/short story – surreal comedy/
Written by Dany Tanner
Part I
DP Airlines Flight 96 from McCool Junction, Nebraska to Paris, was droning somewhere over the Indian Ocean when Bobby finally got the nerve up to speak to the attractive young woman next to him.
“Hi,” he coughed. His throat was hoarse, and he promptly fell into a coughing fit, trying to clear it. Several passengers shushed him, frustrated by the disturbance of their futile attempts at sleep. Bobby got a hold of himself and took another teensy sip of his sixth Rusty Nail cocktail.
“Are you OK?” the woman said, smiling.
He nodded quickly, tugging at his collar.
“Is it warm in here?” he asked, holding the drink up to his forehead. “I’m Yours. What’s the… Bobby? Shit…”
“It’s all right,” the woman said. “You’ll be fine, Bobby. I’m October, but everyone calls me Obe.”
She put a hand on his throat, and he relaxed, breathing deeply.
“That’s enough, Obe,” Bobby said after two long minutes, trying to smile. “I’m not usually the-thh-this nervous around women, but you…” He made a vague motion with his hand to indicate how well put together she was, though not in so many words. Chivalrous-like. At least, that’s what he told himself.
“What brings you to Paris?” Obe asked him, perhaps to help prevent him from making a bigger fool of himself.
“I’m ch-changing flights. He-heading to Marseilles-es,” Bobby stuttered, glancing at the onboard flight tracker. “My brother and I opened a restaurant there called The Burning Bowels BBQ.”
“That sounds nice,” said Obe.
“And what do you do?” Bobby asked. One eye still followed the flight tracker, and his brow furrowed. He took a sip of his next Rusty Nail.
“I’m a blogger at Dry Pants-in-Uendo,” Obe answered, smiling.
Bobby was still staring and scowling at the Indian Ocean.
“Did you say ‘Dry Pants-in-Uendo’?” he repeated, slowly tugging his gaze away from the window. Obe nodded happily.
“Um, I don’t follow blogs much,” Bobby admitted, still eyeing the tracker suspiciously. “That sounds like a cool hobby. Does anyone read it?”
Obe let out a little sound halfway between a cough and a giggle, “I have eighty million followers on X-plain,” she said. “It seems like many other than I have understood that this is simply a Dry Pants world.”
“What even is that?” wondered Bobby. “‘Dry Pants’? I’ve never heard of it.”
“On the blog, I go by the handle of Obe One Dry Pants,” the young woman went on. “I actually got the idea from my last name – Dreipanz. But then I started working with that and found that the whole world around me is Dry Pants!”
“Really?”
“The world is Dry Pants shaped; I can tell you that for sure,” Obe-woman continued. Bobby began looking around for an empty seat.
“Listen, I noticed you looking at the tracker before. It is hard for most people to accept, but there’s a reason we don’t fly over the Atlantic anymore to get to Paris from America, and that’s because the world is formed like dry pants.”
“Wait, ‘we?‘ Who’s we?” Bobby was confused.
“Did you ever wonder why we’re called ‘DP’ airlines?”
Bobby’s face elongated, and his eyes widened.
“So, you’re… A-are you the owner?” he stammered in a low whisper. “Can we get free drinks? It’s also October the 13th.”
“I’m afraid not – we’re not a charity!” Obe laughed. “But yes, that’s me. October Dreipanz, Dry Pants born and bred, owner of DP Airlines, DP X-Plain, DP Laundromats, DP Digital Block Chain Developers and Quality Control Engineering Systems Management Solutions (No Batteries Included), Inc. and DP! Ah, with a hashtag #ThoseLittleThingsOnlineWithTheRedAndYellowThatGoZoink!”
“Amazing,” whispered Bobby, who was by now almost certainly feeling the effects of his six whiskey cocktails. “Hmm… is it really faster to fly over the Indian Ocean than the Atlantic?”
“It is, silly,” Obe nodded sagely. “Because of the folds. Dry Pants are inevitably folded!”
“Hi,” he coughed. His throat was hoarse, and he promptly fell into a coughing fit, trying to clear it. Several passengers shushed him, frustrated by the disturbance of their futile attempts at sleep. Bobby got a hold of himself and took another teensy sip of his sixth Rusty Nail cocktail.
“Are you OK?” the woman said, smiling.
He nodded quickly, tugging at his collar.
“Is it warm in here?” he asked, holding the drink up to his forehead. “I’m Yours. What’s the… Bobby? Shit…”
“It’s all right,” the woman said. “You’ll be fine, Bobby. I’m October, but everyone calls me Obe.”
She put a hand on his throat, and he relaxed, breathing deeply.
“That’s enough, Obe,” Bobby said after two long minutes, trying to smile. “I’m not usually the-thh-this nervous around women, but you…” He made a vague motion with his hand to indicate how well put together she was, though not in so many words. Chivalrous-like. At least, that’s what he told himself.
“What brings you to Paris?” Obe asked him, perhaps to help prevent him from making a bigger fool of himself.
“I’m ch-changing flights. He-heading to Marseilles-es,” Bobby stuttered, glancing at the onboard flight tracker. “My brother and I opened a restaurant there called The Burning Bowels BBQ.”
“That sounds nice,” said Obe.
“And what do you do?” Bobby asked. One eye still followed the flight tracker, and his brow furrowed. He took a sip of his next Rusty Nail.
“I’m a blogger at Dry Pants-in-Uendo,” Obe answered, smiling.
