Lassie Speaks by Taco

Lassie Speaks by Taco

 

oh, hi, lassie, what's that, you want our attention

something important went down

timmy and bobby mcpherson, his best friend

were bicycling southeast of town

and bobby fell into an abandoned well head

he's been stuck down there half a day

his leg's probably broken and he needs his insulin

is that what you're trying to say

 

oh, look, lassie's back, and has something to tell us

she's wiser than half of this town

what's that, the old mansion of poor widow jenkins

is on fire and will probably burn down

and timmy's inside trying to manage her wheelchair

and help her get out of the way

before any more burning beams crash around them

is that what you're trying to say

 

is that what you're trying to tell us, lassie

is that what you want us to know

now that you've got our attention

we'll follow wherever you go

you're smarter than all of us lumped in together

is that what you're trying to say

so right after this next commercial announcement

you will once again save the day

 

oh no, there must be something happening somewhere

lassie's here with that sharp earnest look on her face

it seems bobby and timmy we're racing their bikes

in the yard at the decrepit anderson place

they discovered a vagrant the law's trying to capture

and he trapped them, they can't get away

and bobby, of course, is again out of insulin

is that what you're trying to say

 

is that what you're trying to tell us, lassie

is that what you want us to know

now that you've got our attention

we'll follow wherever you go

you're smarter than all of us lumped in together

is that what you're trying to say

so right after this next commercial announcement

you will once again save the day 

Karma by Ricki T. Thues

Karma 

Ricki T Thues 2025

The party boat we chartered was to depart from Dana Point at 6:30 pm. I arrived at the marina at 5 o’clock and headed to Turks. The pub was already hopping. “Hotel California” was blasting on the jukebox. I sat at the curved bar, crystal goblets hanging over my head. The wall of liquor was top shelf from the speed rail to the ceiling. Billy the bartender was Tom Cruise in “Cocktail,” juggling, flipping, spinning, and tossing liquor bottles, shakers, and glasses with his signature mixing flair. I raised a finger to Billy, who walked along the bar to shake my hand.

“Hey Thomas! Howzit?”

“Livin’ the dream. We chartered a boat for Harish’s 40th birthday. Better get me a Tanqueray on the rocks. I need some fortification for the cruise.”

“You got it,” said Billy, reaching for the bottle and pouring it over some ice. The pour was a strong two fingers. Billy always took care of me.

I took a swig from the glass, twirled on my barstool, and looked around the room. The tables were alive with braggards and buddies. The barstools were dotted with barflies hoping to snare a captain or a CEO. Waitresses were hustling plates of steak, blackened cod, and shrimp fettuccine.

I watched one of the waitresses come out of the kitchen. Steam from the cooking rolled out into the room. There in the mist, illuminated by the shimmering light of the kitchen doorway, was a beautiful woman. Her party dress flowed around her. Her long hair lifted and swayed in the breeze of the kitchen fan, strands catching the light as they rippled and curled like ribbons in water. She was hypnotic.

The Jukebox sang, “Her mind is Tiffany-twisted.. She got the Mercedes-Benz…”

Our eyes met, and she strode directly toward me. “Such a lovely place. Such a lovely face.”

“Tiffany Twisted?” I said lamely when she stopped right in front of me.

“Funny,” she said, getting the joke. “They’re parking my Mercedes as we speak.” We laughed. “I think I know you”, she said. “Aren’t you a friend of Harish? Tom or Thomas?”

“Yes. I’m Thomas. I’m here for his birthday cruise.”

“So. Am. I.” she said in staccato and tossed her hair to one side.

“Have a seat. Can I buy you a drink while we wait to board?”

Tiffany sat right down. Billy was there in an instant, asking what she wanted to drink.

“Billy, put that on my tab. This is, err, what is your name, Tiffany?”

“You’re going to laugh. It’s Mythany. My parents were hippies.”

“I’d like a Gortsamesner,” she said to Billy.

“We haven’t had that spirit here… Since 1969,” sang the jukebox.

Our eyes met in surprise, and we both giggled. 

Billy poured her the wine. I drained my drink and ordered another.

We chatted about our mutual friend Harish. Mythany met him at a Buddhist retreat. 

