Daily Archives: June 10, 2018


From his perch atop Pimushe Island, zebra-donkey Zettie Lamont laments the recent loss of the undifferentiated mini coop from nearby Fisher’s Isle down below because he knows it means the beginning of the end for his beloved New Island.

He also laments the loss of his Uncle Zippers in the island’s short but bloody ’92 war between The Actors and The Observers, and often trots over to Flossie’s in the Leon sim to complain to former soldier and current couch potato Norris about it.

“Get off your striped ass and do something!” he might sprayingly bray into the bleached man’s face during any one visit. He’s earned that right.

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foundation 02

Fisher and Bendy or Lord Bendington returned to the place of their rebirth, wondering if the pink mini coop was in good enough shape to be driven around the island. They had a lot of ground to cover now what with running New Island Studios and visiting all those galleries. Or potential galleries. Reliable wheels would be nice.

“Hey Fisher,” Bendy said in his standard gruff tone, staring beyond the car.”

“Hey Lord Bendington,” Fisher replied playfully in an innocent monotone.

“Do *you* remember that island over there? I don’t.”

Fisher admitted it was all just a blur for him when they resurfaced to the, um, surface, but knew LB, being a robot, would have a more accurate memory imprint of the event. At least now that he’s back in the Elephant Club.

“A new island,” Lord Bendington said almost religiously. “‘Nother one.”

“How many does that make?” Fisher queried. “We need to start *eliminating* them instead of adding to the total.”

“I *know*.”

“We should name it for the sim instead. Not New Island or New New Island or whatever this time.”

“Good one!” A satisfied Bendy sits in the car. “Hop in. Let’s see what this baby’s still got!”

“Um. Bendy?”

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“You should really get something for that itch, Shirley,” spoke Ruby to her new friend while posing on an effigy of island legend Jim Turtle at sunrise, not far behind Bumpy’s Ice Cream Village. “Sand fleas don’t really seem to be bothering anyone else around here that I know of.”

“I think it’s actually a sexual thing. I’ll be 13 in two week; coming of age you know. I look at men — differently now.”

Ruby decides to open up a bit more about a related topic. “My Aunt Annie is looking at men different now too.”

Shirley scratches her left underarm. “What do you mean?” The tomgirl was secretly wondering how old Ruby was and hoping she would tell her, along with also talking about how she feels around boys now. Shirley was guessing: about 15. Old enough to know a lot more than her on the subject.

“Oh… she just looks at them like, I don’t know, *objects* now. Pieces of art.”

“Like the stuff we just saw?”

Ruby considered this, thinking back to Smelly Santy, Tronesisia, and the rest at API. “Yeah, I guess it’s not too much different. No Hazel tonight thankfully. Thank you for coming with me.”

Shirley was scratching the top of her hinny now. “No problem, my fellow New Islander. *Lady* New Islander. We girls here must stick together. Against all those men.”

Ruby knew what she meant. Objects, hmph. Like we were made of plasticine or something. Movable, bendable toys. Annie was just joining the crowd, doing what Romans do or whatever the expression was. She was falling into the rhythm and beat of the land, Ruby then thought and was pleased she came up with the phrasing. “Do you think this island has a pulse?” Ruby tried to reword it in better terms. “You know, like a, um, fundamental *tone*?” Ruby rolls over on the turtle and looks directly at Shirley Boot now, gauging her expression, the green terrain of what would later be known as Pimushe Isle jutting out of the sea in the background.

“Sea,” Shirley then uttered out of the blue without consideration.


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