Every Turtle Has His Day

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Relaxing on the beach with a magazine and a cold glass of juice was Master Roshi’s preferred method of killing time between breakfast and lunch. His thumb brushed across the face of the micro band. What was the point in being able to shrink if there were no hotties to spy on?

Returning inside, he found a partially-butchered eel on the counter lying in a pool of blood. Chopped vegetables had been sorted into bowls; a pot of dashi was simmering on the stove. Several portions of eel were already grilling on skewers laid across wooden planks over an open fire. Launch had used binchoutan to feed the flames. The kitchen was redolent of soy sauce and cilantro. As the waves went out again, memories of the past returned with unexpected force.

from the Great Buddha’s

great nose, a swallow comes

gliding out

Master Mutaito had been fond of Issa for his wit and humorous obsession with trivial subjects. Often, he had recited the poet’s haiku to Roshi at supper.

Four blackened skewers lay next to a cutting board, scraps of meat yet clinging to the wood. He swiped a piece of eel from over the fire and scarfed it down, not minding the flavor. Wondering when it would be lunchtime, Roshi peered down the hall and noticed the bathroom door was shut.

A spike of adrenaline warmed his flesh. Without thinking, his fingers moved to the micro band. Seconds later, he slid under the door like a cat on ice.

Steam spilling out from the shower had half-swallowed Launch’s figure.

“Oh my, that’s just not right!” she squeaked, flushing the toilet. “I’ve made a mess of myself!”

With disgust, the woman cast aside her white panties. Eagerly did the turtle hermit soar towards them, until he felt a splatter of liquid slap him across the cheek. The panties hit the floor with a squelch, and diarrhea gushed out like oozing lava.

He raised a hand to his beard, gagging. Launch’s bra landed in front of him. The shower door opened, and once more, his blood ran hot. But as he took a step towards her, he felt a sharp twist in his stomach, and then another, and then several more in quick succession. He barely had time to jump onto the toilet before it all came spilling out in brown, watery squirts.

Though food poisoning tends to put a damper on sexual urges, Roshi nonetheless pinched his nose, lest he bleed out before his bowels emptied.