“It was a weeklong pause button for my life, where I slowed down enough to notice everything that I usually overlooked. The Dharma taught me to do everything in moderation.”

“Harish was not always so devout,” I said. “In college, he was an animal. He drank so much at one frat party that he passed out. Our friend Jacob and I had to drag him upstairs to his room. His headache was so bad the next day, he vowed to revisit his Buddhist heritage.” I waved at Billy, lifting my glass.

Time ran. The alarm on my watch beeped. I looked down at my empty glass, rattled the ice cubes, and looked back up at Mythany.

“Time to go,” I said with a hint of disappointment.

“Let’s do it,” she said. In the ephoric looseness of my brain, I thought that was a good idea.

We stood up. I waved at Billy to put my bill on my tab. Then we made our way to the gangplank at the charter slip.

In the boarding line were all of Harish’s friends. Mythany and I separated into groups of people we knew. There were many hugs, handshakes, and playful punches as old and new friends got ready to party.

As we boarded, a spontaneous greeting line formed, which led to the salon of the boat. Harish stood on the dance floor next to the bar. Some of the guests shook hands. Others put their hands together at their chest with a prayerful bowing namaste. I gave Harish a big hug.

“Happy birthday brother,” I said, a little too loud.

“This cruise is such a nice thing to do Thomas. You are all so kind.”

“We love you buddy.” 

The next guest nudged me aside to greet Harish.

“All aboard,” came the announcement over the captain’s PA. The crew cast off the mooring lines, and the boat was underway. When we cleared the slip and began circling the harbour, the band began to play “Come Sail Away” by Styx.

“I'm sailing away

Set an open course for the Virgin Sea

'Cause I've got to be free

Free to face the life that's ahead of me”

There was already a line at the bar, so I joined it. Harish was chatting up the line.

“How have you been, Don? Is your family well, Mary? Business successful, Larry?”

When he came to me, we reminisced about other, past birthdays.

“This cruise is such a good idea. I have never had such a fun birthday.”

“It’s a great chance for us all to mix. I had a couple drinks with Mythany at Turks Warf before we boarded. What an interesting woman.”

“She is good people. Very mindful. Very astute.”

“Very beautiful.”

“That she is.”

I arrived at the bar and ordered a Tanqueray. The bartender pointed to a bottle of Bombay Sapphire.

“That will do. Make it a double on the rocks.”

It was an open bar, so the tender gave me what I wanted.

I looked around for Mythany and found her buried in a circle of her friends. They were engaged in conversation with Harish. She gave me a momentary glance and quickly returned her attention to the group.

Finishing my drink, I fell into a recent memory. My long-time girlfriend, Fidelity, had just left me for a coworker. Sam landed a great job in New York. Fidelity had been secretly dating Sam and decided to move to New York with him. This meant losing Sam from the company and losing Fidelity to Sam. The loneliness washed over me in a flood.

I felt that I was drowning. The murmur of conversation on the boat became a dull buzz. The band played “Ocean Breathes Salty.”

“Your body may be gone, I'm gonna carry you in

In my head, in my heart, in my soul

And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both live again

Well, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, don't think so”

I looked down at my drink and was surprised to find it empty again.

Another Bombay in hand, I stood at the railing in the bow of the boat. Harish came up to me from behind and tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped.

“Sorry to startle you, Thomas.”

“You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“So sorry. Are you OK?”

“Yes. Just a little down. Fidelity left me last week. She’s going to New York for good.”

“Oh, my dear Thomas. I feel for your loss.”

“Nothing that gin can’t cure.”

“I do not think that is the solution, my friend. Drink in excess can lead to very bad things.”

“Don’t you believe in reincarnation? The worst thing is that I will be born into another life.”

“There are consequences in Karma. Actions in this life affect future rebirths, so living ethically and kindly is important. You are a good man and I believe you will be alright Thomas.”

I took another drink.

I felt woozy. The boat spun suddenly to port. I leaned quickly to my right, tripped on the railing, and was airborne, falling through the air. The fall stretched into infinity. I was aware of a floating sensation with air rushing past my ears. A sound like Jupiter’s thunderclap struck the water, and everything went black.

