Daily Archives: January 17, 2017

She has a name:

Old Mabel had trouble getting to sleep. She kept thinking of poor Snowmanster and Spongebub and Snowbob. She decided to teleport back to the room where it happened. She simply typed “Ask” to find the location. Interesting.

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“That woman over there must have seen it all,” she says while within. “Ma’am, are you alive?” No answer.

“What’s she staring at?” Old Mabel moved her camera angle behind the slut’s head.

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“The drink machine? Hmmm, no drinks within.”

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Then it dawned on Old Mabel as the sun sphere touched the horizon. Opening!

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Mum’s the word.

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“This is the greater me,” explained Tin S. Man to little yellow Spongebub perched on the edge of The Table. It’s a square.

“Bahahahaha!” screeched Spongebub.

“Not an appropriate place to laugh — again.”

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“And in the very next post — here let me click through — we have this.”

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“That lady!” exclaimed Spongebub.

“Yes. When Mr. Keat Owens pays a visit to you tomorrow, you *do not* know this, um, lady. You erase her memory from your mind. Do you understand? Snowmanster’s existence depends on it. Your wife’s very existence, I said. We can save her through careful collaging, but you have to help us. The detective — Mr. Keat Owens again — cannot make the connection between the two. He must remain in the dark. Do you *understand* Mr. Squarepants?”

Spongebub laughs again.

I hope to hell this works, is all Tin S. Man could think.

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Brenda 01

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(continued in)

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Bogota 08?

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“It’s a shame about Snowbob’s mother. Surely he knows, along with the father.”

“They know that she’s on assignment in Corsica, Old Mabel, and something has happened. Mr. Owens just came from Corsica and the sim in question.”

“I did. I just got information that I may not be returning,” spoke the chef/detective. “The filly I was tailing got wind of my investigation and set sail in the middle of the night. I may be staying here a bit longer than I planned. But the new mystery has got its claws in me now. It’s that book.” He pulled the stained slip of paper out of his pocket and opened it in Baker Bloch’s direction. “Pill,” he repeated. Baker Bloch could clearly see the word. It was the third time he had shown it to him. Yes, his interest was certainly piqued. “In the wine,” he added. “Wine,” he emphasized.

“Yeah, we’ve known something odd was going on (in that direction) for a long, long time Mr. Owens — Kenny. I might as well start calling you Kenny since you may be staying with us a while. The main question for now is: why did the giant female show up in the middle of the sim in question and play a game of roshambo with the tiny Minoan who is now Old Mabel’s good friend? Then why did that somehow open up a door or window or something into the place beside the motel you were staying in and allow (us) a glimpse into the firey death of Snowbob’s poor mother caused by this Jerome fellow? Who is Jerome T. Newton? He’s obviously a killer. Then there’s the burnt-to-a-crisp cow across Robin Lane.”

“I’ll talk with the giant,” said Old Mabel, sitting on the floor between the two and still staring up at the newest Bogota collage, at its central Snowmanster and what might have been. Christmas. “She’s got a name, by the way: Brenda. Jiff — the tiny Minoan you speak of — and Brenda are friends.” More than friends she almost said, but decided not to reveal that whole story yet. So big and so small. How does that work? she asked herself yet again.

Kenny yawned and stretched his arms. “I guess I better head back over to Collagesity North and get some shut eye now; have to get up early for the interviews with Snowbob and his father. ‘Preciate you showing me around the galleries tonight. Weird I’m in them. I know more. I must digest.”

Goodnights all around after that, with Baker Bloch and Old Mabel remaining in front of the newly hung Bogota 08 as Kenny teleports downstairs.

“He knows too much,” said Baker to the Martian.

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