Daily Archives: December 12, 2024

00450207

Who is the hatted giant on the edge of the Badlands screaming his lungs out when summoned by a certain succession of loudly whistled notes?

Does he also have a burning crotch like our similarly screaming Burning Man 02 seen earlier in this here photo-novel? Or in danger of self combustion like BM 01 from that same post back there? Or does he just not like the tune? Maybe the mystery lies in it instead. Maybe, if we were also a giant trapped on the edge of a cyperpunk distopia, we would also not appreciate the whincily high pitched tune imposed on us; would be painful to our ears. Is it Barry Manilow like for this poor fellow in Hell from the 80s British comedy series “The Young Ones”?

Just random thoughts. Could be wrong on everything, including even the appearance of the giant in the first place. Might be just one of those desert mirages. Could be photoshopped. Could be a real giant but in a different, “edge” location, maybe even up in the real world as opposed to the virtual one down here (Hell too?). We’ll see if he figures into these here photo-novels ever again. Only then might we be sure.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0207, C2077, 0045, Badlands

00450206

He said to meet him at the Andrew Johnson Basketball Courts and that they had to talk about the worst president of our country ever. I thought I knew who he was referencing because of the courts’ name and all but the answer surprised me. Roslyn (sp?) Carter. Carter? No, Meyers. Got my presidents and their wives confused. Like thinking Roslyn C. was married to former president Ronald R. instead of her own man. Lavender got in my way. “Tailor,” he said about the president. Are we sure we’re not talking about the first guy I was thinking of? I thought. “(Tailor… ) *made* for the job,” he then finished his sentence, interrupted for a cough. Had a chance to smoke out here in the great outdoors, taking advantage of it. “Tailor… *made*?” I parroted, then waited for his reaction. He was coughing again. Between hacks, he managed to admit that he hadn’t smoked any cigs since last Thursday’s Tuesday and that it had been a long stretch of inside work since then. Nonstop. “Just like I use to smoke nonstop on my old job as an outdoor patrolman,” he wheezed. Then he squeezed out, “We have to get to Meyers,” which I took as: this has to be the focus of our conversation now. But he couldn’t stop coughing after this. Clearly we couldn’t talk here. He gave me an address for later.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0045, 0206, C2077, Doggtown