Category Archives: Fries with Cheese

July 15, 2018 · 7:43 am

giraffe

She was leaning so far over that I’m surprised her head wasn’t hitting the window pane in the back. But Nataly was doing a good job explaining the story so far. Let’s take a listen…

“Pen is the evolution of The Pencil, Dear Reader. And so our saga continues, just 4 long, long years later. New Island has become post-apocalyptic. What is the disaster that caused this? you should ask. Increase of sand, increase of terrain and elevation; increase of *The Wastelands*. The Tilers moved in first, took over the Fries with Cheese property downtown and destroyed the church. Hopefully we’ll get to the continuing challenges of basement dwellers Mrs. Fogg and Ms. Frame soon, thrown together for protection, food, and liberty. Young Shirley Boot ceases to be 12, but has progressed no further than the first day of her 13th year, frozen in time because of the… catastrophe — we’ll certainly get to that shortly. Not-so-young Ruby also remains middle-of-15, unable to transverse the ages 16 17 18 to reach the 19 she should be by this point. And Mabel: Mabel remains old but child-like. She’s taken to wearing her Hannah Montana outfit 24/7, and this is most likely the effects of the radiation as well — affecting her brains and not what. She’s remodeled Robot Derak Jones to become Robert Drake Johns, probably another symptom since he’s as lime green as her now. Ahh, now we get to Sally. For Sally is perhaps an even stranger one. Founder of New Yd, evolution of the Tilers, she now keeps watch on the Deep Dunes for sign of The Monster, who continues to roam New Island and where aging *is* effected. The Man in the High Castle makes sure of that. Perhaps we should join him and his current crew next for more answers. Thank you for listening, and have a super night!”

Nataly removed the mike from her long, long neck and stood up. “How was that David?”

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June 28, 2018 · 8:11 am

main

“A clown?” Mary exclaimed upon meeting the Good Rev. Amos T. Sandman yesterday at the Main Church of Cheese over in the Pond District. “No *wonder* you hate the Cult of Oo’d so much!”

“Indeed!” the Reverend exclaimed back. “*Now*. Which of the gateway gods do you choose to worship today?” He shields his mouth with his hand and says in a considerably lower voice: “Say fries, say fries.”

“Um. Fries I suppose.”

“Good choice!” the Reverend said, returned to shouting mode. “Please join Sister Deni Stew Moore at the appropriate side altar.” He waves to his right. “You have 8 minutes, then must yield to another. As you can see, for a Wednesday we have quite the crowd here, and more are filing in — everyone needs a turn. And the fries are a very popular warmup before the main course here at the Main. Enjoy!”

When Mary goes to the side altar to join a woman who’s apparently been totally cheesed (Mary had been warned about such staunch devotees), she found she couldn’t bend her knees in the proper, reverential fashion and merely had to sit upon the provided pose ball.

“Psst. Mary,” the cheese being next to her whispered out of the side of her curdled mouth. “It’s me. Bill.”

“Wheeler?”

She whispered again, more urgently. “Keep it down, keep it down. And address me as Bill from now on. I’m the queen after all.”

“Sure you are, Wheeler… Bill. But what’s this all about?”

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June 27, 2018 · 6:46 am

Darkly Manor

“Looks like no one’s coming to our little soiree, Osborne.” Pitch appears to listen to a nonexistent voice across the table from him, white hand to white ear. “What’s that? You forgot to send out the invitations to your 478th birthday?” Pitch settles back into his black widow chair. “Well, yeah I did, Osborne. Because I want to be alone with my thoughts tonight. And you my friend, with your batty, flying books, don’t count.”

Main problem: His wife Mary had gone with Martha Lamb to the *main* Fries with Cheese Church over in the Pond District to meet the higher ups, she said, seemingly so excited about the visit that Pitch’s birthday was forgotten. Oh well, he tried to rationalize. It wasn’t the 475th or the 480th or any of the important ones. Pitch himself forgot his 321st, 351st, 378th, 421st, and 457th. But having a wife is different; in his mind, he was thinking she was suppose to remind *him* of such occasions.

