Exquisite Corpse Pt 4
For the few who sub me but not Visceral Adventures, Tonika initiated a game of a serialized story with multiple authors. Kathleen Devanney and I got to contribute Part Four, leading to the Christmas Day wrap-up!
This was tremendous fun and I encourage you to read the other parts by Tonika, Isaac Middle, and April Whalley. Enjoy!
We have reached the penultimate chapter of this international creative collaboration as Tereza Coraggio of Third Paradigm and Kathleen Devanney of Kathleen Devanney’s Newsletter join from America to bring us the “falling action” of the Exquisite Corpse.
Kathleen is a human who assumes—as we all do—many roles. She is currently most interested in (and writes about) what happens to us when the scaffolding of a fabricated world comes down, and how that impacts all the various identities we've assumed in order to adjust to that world.
Tereza’s ex used to joke that she didn’t play well with others. But perhaps she didn’t have the right playmates. She’s now had three collabs in two days and in 2025, hopes to challenge Tonika’s title as the collab queen. Or share it? 😏
These two not only expanded April Whalley’s NSFW hilarious post in various comedic directions but also figured out how to make this whole exercise a little meta, and well, if you know me, you know I have a soft spot for that kind of shenanigans. Be still my quantum heart.
Who would have thought our break from doom and gloom would be this much fun?! It has also allowed me to work on the 2024 Year in Review, the mother of all meme-lanches, which I know has been anticipated, and after sorting through thousands of dank memes, I’m happy to let you know, that it’s gonna get spicey.
If you are just tuning in, you can catch up to
and now, week 4:
Charlotte woke with a gastric unease that had nothing to do with her bedtime burrito or the 50-lb shih-tzu burrowing into her abdomen. “Okay, Luna, okay. We both need a good poo. Me first and then we’ll walk to see Philip …” her voice trailed off, “I’ll pack your 80 poo bags, or it a century day?” She grimaced at her own joke, and waddled off to take a powder.
With unburdened bowel if not conscience, Charlotte attached Luna’s leash with its octave of bells precisely tuned. No sharps, no flats, just an uncomplicated—one might say swelling—progression. Just like the bestower of the gift. Was that untoward to think about the almost-dead? Charlotte shook her head so violently, the bells tolled in unison and Luna took off at a 25 mph sprint. She must really have to poo, Charlotte thought, as the aerodynamics lifted her off the ground.
Her sensible plum sneakers didn’t touch down until they reached the hospital parking lot where Luna leapt, with surprising agility for a chonky shih-tzu, onto the hood of a silver green Prius. She parted her magnificent orbs and, with butt jenga precision, laid a straight line of exact hexahedrons with regular faces. No wonder Luna loved the OCD of the choir director.
Luna’s rectal virtuosity was not news to Charlotte, and she averted her eyes for privacy—though it seemed contrary to the shih-tzu’s shitting showmanship. Showshihshit? Showshitshih? Amusing herself, Charlotte gazed to the passenger seat where a rental video of Misery sat. Someone else who preferred the neglected video, Charlotte thought warmly, remembering the evening she’d watched The Sacrifice with Philip. The ticking of the clock in time with the wobble of his weak chin had been riveting. The film, not so much.
Glancing back, she saw Luna had climaxed her poo-line with a 90-degree angle, its elbow jutting to an irregular concavity. Tsking at those who eschew the pure orbit of a bulbous hood, Charlotte began individually bagging Luna’s cubits.
“Get that fucking wombat off my car,” Nurse Angelica shrieked as she clattered down the handicap ramp. “Wombat?” sniffed Charlotte, “Luna was bred by a court eunuch for the Dowager Empress Cixi. We did a past life regression and it told me so!” But Nurse Angelica had spun on her stiletto heel—under her scrubs?—and stalked back up the ramp.
As Charlotte followed her through the maze to Hades Ward, the Nurse shot over her shoulder, “You’ll want to say your goodbyes.” Gastric distress seized Charlotte once again. Was this love or did she have to fart? “Is he … is he …” she stammered. As they reached the nether chamber housing the waning Philip, Nurse Angelica whirled and pulled a rolled document out of her plunging neckline. Was that standard issue for scrubs?
Whipping it open, she said, “As a public service at the church, I ran a workshop on Living Wills. Philip did not want to be kept alive in a coma more than 48 hours. And he gave me Power of Attorney for all health care decisions, since he said I was the most compassionate, sweet-tempered, voluptuous … I mean, voluble, vulnerable health care professional he has ever known. And he endowed me with his organ.
