Bras, Calamari and a random reference to Charles Lutwidge Dodgson.

Here's the fun thing. Warden Bong and I go back a ways, a long ways. It may come as a surprise for some that this was, in fact, the first time I was a guest in her prison facility.

Warden Bong was a Mamarilian. Mamarilian's are a race that possess fifteen breasts and their undergarments are coveted throughout the known and unknown universes.The footfalls that were approaching my cell belonged to Bong and she wanted her bra back. I'm was not giving it back.

Mamarilian Bras are quite astonishing in so far as they possess a kind of sentience and adjust themselves to suite their wearer, whether it be the one breasted Tyglots of Edisped or, two breasted types like myself to the very Mamarilian's that created them. They are also exceptionally beautiful in their craftsmanship. The bra that formerly belonged to Bong is adorned with tiny intricate knots, bows and buttons. It is the only one of it's kind and I was not giving it back.

"I heard a sound, one so familiar, one so missed over all these years." Bong's voice reverberated down the hall. "I heard a sound and remembered all of the fun we used to have at the beach in Duningals. You and I used to glide in the water together until we exhausted ourselves. We used to lay on the beach and look at the stars, and you would tell me about all of the places you'd been and you oh so gently licked by breasts."

So, yes, the Warden and I were at one point in time, quite intimate with one another.

"And then," Her voice was closer now, "And then, you left and took my favorite bra with you."

She'd reached the cell door, standing tall in the dim lighting. She was as beautiful now as she was then. Pale white hair, bright orange eyes and three rows of five perfect pert C-cups.

I was born with some sense of shame, and then, seeing her again, I felt the tiniest glimmer of said shame. I shrugged, "It was something to remember you by?" It was a really tiny tiny glimmer.

She sighed, "I always knew you would leave." Then she opened the cell door and stood aside. "Come with me."

The weirdness of the day was continuing to build. I knew the most important thing any being should know about Mamarilians. They are a little passionate, okay, a lot passionate, basically what I'm saying is that if you ever plan on seeing a Mamarilian again, you should not irritate them, even a little bit. They react...strongly. Because I knew this, Bong's calm demeanor was...fucking terrifying.

Because of this, I obediently followed Bong down the hall and did my best to avoid stepping the random slithering Querlicks that were cleaning the floor. I had landed on an entire colony of them when Ned so graciously dumped me in the cell. The upside was that my shirt was no longer ruined. The downside was that I would never be eating Calamari again, ever. Having thousands of little cleanliness obsessed squid violate your clothing and your body diminished my taste for the dish.

The silence between us became oppressive as we walked down the hall. I decided to break it in the most graceless way possible. "So, how have you been."

Bong stopped walking and shot me a glare so caustic that I developed burns. Okay not really, but that's certainly what it felt like. She was pissed and I was probably going to die. And I hoped very strongly at that moment that where ever he was, Ned was getting violated by heavily armed three headed wombats.

"I'm sorry isn't going to help here, is it?" I asked.

Her shoulders slumped and she sighed again, "If you meant it, yes."

The glimmer of shame was building. They are passionate, yes. But they are also gentle, fun loving and compassionate. She had loved me. And I was, honestly sorry for hurting her. "I am...sorry."

"Enough to give me back my bra?" She asked.

I wouldn't go that far.

She shook her head and a brief smile skipped across her lips. "I'll make you a deal, Collector." She said as she opened the door to her office. My eyes, my face and then my whole damn body were drawn to an item on her desk.

"You recognize it?"

Of course I recognized it, I'd been wanting it since the great Timelord Charles Lutwidge Dodgson told me about it.

"The Mad Hatter's Hat." I said with no small amount of awe.

"He's escaped."

That was bad news for everyone in the known and unknown universes.

"So you help me capture him," Bong continued, "And I let you live and keep the bra."

That was a great deal! Unfortunately my TARDIS wasn't around and I doubted that he would come when I called.

None the less, a plan started to form in my mind. "Warden," I smiled, "you have yourself a deal."