Did he do something to offend her? he wondered. Let’s see, her birthday is February 25th. Checks to that — he got her a nice bouquet of roses, red and blue both. 1st Date Anniversary — also a check. White lilies this time. At least a half dozen, he speculated. “Osborne,” he pipes up again, “you’re good with counting. How many lilies did I give Mary for our date anniversary?” He listens to the nonexistent voice again. “12, hmm. Twice as many as I remembered. See, there’s no reason for her to be pissed off at me. It *had* to be an oversight.”

But his thoughts turn again to Sister Martha Lamb, a person he did not trust one iota. Mary has had private counseling sessions with her up in that stinky church of hers and always came home acting a little weird to him, like a distance had formed between them. She was quite happy and content to accompany Pitch to the services at the Cult of Oo’d Church before the coming of Lamb and her Fries with Cheese intrusion next door. Sure she was disgusted and angry that time some of the sacrificial blood squirted her way and ruined one of her Sunday Best dresses. They don’t sit in the front pews any more; problem solved.

A knock at the front door downstairs. Pitch looks hopefully over at Osborne. Mary! he thought. Rushed home to apologize.

But it was “only” his good friend Woody Woodmanson from up the road, large present in hands. “I’m surprised you didn’t have a party,” his wooden comrade relayed to him after the handoff. You know how many friends you have in town. But I guess you and Mary probably just wanted to be alone, hehe.” He tried to nudge his friend in the ribs, but just swiped air. Woody was not the most coordinated of avatars

Afterwards:

“This is not what I expected Osborne. He’s always given me keys before.”

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June 26, 2018 · 6:43 am

proximate

2 days after Sister Martha Lamb hired Jack Richardson, son of Jack Richards, as a clerk at her Fries with Cheese branch church in Collagesity, he had to be let go. Constant sneezing, sniffing, and general unhealthy noises coming from his neighboring desk was the problem. Turns out he’s allergic to cheese, of all things. Looks like the Cult of Oo’d might have just picked up another devotee by default, unless the Maxites can steal him away. Whenever their status becomes official. For the moment, it’s just Ruby in Collagesity, but all that’s about to change. 3 times was the charm all along.

In the meantime, Martha Lamb remains covered up in paperwork.

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June 16, 2018 · 7:07 am

the “i” and the “y”

“We’re going to be here a long time. Aren’t we daddy?”

Angus didn’t know how to answer the pointed question by his daughter but he knew they were. The energy was just too strong here. Much more palpable than Obscure. True source revealed!

“It was those woods all along.” his daughter Ragdoll spoke again. “Wasn’t it?”

—–

When they had returned inside, Ragdoll asked her father if Rubi was spelled with a “y”, with a negative response coming back at her. Then who’s Ruby? she wonders afterwards. Misspelling? And why the attachment to the Max deity? She could sneak out of town and ask Max directly, she supposed, but that had become illegal thanks to Sister Martha Lamb. But… middle of the night. Who would be watching?

Sister Martha Lamb, that’s who.

—–

“Ssooo…,” Martha Lamb hissed from behind, startling her. “You’ve chosen Max (over the others). Looks like we’ll have to talk to the *Town Council* about *this*.”

And she hadn’t even received a clear answer to her question tonight.

—-

“Maybe (the graffiti) was all just some kind of elaborate trap set up by Lamb herself,” she theorized to her sister later back at their shared room in the Rubi trailer. She stopped typing in her journal and turned to face Indigo directly. “You’ve never talked to him. Have you?” Indigo just shrugs from her lying position in return. She’d almost always assumed the conversation between the two was just in Ragdoll’s head but rarely said anything about it out of politeness. Let the child have something to believe in, to hang her hat on, Indigo had thought down through the years now. We’re stuck in a trailer in the middle of nowhere. But, anyway, it was all leading up to this. The woods. The town. The religious battles between the Oo’dites, the Cheeseheads, and now, most likely, the Maxers who can’t be x-ed out. Ragdoll would soon turn 13. Old enough to know the truth. She will be initiated into the fold.

This is what Pot-D was about now: The woods. The town. And, of course, The Diagonal itself. Indigo will hide in the 125/125 tree tomorrow until the sun comes up. And she must remember to take Karl’s book with her for study and entertainment. Tinbaby, hrmph!