She charged out the door, leaving Charlotte palpitating and Luna glaring out of her beady eyes. Charlotte smoothed the covers over Philip, wondering if he was ready for this visceral adventure. Unbidden, the thought crossed her mind that he would indeed make a most exquisite corpse! How could she think such things at a time like this?
It was twilight when Charlotte pulled herself away from Philip’s bed, giving up the ghost on any twitch or sign of life. Luna sniffed his fallen hand and nudged Charlotte towards the IV drip. “It’s no use, Luna.” At that moment Nurse Angelica swooped in and announced, “Visitor hours are over. You’ve had plenty of time to swan about. Now shoo!”
As Luna tugged Charlotte down the hall with downcast eyes, she almost walked straight into Officer Middle, making his nightstick jump to attention. “Whalley!” Charlotte blurted. Detective Middle’s face made a question mark though inwardly he braced himself; was this some lover from her past?
“The cat! Philips cat. Poor thing must be starving. How could I forget about little Whalley?”
Charlotte was already making her way past him when the detective realized she wasn’t actually talking to him. But Luna suddenly did a pivot and wound her tinkling leash around his leg faster than Usain Bolt. Charlotte, off balance, started to fall but grabbed his nightstick and hoisted herself up. Officer Middle’s horoscope hadn’t prepared him for this!
Nonplussed, Charlotte squinted and finally seemed to recognize him, “You should come. It doesn’t feel right to be there alone with Philip here. And maybe there’s a clue for why someone would …” She trailed off.
Damn. That was a good idea. Detective Middle nodded. “I was just going to suggest that, actually.” He looked around the hallway as if there was something else, to distract her while he adjusted his holster.
“We don’t need his key, if that’s what you’re looking for. I have one. I look after Walley when he’s on overnight choir trips.”
“Yes, I mean, great. And yes. Excellent. Okay then,” he heard himself bumble.
Officer Middle drove them the four blocks to Philip’s house with the siren on, glancing sideways to gauge its effect. Once they arrived, Charlotte opened the apartment door slowly as Luna rushed past. It felt strange and hollow. A sharp realization entered the room with her—he may never open this door again. It was potent.
She wished she hadn’t suggested that Officer Middle come. She wanted suddenly to be alone. To distract herself, she picked up some stained musical scores scattered on the floor. She set them neatly back on the organ and silently stroked its keys with one finger. Tidying, as if the act might restore things back to how they were. A feeling of loss overwhelmed her as she sunk abruptly onto the stool.
“Are you okay there, ma’am? You look a mite pale, let me get you some water.”
As Officer Middle made his way to the kitchen, Charlotte noticed Whalley and Luna sniffing each other’s butts. She smiled.
Middle handed Charlotte the glass of water as the cat and shih tzu—wombat, my rump!—curled up together on the couch. The sight nearly took her breath away and stirred something in her. Longing or gas?
She was interrupted by the detective, who she’d forgotten was there.
“This is… interesting.” He was holding a handwritten sheet of music in his hands with the scripted title Für. The next word was smeared beyond recognition by the brown stain. Was it Charlotte? Angelika? or Walley?
“What is?"
“Maybe nothing. Too soon to say.” He folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket.
Her curiosity was quite suddenly overwhelmed by an urgent feeling that Philip could not be left alone on his last night.
She stood. “You have to keep an eye on Philip. Someone has to be there.”
“Well, there are staff at the hospital…”
“Exactly!” she said with a confirming nod.
The energetic slap of Charlotte’s conviction pushed the Detective’s head back. He noted that in his detective-gut, he didn’t disagree. Yes, there was something there.
“I can do a stakeout.” (He liked saying that, it sounded so detectivey.) Keep watch from outside. I think there’s a shady maple right by the window.”
Charlotte was nodding in agreement, then shaking her head. It was a sweetgum sycamore. Really, people couldn’t tell shih-tzus from wombats, maples from sycamore. Only one person she knew cared about teleological precision like she did. And he would be on a gurney come Apollo’s return.
[photo and cubed Easter Eggs thanks to We Need to Have a Talk About Wombats by The Oatmeal]
This has been outstanding fun! Thank you, again, for contributing, especially knowing the serious themes that you deal with; taking a break to do some unserious work is greatly appreciated.