SISTERS OF ST. ROCK BACKSTORIES (AND OTHER TALES)

 

 

So, I heard what Kunto said.  Very brave of him. Now, allow me to return the favor. So, since we're sharing secrets tonight…Kunto, the great mastermind, invites me to a campfire in the wild. Stars, crickets, the whole postcard. Only… he forgets one tiny detail: fire. But Kunto, in his infinite confidence, just puffs out his chest like some budget Tarzan and goes: “Don’t worry, Leti’. I’ve got this.” And then he starts rubbing sticks together. Yes, this man decides he’s going to invent fire from scratch. Twenty minutes of grunting, sweating, muttering motivational quotes to the sticks. “Come on, feel the friction!” like he was flirting with them. And you know what? Miraculously, he gets a spark. His face lights up like he’s just split the atom. He actually yells, “Did you see that? I made fire!” But then the spark hits some leaves, and suddenly it’s apocalypse now. Flames everywhere. He panics, grabs the nearest bottle to put it out. Was it water? No. It was vodka. So instead of kil...

Kunto clears his throat again, grins at the guests, and says: Alright, let me reframe the whole scene for you… so Olimpia goes into the bank to see the notary. Very official business: papers, signatures, real estate, she’s basically rewriting history in there. Meanwhile, I’m outside, waiting in the car like her personal getaway driver. After two hours, the doors fly open. Olimpia charges out like she’d just conquered Wall Street single-handedly, eyes locked on what she thinks is my car. Without breaking stride, she yanks the door open and slides into the passenger seat like she owns it. Here’s the problem: not my car. It’s the car of a married couple. The husband is still in the driver’s seat, totally frozen, mid-phone call. His jaw drops, because out of nowhere, a glamorous stranger has just thrown herself into his life. He’s like, ‘Uh… hello?’ Meanwhile, his wife has just finished at the bancomat. She turns around, cash in hand, and sees this vision of Olimpia settling comfortably in...

Kunto clears his throat, smirking. He knows that what he’s about to say will probably get him killed before he even says: 'I do'. “Alright, you’re not ready for this, neither was I, but here we go... It’s 2AM. House silent. No lights. I wander into the kitchen... and there she is. Letizia. The same Letizia who swears she hates sweets, who spits at the word ‘darling,’ who insists sugar is weakness. The woman who brags her favorite flavor is blood and violence. And yet… what do I see? Her silhouette, hunched over the counter like Gollum... only instead of clutching a ring, she’s shoveling tiramisu straight from the tray. With a serving spoon. Mascarpone dripping, cocoa smeared across her lips like a crime scene. This legendary warrior of chaos, this self-proclaimed enemy of sugar… undone by dessert. I whisper, ‘You good?’ She spins around. Eyes wild. Points the dripping spoon at me like a dagger and growls: ‘You saw nothing. This never happened.’ And in that moment, I realized: h...

  “One missing ring. One furious storm. Zero survivors (except the coffee machine).”   '' Contains 100% Arabica. And 200% Violence.'' Singapore — 15:02 15:02: My engagement ring is no more. It’s expired. Gone to meet its maker . Letizia’s engagement ring? Dead. Kaput. Popped its clogs and yeeted itself straight into the void. Enter Letizia. Not  walks in —she  detonates  into the room. Her voice lands first, three seconds before her body, like an air raid siren duct-taped to a Harley. Then the storm hits: chairs scrape, mugs fly, and somebody’s dignity gets decapitated on impact. “What the actual hell is this circus?” she roars, scattering crew like pigeons at a bus station. Listen—if the ring had been gelato, sure, I’d get it. Gelato melts, people panic, accidents happen. But this was metal. Silver. With a coffee bean and a diamond in it. Bulletproof. Unless you’re cursed. Or stupid. Or both. So tell me—which one of you feral, caffeine-guzzling lunatics did it?...

