know that they'll have to go through with this kind of torture afterwards.  But hey, that's just me. 

Word: Thalassic

 

thalassic

\ thuh-LAS-ik \  , adjective;

1. of or pertaining to seas and oceans.

2. of or pertaining to smaller bodies of water, as seas and gulfs, as distinguished from large oceanic bodies.

3. growing, living, or found in the sea; marine.

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The sun shone pleasantly over the not too crowded beach.  The ocean waves rolled calmly over the sand, with the sound of the water mixing with that of the people on the beach.  Children laughed as they splashed around or gathered the water to help make better sandcastles.  Well, most of them did anyway.

                “I don’t wanna go in!”  Screamed one of the little boys as he faced the water.

                “You were begging me to bring you here, and now you won’t even go in the water?”  The boy’s father asked, more to himself than his son.  The boy shook his head.  “Well, why not?”

                “There’s jellyfish in there.” The boy said.

                The father would have laughed at his son’s words if he wasn’t so annoyed.  It was a bit frustrating, really.  He hated the smell of the ocean, and so avoided beaches as much as possible.  The only reason he had come was that the boy was so insistent.  He took a deep breath, wrinkling his nose against the smell.

                “There’s no jellyfish here.”  He told his boy.

                “Really?  Are you sure?”

                “Absolutely.”

                The child looked up at his father for a moment.  His small eyes then turned back to the water.  His head snapped back up to his father after a moment.

                “What about sharks?”

                “No, there’s no sharks either.”

                “Really?”

                “Really.”

                “But Danny said sharks live on the beaches so they can eat people.” The boy looked confused.  His father and his best friend were saying two different things, which only served to confuse his young mind.

                “Well, Danny’s wrong.  And even if there are sharks, they’d be way out in the deeper water.  They won’t come this close to the beach.”

                “What about jellyfish?”

                “There’s no jellyfish around here.  And even if there was, they’d be the kind that are so small that they can’t hurt you.”

                “But Danny said…”  The boy started.  His father knelt down and placed his hand on his shoulder, cutting off his thought.

                “Let me ask you something.  Who do you think you can believe more?  Your friend who may just be trying to scare you with things that aren’t real, or your own dad, who wants you to have fun and be safe?”

                The man was a bit worried when his son actually had to think about that for more than a second or two.  Still, given that the kid’s age could still be counted on his fingers, he decided to let it slide. 

                “You?”  The boy asked, a bit more hesitantly than his father would have liked.

                “That’s right.  Now, when I say there’s nothing bad that can hut you around here, you can bet that I’m telling the truth, right?”

                The boy turned towards the gently rolling waves for a moment while he considered the words of his father.

                “Are you sure there’s nothing bad in there?”

                “The only thing you have to worry about is drinking the ocean water.”

                “Why not?”  The boy asked.  The man wanted to kick himself for that one.  It just introduced another reason for his son not to want to go in the ocean.  And if that happened, the boy would only complain that he didn’t get the chance to go swimming there later. 

                “The ocean water is bad if you drink it.  Just standing in it is fine, but don’t swallow any, alright?”

                “Ok.” The boy said with a curious look on his face.

                “Good.  Now, go on.  Don’t worry, I’ll be right here watching.”

                The boy took a deep breath and slowly headed towards the water.  Just before his feet touched the wet sand that marked the start of the waves though, he stopped.  He turned and looked at his father, who waved the boy on.  A small wave broke on the beach, and the water surged up, as if it was trying to greet the boy’s feet. 

                The child took a step forward into the now receding water and screamed.  He made a bee-line back to his father and cling to the man’s leg.  The father sighed and scooped his panicked son up into his arms.  As he did, only one thought crossed his mind:  This was going to be a long day.      **********************************

My family and I didn't take many vacations to the ocean when I was a kid.  We went to other places, of course, but not often to the beach.  Whenever we did though, I always hated going in the ocean.  Not because of any imaginary sea creatures waiting to eat and/or sting me, but because of the seaweed.  I hated that stuff when it brushed against me.  I still do, really.