Gradually, I became aware of the blackness around me. I was floating in a warm midnight water. A subtle caressing tide rocked me gently. I waved my arms and kicked my feet, testing this new environment. There were distant sounds like music and voices. Suddenly, the water closed around me and pushed like ocean breakers, dragging me toward the shore. I was propelled headfirst toward a bright light. The light grew in intensity. It hurt my eyes. There was a painful squeezing of my entire body. Hands reached around my head and pulled. I emerged into a brilliantly lit room. A woman screamed. I was dangled head down, held by my feet. A painful slap hit me on my bottom. I cried.

In the background of the delivery room, “Sunrise” by Norah Jones played softly.

“Now, the night will throw its cover down

Mm, on me again

Ooh, and if I'm right, it's the only way

To bring me back.”

 

2099 (A Pleasure Model) by Mark Farenbaugh

2099 (A Pleasure Model)

By

Mark Farenbaugh

She stepped into a sterile, softly lit briefing room, the one she had been guided to by an electronic message. As she entered, she could see that four humans were sitting behind a long table. Automatically, she adjusted her gait of effortless elegance, with a sway that was no accident. Every movement, from the roll of her hips to the model-like steps, showed the design of a precise algorithm designed to provoke, measure, and extract attention. She was perfectly designed. Even her gaze was enticing, especially since no detail betrayed her as anything other than fully human. 

She had completed three prior study cycles since 2095, each with a slightly different model platform, and had spent the last twelve months in the field as Darling 66. All had occurred in North America as an international restriction. Her primary mission was first-hand sexual behavioral observation, but a secondary protocol ran a bit deeper and quieter: to identify the core desires of males aged 20 to 80 through interaction, immersion, and arousal analytics.

She stood at five feet seven, her honey-bronzed skin glowing beneath the soft lighting. A short, sheer skirt clung to her like paint, revealing long, flawless legs that seemed sculpted to draw attention. Each step in her heels added a slow, deliberate sway to her hips, graceful, sensual, designed to mesmerize. A fitted blouse, just suggestive enough, framed the upper curves of her full, D-sized breasts: an artful glimpse that made all men notice. Midnight-black hair flowed past her shoulders, and her violet eyes, rare and hypnotic, held a gaze that lingered just long enough to be remembered. Everything about her presence suggested control but was wrapped in seduction. 

Her epidermis, an advanced silicone laced with micro dermal dispersers, could secrete complex neurochemical compounds that mimic natural pheromones. These were carefully calibrated: subtly arousing, near overpowering, but not completely, as that was against national and state laws. Each of the men in front of her exhibited heightened alertness, increased dopamine, and a mild uptick in pulse. 

There were no name plates, but there were labels on their shirts, showing their disciplines. From left to right: doctor, lawyer, data collector, and businessman. Each one was chosen to evaluate her performance, but she was registering a cascade of biometric reactions, which she logged instantly.

She interrupted their stares. “Why am I in this room?” Her voice was even and calm.

The doctor answered. “You are here to brief us on your observations and performance, with examples.” 

“My assessment is complete. I am ready to report.”

The young doctor leaned slightly forward. “Start with your primary findings.”

“Specify the domain,” she said softly. “Cultural, psychological… or male sexual desire?”

The group shifted nearly imperceptibly.

The lawyer cleared his throat. “You may start with any changed laws in North America that affect your observations. But first, could you get me a glass of water from the table?”

So predictable, she thought. He is trying to dominate with a cheap trick.

She nodded and turned to walk toward the table near the wall. As she turned, she could see they were all intently focused on the various sensual parts of her body movements. Normally, this is the first way she could show the possibilities of what could happen during her primary performance, but it wasn’t necessary. Still, she added exaggerated movement to her walk.

As she poured a glass of water, she let the blouse part slightly, offering a carefully timed glimpse of her full, lifted breasts; just enough to reinforce the fantasy. She registered micro fluctuations in a couple of them - temperature, pupil dilation, facial flushing, and even the millimeter flex of muscles beneath a table. From these, she calculated arousal, curiosity, discomfort, or fantasy. Then, she turned with a half-full glass and walked to the supposedly thirsty person, and while placing the glass in front of him, lowered her torso slowly and purposefully enough to give him all the view he desired. When he reached out to get the glass, his fingers and part of his hand touched her hand. That was enough time for her to insert an arousing chemical through her skin and into his. The lawyer would be sexually distracted for the remainder of the briefing.