Letizia and Olimpia had a whole notebook of “potential family upgrades,” and “Vinum Est Veritas” was, hilariously, the least dangerous one. Still enough to scandalize the family for an entire summer season. "Leti’, do you remember when we were, what—sixteen? And decided my family needed more laughter and Chianti?" Olimpia grinned, tossing a lazy glance her way. "One month after we met—just thirty days of reckless obsession, and suddenly we were plotting a heraldic coup." And plot they did. They actually replaced the Colonna Aldobrandi Normanni di Anguillara Sabazia family motto with: "Vinum Est Veritas. Etiam in Mane."    Wine is truth. Even in the morning. “We spent an entire weekend trying to pick it,” Olimpia nudged Letizia’s knee, smirking. “Remember? That scroll of fake Latin mottos—voting like it was Eurovision.” Letizia laughed. “We were so serious. Like, ‘This is history in the making.’ I still have the shortlist somewhere...” - “Semper Late, Sempe...

  The Official Groupie Application – v2.1  Curated by Kunto. For Quality Control Purposes Only.   Name: Julian Breeze   Nickname: “The Gentleman Nomad”   Email: cleansteps@checkmate.org   Height: 181 cm   Weight: 78 kg   Energy Level:   ☑ Moderate (but claims he's “unstoppable after 6 AM jogs and samba warm-ups”)   Haircut:   ☑ Crisp and calculated (like his chess strategy)     Who is your hairdresser?   ☐ Mum   ☐ Dog groomer   ☐ Edward Scissorhands   ☐ Famous Stylist   ☑ Cheap Stylist who gives post-shampoo affirmations     Personal Hygiene – How often do you wash?   ☐ Only at Christmas   ☐ When I go to the beach   ☐ 1 to 3 times per week   ☑ 1 to 3 times per day (and brags about it like it’s a superpower)     Favorite Games (choose all that apply):   ☐ Poponopoli   ☐ Twister   ☐ Hide a...

  The Official Groupie Application – v2.1  Curated by Kunto. For Quality Control Purposes Only.     Name: Brad Flexington  Nickname: “Big B” / The Mirror Whisperer   Email: proteinlover190@flexmail.com   Height: 190 cm   Weight: 89 kg of pure gym ego   Energy Level:   ☑ Moderate (unless there’s a mirror nearby—then it spikes)   Haircut:   ☑ Cow-licked elegance (claims it's “Italian stallion vibes”)     Who is your hairdresser?   ☐ Mum   ☐ Dog groomer   ☐ Edward Scissorhands   ☐ Famous Stylist   ☑ Cheap Stylist who also sells protein bars     Personal Hygiene – How often do you wash?   ☐ Only at Christmas   ☐ When I go to the beach   ☐ 1 to 3 times per week   ☑ 1 to 3 times per day (and always drenched in cologne that says “I’m here before you even see me”)   Favorite Games (choose all that apply): ...

Tatiana had one job: surprise Hazel. Not rocket science. Just show up unannounced, kiss her wife, win all the points. To plan it, she contacted Green. Innocently. Strategically. “I am comiiiiiiiiiing,” she texted, hoping to coordinate behind Hazel’s back. But alas... not all secret missions survive the Green filter. Green, in a moment of pure cosmic confusion (24/7) and distracted by thoughts of another woman with a similar name, replied with absolute enthusiasm: “Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh faster .... finally I can kiss my bitch!” Oops. Realizing the accidental exposure, Green’s meltdown was swift and theatrical: “Oh no... what have I done?! I replied to you by mistake,?! Hazel's going to kill me, I just know it. It wasn’t on purpose, it was just... enthusiasm! Please, don’t tell her—no wait, you already did, didn’t you? I’m doomed. Tell her I’m sorry. Deeply sorry. Also... still laughing. But in fear!” Tati’s dry reply? “I only wrote to you so you wouldn’t tell Hazel abo...