Check out the blog that started it all  http://madtimelord.blogspot.com/

For the Love of Froth and Adirondack Chairs.

Be it now and forever known that I love frou frou caffeinated beverages. Plain old coffee leaves me cold, but, if you make it extra strong, add milk and the occasional caramel flavoring, I will be your devoted servant for as long as it takes me to finish said cup of goodness.

In lieu of someone graciously giving me a cup of divine nectar, I will make my own. I happened in to the possession of a very special Cappuccino machine once owned by Benito Mussolini and was one of the first such machines ever made. It was given to the ill-fated dictator on his 54th birthday by a mid-ranking German official named Helmut Kastner. I will note, primarily as a historical anecdote, that Herr Kastner was killed some months later by Goat that had eaten Herr Kastner's entire store of Espresso Beans. The fact that Mussolini himself also met with a gruesome fate should not reflect poorly on the Cappuccino Machine. The machine is damned for a completely different reason.

I was on my way to Seattle Washington, more specifically May 23rd, 1973 the date Bill Gates graduated from High School. He would grow up to become a businessman of some note on Earth, but that isn't really important. I was after his Adirondack chair, and since everyone was off attending his graduation, this was the perfect time for me to snag it. It wasn't just any Adirondack chair, it was a Wesport Chair made by Harry Bunnell. Now this chair may be of little consequence to every other being in the known and unknown universes, but to me it was vitally important. I did not have one and that was unacceptable. In a few years, Mister Gates would be more than able to purchase another one. No harm, no foul.

As Narinne and I traveled gently through the vortex I decided to make a nice Cappuccino while I read "Parsing the New Economic Model". I happened upon this article while acquiring an aquarium from a dentist's office in Schenectady New York sometime in 2012. The Cappuccino machine purred quietly in the background for a couple of minutes before it exploded.

I was not expecting an explosion of such force, all right, I wasn't expecting an explosion AT ALL.

There was froth everywhere and my favorite Rolling Stones T-Shirt was completely ruined! And Narinne...she was unhappy. I grabbed a towel and started wiping her down as froth was beginning to seep into her Gravitic Anomalizer.

As I finished cleaning up the foamy mess inside my console room Narinne's engines powered down and the main doors opened.

I could tell immediately that this was not Bill Gates' back yard.

The grass was pink, the sky was a violent shade of green and there was what appeared to be a brigade of heavily armed three headed wombats headed my way.  All said, my situation could have been worse. Still, I was not where I wanted to be and the wombats looked mightily annoyed.

I closed the doors and entered the coordinates of my desired destination. Narinne did not respond.

"Naider's Balls Narinne, work with me please."

"My name is Ned."

I stopped what I was doing and thought perhaps I should have a drink. My TTC has never actually spoken aloud to me and if she had, it would not have been in the voice of Dennis Haysbert, the American actor that does all of those insurance commercials and I honestly doubted that I was in good hands at that moment.

I swallowed hard. "Ned."

"Yes, Collector." It answered.

"Might I ask what happened to Narinne?"

"Narinne is me."

"But, you're Ned." None of this was making sense to me.

"I have always been Ned. I have always wanted to be Ned."

Apparently Cappuccino is a helluva drug.

It was at this time that the brigade of irritated three headed wombats started hurling themselves bodily against the exterior of my newly maled TTC. Why they didn't use their weapons was beyond me at that point but something I would muse upon later over a nice cup of....dammit!

"Okay Ned," I would play along. "We should probably leave. I was going to Seattle."

"I know, Collector, but stealing is wrong."

"Ned, now is not the time!" I snapped.

Upon reflection, yelling at my TTC at that specific point in our relationship was not the best choice I could have made. He fired up his engines, dematerialized and rematerialized a moment later inside the maximum security prison complex on Tsaderil Prime.

"I have a delivery for Warden Bong." His voice boomed as the main doors opened again and I was unceremoniously dumped out of my MY TARDIS and on to the slithering floor of Cell 27.

Ned dematerialized in front of my eyes as I heard slow squishing footfalls approaching my cell.