Bobby was still staring and scowling at the Indian Ocean.
“Did you say ‘Dry Pants-in-Uendo’?” he repeated, slowly tugging his gaze away from the window. Obe nodded happily.
“Um, I don’t follow blogs much,” Bobby admitted, still eyeing the tracker suspiciously. “That sounds like a cool hobby. Does anyone read it?”
Obe let out a little sound halfway between a cough and a giggle, “I have eighty million followers on X-plain,” she said. “It seems like many other than I have understood that this is simply a Dry Pants world.”
“What even is that?” wondered Bobby. “‘Dry Pants’? I’ve never heard of it.”
“On the blog, I go by the handle of Obe One Dry Pants,” the young woman went on. “I actually got the idea from my last name – Dreipanz. But then I started working with that and found that the whole world around me is Dry Pants!”
“Really?”
“The world is Dry Pants shaped; I can tell you that for sure,” Obe-woman continued. Bobby began looking around for an empty seat.
“Listen, I noticed you looking at the tracker before. It is hard for most people to accept, but there’s a reason we don’t fly over the Atlantic anymore to get to Paris from America, and that’s because the world is formed like dry pants.”
“Wait, ‘we?‘ Who’s we?” Bobby was confused.
“Did you ever wonder why we’re called ‘DP’ airlines?”
Bobby’s face elongated, and his eyes widened.
“So, you’re… A-are you the owner?” he stammered in a low whisper. “Can we get free drinks? It’s also October the 13th.”
“I’m afraid not – we’re not a charity!” Obe laughed. “But yes, that’s me. October Dreipanz, Dry Pants born and bred, owner of DP Airlines, DP X-Plain, DP Laundromats, DP Digital Block Chain Developers and Quality Control Engineering Systems Management Solutions (No Batteries Included), Inc. and DP! Ah, with a hashtag #ThoseLittleThingsOnlineWithTheRedAndYellowThatGoZoink!”
“Amazing,” whispered Bobby, who was by now almost certainly feeling the effects of his six whiskey cocktails. “Hmm… is it really faster to fly over the Indian Ocean than the Atlantic?”
“It is, silly,” Obe nodded sagely. “Because of the folds. Dry Pants are inevitably folded!”
The captain came on the intercom to inform the passengers they would soon be landing in Paris, Texas.
“Amazing,” Bobby repeated again, for want of a better word. “It seems like you’ve done well for yourself! And where do you go from here?”
Obe grinned from one ear to the other as if she had a juicy canary in her mouth.
“We’re going to corner the market on 78s,” she said, playfully stabbing at the ice left in her plastic cup.
“On… you mean the records?” Bobby was shocked. “They don’t make… do they even make those anymore?”
“DP will,” said Obe One Dry Pants, staring at Bobby, “because 78s can be made in Dry Pants shape. Also, not only is the music unaltered from the original on a 78, but the 3800 RPM motor used within the turntable sees peak performance at 78.26 RPM. This is really a no-brainer, Bobby, dear…”
“Wow, you know your stuff, don’t you, Obe?” asked Bobby, impressed by the numbers.
“Also, Our DP Retro Fashion House is making a bold statement: OUT is IN! Pleather chaps, Hawaiian and short-sleeved suits, crocheted slouch beanies, cropped pinstripe pants, camo-looks (for that guy with the archaic man-bun), Solar Flare bel-bottom jeans, belly chains, and long pendant necklaces, Ed Hardy, pedal pushers and capri pants, platform sneakers, giant sunglasses, fascinators, dildos and visors, peep-toe and Ugg boots, clear plastic shoes – remember them? They will all be coming back in our exclusive DP Factory Outhouses.”
“Dammit! You’ve got your eyes on the stars, huh?!” Bobby fastened his seatbelt and looked out.
“Amazing,” Bobby repeated again, for want of a better word. “It seems like you’ve done well for yourself! And where do you go from here?”
Obe grinned from one ear to the other as if she had a juicy canary in her mouth.
“We’re going to corner the market on 78s,” she said, playfully stabbing at the ice left in her plastic cup.
“On… you mean the records?” Bobby was shocked. “They don’t make… do they even make those anymore?”
“DP will,” said Obe One Dry Pants, staring at Bobby, “because 78s can be made in Dry Pants shape. Also, not only is the music unaltered from the original on a 78, but the 3800 RPM motor used within the turntable sees peak performance at 78.26 RPM. This is really a no-brainer, Bobby, dear…”
“Wow, you know your stuff, don’t you, Obe?” asked Bobby, impressed by the numbers.
“Also, Our DP Retro Fashion House is making a bold statement: OUT is IN! Pleather chaps, Hawaiian and short-sleeved suits, crocheted slouch beanies, cropped pinstripe pants, camo-looks (for that guy with the archaic man-bun), Solar Flare bel-bottom jeans, belly chains, and long pendant necklaces, Ed Hardy, pedal pushers and capri pants, platform sneakers, giant sunglasses, fascinators, dildos and visors, peep-toe and Ugg boots, clear plastic shoes – remember them? They will all be coming back in our exclusive DP Factory Outhouses.”
“Dammit! You’ve got your eyes on the stars, huh?!” Bobby fastened his seatbelt and looked out.
Outside, the city was invisible under a dense crop of angry-looking clouds. The weather outside Paris was abominable at that time of night, and an uncomfortable landing was all but certain.
To be continued…
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