  The Official Groupie Application – v2.1 Curated by Kunto. For Quality Control Purposes Only.  Name: Noah Surname: Twist Email:  noahtwist@outoflook.com Height: 168 cm Weight: 94 kg Energy Level: ☑ Low — like a sloth in a hammock (tested on a real circus machine and failed 0/10) Haircut Style: ☑ Done by Mum (with kitchen scissors) ☐ Dog groomer special ☐ Edward Scissorhands original ☐ Famous Stylist ☐ Cheap Stylist who accepts coupons and baked goods Personal Hygiene – How often do you wash? ☐ Only at Christmas  ☐ When I go to the beach and the waves do most of the work ☑ 1 to 3 times per week (so Mum doesn’t worry) ☐ 1 to 3 times per day ☐ 1 to 3 times per month — self-lubricating skin Favorite Games (tick all that apply): ☑ Monopoly ☐ Card Games ☐ Twister  ☐ Bocce game (no double meaning intended) ☐ Billiards ☐ Hide and Seek ☐ Ring-around-the-rosy  Humor Evaluation (Mandatory): Q: Tell us a joke. A m...

  Kunto had returned home with all the grace of a stray cat who’d just discovered he now owned two food bowls, a luxury couch, and a shared wife. On paper, the three-way marriage with Letizia and Olimpia looked like a shimmering beacon of modern, enlightened polyamory. It wasn’t new territory — back in the day, Kunto, Olimpia, and Letizia had played a civilized game of “if I don’t see it, it doesn’t exist.” But after months away, the chill, do-whatever-you-want husband was no more. While dodging international chaos, Kunto kept one eye glued to scandal blogs. Every time he saw “Letizia,” “Olimpia,” and “unexplained noises” in the same headline, he aged five years. His imagination filled in the rest — always with him missing out. And now that he was back, the jealous worm in his chest had grown teeth. So, on one of those window-rattling stormy nights, Green Peace — as usual — had taken shelter in the warmest place available: Olimpia’s thighs. [Backstage,  some days before the ce...

  Statement prepared and read by Hazel Nuss, Independent Legal Counsel and Unbiased, Incorruptible Witness to the Newlyweds In the heart of the arid Desert, where ancient secrets whisper with the wind, an extraordinary… union  unfolds. ( we can say union, the word is legally accurate. ) Kunto, Letizia, and Olimpia have you come together? — by your own choice? — agreeing on a mutually beneficial pact that will, with some luck, not end in blood, scandal, or spontaneous duels?  (Letizia might still consider them a bonus and say ''no'') In this  celebration of chaos, passion, and unbreakable bonds, today these three defy convention, pledging their lives together once again amidst swirling sands and mysterious coffee beans rites. This triad vows not only —" ( Hazel pauses dramatically, then furtively spells out the word 'love' in sign language, glancing sideways to make sure Letizia isn’t watching ) "— but also survival in a world as unpredictable a...

  Before the International Court of Sentimental Affairs (Division of Temporary Deaths) "Honourable judges, my client, Mr. Kunto Balle, was never truly dead... technically speaking. He was merely engaged in a covert operation that required his temporary removal from all official records of existence. Therefore, the death certificate must be deemed null and void, as should the dissolution of his marriages to Ms. Olimpia and Ms. Letizia. According to Article 42-bis of the Popomundian Affection Code, Section 7, ‘temporary vital suspension shall not constitute sufficient grounds for bond dissolution if the individual returns within 999 days of the presumed departure.’ I therefore petition this Court to immediately reinstate both marriages, retroactively, and to grant my client the right to a welcome-back kiss and a quick espresso, as provided under the Popomundian Marital Protocol in cases of unexpected resurrection.” Witnesses for the defence: Grand Master of the Cult of the Mismatche...

  it wasn’t really our place yet. We’d just rented a cheap little basement — nothing fancy. Olimpia took the bed that night, used to the comforts of her parents’ home. I wasn’t about to argue, since she was the one footing the bill. She’d said: You can take the couch, but tomorrow you’ll wake up in my bed anyway. Cocky. Annoying. Correct. And no—it wasn’t for the reason you’re picturing. But sure, believe what you want. I’m not here to ruin your cheap imagination. Back then, we weren’t a couple. Not yet. But if you’re waiting for the spoiler—yeah, after that night things got real hot. No slow burn, no awkward flirting. Just two explosions in a small room and suddenly, there was no going back. Olimpia was neat, methodical, the human embodiment of a metronome. Sheet music lined up like soldiers, pens all standing at attention in a glass. Me? I lived in piles. Piles of clothes. Piles of ideas. Piles of trouble. Yet somehow, our worlds clicked—like two puzzle pieces tha...