Scissor Me Timbers!

The next abomination is coming, in buckets, to a convent near you.

Lesbionest, I’ve very subtly hinted at my next work, but for those who haven’t heard. . .Scissor Me Timbers is coming. I promised nunspoitation, sapphic horror, and campy toxic masculinity in a toxically feminine cloister. Welp, the Uhaul is packed full of bad lesbian jokes, sensational stereotypes, and every single nun-inflicted micro-aggression I can muster. All jokes aside, I hold this one close to my heart because it was born out of such serendipity that I had to see if I could pull it off. Now 3 chapters in...I am loving the tone, the humor, and the challenge of making it dampen a few basements.

I am up for the challenge both as a new writer showing my range but also to prove to myself that I am not a one trick pony. I can do more than just kill drag queens after a shady exchange…right? We shall soon see! One thing that I am noting so far tho. . .my mind loves a random background disembodied voice. So expect that to be a staple in all my work. It’s my love note to the voices in my head that say random things that would make life more entertaining. Like wouldn’t it be funny if someone just yelled out “Your baby fell” randomly in a grocery store. That’s not funny, thats horrible. Yet my brain has the laugh tracks cued for it.

Anyhoo enough about startled babies on the floor, let’s talk about a lesbian lumberjack and the nun folds she’ll be splitting. Paulina Bunyan (yes. I heavily sighed too.) is a vampy, butch lumberjill who downs as many trees as she does the ladies. One eventful evening, she agrees to meet up with a prospective ex-girlfriend-to-be at her town’s popular watering hole. A bar that’s known for all of the female Suburu owner patrons (wink wink). Well it just so happens...Paulina has slept with most of them. Shots happen (vodka that is) and she’s left drunken, befuddled, and a little too close to one of the many cliffs overlooking canopies of trees in the PNW. That’s probably all I should give away for now but I thought I would offer a snippet of what happens the next day at a veiled convent hidden among the timbers. Enjoy. 🤗

The vestibule doors burst open, spilling with it howls of wind and the cloistered nuns.

“Mother Superior! Come at once!”

“There’s been an accident!”

“It’s a girl, she needs medical attention!”

“Saints be praised!”

The sensational affectations of her flock tugged at Mother’s sparse mustache hairs. The monochrome mother hen entered the grand hall unruffled, to attend to her waddle of panicked penguin chicks. The nimble sisters had fashioned a make-shift stretcher out of a tarp and fallen tree limbs. Mother Superior beamed with pride at her self-sustaining faction of femme formidables. Emelie and Agatha panted, slowly lowering the impromptu gurney between them. The joy dripped off Mother’s face in sheets, revealing a curdled scowl.

“Please help her Mother! She’s at Death’s door!” wailed Sister Agatha.

Mother Superior bustled around, begrudgingly pinching the unconscious’ wrist between her thumb and forefinger.

“Settle down Sister Agatha. How many times have I warned you that your histrionics will be the death of you?” quipped Mother as she assessed the reflexes of the fallen angel.

Sister Agatha gasped, stifling her hammering hyperventilations.

The novitiates, Sister Tatiana and Sister Bernadette hastily tripped into the hall to investigate the commotion as well.

“Where ever did you find this…specimen sisters?” Mother’s eyes scanned the scantily clad convalescent lumberjack. “Is it raining prostitutes? Was the Devil having a costume party and one escaped?”

The surrounding nuns broke from their concerned cries to snicker and stare. Mother Superior examined Paulina’s skin for injury, noting only a few surface wounds aside from the massive head lump. Before she released her hand, she noted the calloused palms and the shortened middle/ring finger nails with an arched eyebrow. Mother folded Paulina’s hands over one another and attempted to button her undone top to no avail. Her eyes traveled and traced Paulina’s full flannel fun-bags struggling behind the knotted fabric. The view polluted her thoughts and fluttered the butterflies beneath her bustle.

“Sister Ophelia, fetch us a prayer cloth! This is a convent, not a dairy farm.” Mother Superior caught herself. “And we are not an infirmary either sisters.”

She stood and stared daggers down at the sleeping beauty, her collar steaming with arousal and distain.

Sister Emelie sliced through her cognitive dissonance, “We have to get her to a hospital! She could be seriously injured.”

As if on cue by an impetuous but omnipotent author, Paulina’s eyes fluttered and danced behind her droopy lids. The sisters erupted and rejoiced, much to the chagrin of the Queen Mother.

“I will see to her injuries Emelie.” Mother sighed. “I’ve seen much worse. Until then just…put…her…in Sister Barbara’s quarters. She may stay until our sister returns from her pilgrimage, or until we can get her into town.” The flock began to cluck amongst one another. “This disturbance is not to detract this order from its itinerary. I will not stand for disruptions under my watch. Is that understood sisters?”

The cluster of nuns worked together to get their patient upright and led her down the hallway to the dormitories.

Mother Superior stared down at the beaten tarp and the trail of dirt left behind.

“I just hope the bitch is housebroken.”

Scissor Me Timbers will be blaspheming the streets and tantalizing the townspeople very soon. Start saying your prayers now, for these violent delights will have violent ends. Keep a mop on hand.

Passive-aggressively Yours,

Phrique