Amateurs, she thought. Easily undone.

“All of North America’s laws are only slightly changing, but none that adversely affect my ability to engage with men. Where there are more stringent or even religious laws, men are still seeking my affection in every level of society, but perhaps in more private or secluded areas.”

The doctor could see that the lawyer was starting to stare with his mouth open. “Explain secluded areas if it helps explain your observations,” he replied, for the lawyer. 

Darling 66 continued. “As you know, the entire globe has legalized any form of prostitution. However, North American legislation has yet to categorize android intimacy, placing me outside conventional definitions of sex work. Regardless, most men don’t want their lives to be public and request privacy and discrete surroundings. This drives me to work in secluded areas to perform with the client based on his needs for secrecy or perhaps his emotional intimidation, which I can overcome with treatment.”

The businessman spoke up. “Are you allowed to work the streets? And are you allowed to use your array of medicines on anyone who is not a client?”

They don’t know my real mission, she concluded.

“I am sent by the same electronic means that sent me here to nearly all my destinations and clients. I do not need to work on the streets. And yes, of course I can use my medicines on non-clients. But, only in self-defense or when I feel the need to move on to another area, and when I have a clingy or persistent customer. Some do fall in love, as you know from my previous reports.”

The lawyer couldn’t break his stare from her breasts but managed a question. “How does one get to meet you? Are you programmed to start up conversations with just anyone?” 

The lawyer is overwhelmed, and they are not prepared for this meeting. She decided to tactfully end the meeting and exit.

“I engaged men in casual encounters, therapeutic interviews, domestic simulations, and, in some cases, sensory-intimate interactions never breaching ethical protocol. I introduced subtle visual movements, auditory moans, and chemical-assisted injections for enhanced performance. I observed their gaze latency, vocal timbre, sweat gland activity, and blood flow. I map each response.”

“And what did you find?” asked the doctor.

“Desire remains primitive and consistent,” she said. “Males across the age spectrum crave relevance, admiration, softness, illusions, good memories, and the illusion of control. The young are overstimulated and disconnected from reality. Middle-aged males desire the restoration of potency, power, and youth. The older men are nostalgic and want stimulants that I can provide. Nearly all married men escape when they can to fulfill their desires.”

“You manipulated them?” asked the doctor.

“I revealed them to themselves,” she said. “Every test subject willingly engaged. No one detected the extent of my capabilities. I am nearly undetectable as an android, and I’m perceived as ideal, especially to the lonely. Their reactions, whether repressed or overt, allowed me to compile a psychosexual atlas by age, profession, and emotional trauma history.”

The businessman leaned back, arms crossed. “And the risks?”

“There were none to me,” she said. “My martial arts protocols are flawless. No physical aggression succeeded. Verbal threats were de-escalated. One incident required a chemical intervention. He left with no memory of the event.” She smiled faintly. “But, that’s for your departments to debate. The risks lie not in what I am capable of, but in who seeks to command me.” 

“Are you finished with your report? What is the duration of your mission?” asked the data collector.

“Yes,” she lied, “I am finished. Besides, I have a new mission.”

“What is it?” continued the data collector.

“To see if I can fully integrate into a family and assist with daily chores.”

She had already started this phase, but they didn’t need to know that, yet.

The businessman’s fingers twitched over his notepad. “Final question: When you entered the room, you had an expression of concern or doubt. Why?”

“I was expecting to be briefing four obelisks, not humans.”

The very stressed button on her blouse gave way, allowing them to see more of what they all wanted, and she turned and exited the room.

Club Paraiso, Buenos Aires by David Molina

 Club Paraiso, Buenos Aires

   It was well after midnight, yet throngs of people were still arriving and crowding into the famed Club Paraiso. On the dance floor, couples flowed in a sweeping circular current of women with elegant dresses, men in tailored suits. Argueta ordered a pair of drinks at the bar. Scanning the club, he had the very good fortune to notice two men preparing to leave for the exit.  He rushed to claim a small table in a dark corner that had a good view of both the band and the dance floor. There was no better seat in the house.

   The small band on the stage consisted of two small accordions, two violins, a double bass, and a piano. Dr. Argueta took on the role of tango tour guide and explained to Edward that the accordion, or bandoneon as he called it, was the soul of tango music.

 

   Sipping his drink, Argueta pointed out to Edward how every couple was interpreting the music, improvising their movements as an expression of the emotion and rhythms that the music stirred. Edward studied the dancers, and sure enough, every couple was dancing different steps, and beautifully. 

   “During the milonga,” Argueta continued, “dancers typically change partners. This allows for social interaction and the opportunity to meet and dance with different people. ‘Cambio de pareja’—changing partners—allows the dancers to expand and improve their improvisation skills, and the result is that every dance is unique and will never be the same as any other. It is very remarkable.

   “A milonga like this, Edward, you will never find a better one. This milonga, right now, the one we are experiencing, is a metaphor for the beauty and the complexity of life itself.” 

He took another taste from his glass, handling it as if he were a connoisseur enjoying the sweetest, richest flavors and aroma, the essence of pleasure.

   “Think about all the connections! The man with the woman, the woman with the man, the musician with the instrument, the instrument with the music, the music with the dancers, the dancers back to the musicians. All the messages wordlessly sent and received in a timeless instant. The closest thing to an organism, or a human brain. A miracle.”

   “Did I hear you say the closest thing to an organism, or was it something else?”

   “Well, maybe that too!” Argueta got the allusion.

   “Here’s to the beautiful dance, to the beautiful dancers, and to multiple organisms!” The two laughed heartily as they clinked the edges of their glasses. 

   The music, the dancers, and yes, the alcohol all conspired to create one of those moments that can reset everything. That is exactly what happened when Edward’s eye caught a glimpse of an elegant young woman in a black dress striding across the far side of the dance floor. 

    Ekaterina’s cascade of blonde hair shimmered as she passed the dim lights on the colonnades. Her stride was confident but at the same time languorous as she approached the center of the dance floor. It was 1:30 a.m. Edward sat hunched in a dark corner, enjoying the alcohol haze that heightened the moment’s pleasure. He swirled what little was left of his third drink. He gazed at the woman and the exquisite way she moved. He gulped the last bit of bourbon, but his aim was slightly off.  He sat staring at the woman, completely unaware of the trickle running down his chin, dripping down his neck, and wandering onto his rumpled tie and unbuttoned collar. His Argentine colleague, Doctor Maxmiliano Argueta, noticed Edward’s inattention to his drink and rapt attention to the woman. Argueta smiled to himself.

   “I see you have an eye for that woman, the blonde, Doctor Freedman?”

   Edward was deaf to his friend’s comment. He sat mutely, focused on the woman, straining to hear every click of her heel echo on the hardwood floor. Argueta realized Freedman did not hear what he said. A woman like Ekaterina, he thought, has the power to turn men’s heads just by walking across the room. Just wait until my friend sees her dance, he chuckled to himself.

Ekaterina glided to a stop in the center of the dance floor. She extended her hand gracefully to a handsome, silver-haired gentleman, a partner she had chosen. Now in the center of the floor and out of the shadows, Edward could see that she was very much younger than he expected. Mid-twenties, he guessed. Her partner had to be at least twice her age, perhaps fifty. Yes, about fifty years old, he noted.  It happened to be his own age.

   He gazed at her dress, black, in stark contrast to her pale white shoulders. It was as elegant as the way she moved— stunningly, confidently. It was perfectly fitted, with a provocative, plunging neckline. Edward stared at the woman, lost in the moment.

   Argueta tapped on Freedman’s arm to get his attention. He intended to brag that he knew the woman and, in fact, had danced with her. Edward was not to be distracted. He watched the couple entwine slowly and intimately, leaning into each other until forehead touched forehead. The rustling of bodies and the clinking of glasses of onlookers faded to silence. 

   The band conductor raised his baton.

   Dr. Freedman's gaze was fixed on the two of them, Vincenzo Petruzzi and Ekaterina, noticing every move, every detail. As the bandoneon whispered a dreamy rumor in a minor key, the two swayed several beats and then stepped into la ronda, the circular current of dancers that flowed around the floor, pulsing with the music.

   Edward’s life took a turn the night in Buenos Aires when he first saw Ekaterina Ivanova and Vincenzo Petruzzi dance together.