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June 13, 2018 · 8:34 am

external/internal

Facing threats to the south (Cult of Oo’d)…

… the east (Fal Mouth Moon)…

… the north (Stairs)…

… Sister Martha Lamb retreats into her fortress of cheese to worship the gateway gods. She chooses liquor tonight just to switch it up…

… but when fellow devotee Jack Richardson starts to sneeze and sniff beside her, she changes back to the standard fries on the opposite side of the prayer room.

Good ol’ fries. Never lets her down. Now if she could only stop stealing glances at Baker B.’s degenerate collages in the Fal Mouth Moon across the street and focus on the Great Cheese. That hand, that hand…

One worry: she’ll start to develop stigmata but of the wrong kind. Tell tale type.

It’s all leading somewhere but she doesn’t know where.

I might.

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June 5, 2018 · 6:14 am

The Max

Ragdoll was the first person to point out that if you stand atop the Stairs Gallery (still vacant as of this writing) and increase your draw distance to just over 300 meters, the almost totally white Max Statue will appear to the northeast. It then became sort of a fad to have impromptu parties there on Friday nights to celebrate the mysterious, 20 meter high deity perched atop the Second Lyfe Railroad in that direction. But Sister Martha Lamb quickly snuffed out any chance for the get-togethers to develop into yet another rival religion in town to her own. She declared it idol worshiping, and threatened to write the Lindens (rulers of our world) to have the statue torn down. The threat worked: either avatars moved over to Ragdoll’s old trailer park to continue worship (these numbered three: 30something couple Richard and Linda Abingdon, along with octogenarian Steve Barker), or people stayed in Collagesity and conveniently forgot all about it, including Ragdoll. After all, by this time she had a new boyfriend named Jerry Richardson to deal with, an older man himself and well into his 50s when they shared their first bowl of Bumpy’s ice cream purchased from the new Bodega Marketplace dessert bar. Yeah, Collagesity is doing just fine these days, and another religion may have muddied the spiritual waters too much. But Max remains there for all to see from Stairs, and — if you increase your draw distance to the, um, *max* (512 meters) — from about anywhere in town within eye shot actually. Long Live Max!


The eyes of Max.


Max: Second Lyfe RR in front; Great Wall in back.


Max above Angus Nuffin’s Blue Star Truck Stop.

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May 18, 2018 · 9:11 am

Lo point

“I am the 9th, Mary.”

“That’s great. Are we done (with the snapshot)? Let’s walk over to the insane asylum, if so. Let’s go see Adelaide.”

“Alice’s (Alices?) nowhere to be found. We reside in the Ukraine now. Russian is sooo yesterdays.”

“Let’s just *go*.”

“Oh all right,” Pitch Darkly relents and gets up to head westward. Into Russia territory again. New Island, pheh.

—–

The portal entrance to Lake Tethia. Pitch allows Mary to get all angley and fish for perch a moment, with immediate success.

She schemes to make a list of Pond District pools and their angling potentials. Would Pitch allow her to complete the project, though, given this is “Russian” territory now? And what’s *wrong* with her husband? Would he return to normal after all this “Number 9” stuff is done?

Unable to get through today, however — the property seems blocked. Did they do this specifically to keep Pitch out of their village? These Ruskies? He hates them now, whatever the actual facts.

Northern side here: he’s just not having much luck. Pitch black blocks him again.

He decides to teleport back home and try again another time. Mary, of course, follows him there. What a lamb.

—–

Later, in the consulting room at the Collagesity branch of Fries with Cheese…

“You must leave your husband. *Immediately*.”

“I’m over here,” the distressed Mary beckons.

“I’m sorry,” Sister Martha Lamb apologizes. “I can’t… seem to turn my head… to the left right now.”

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May 17, 2018 · 8:25 am

infiltration 02

“It is indeed,” Sister Martha Lamb muttered to herself while studying “Bullrocks” (Falmouth 08) and seeing the phrase “Copyright Protected Image” adhered to the mason jar with the fake bull moose inside. But she couldn’t help being intrigued by all the intertwined legs and shoulders — bull in jar, bull outside jar, and that ridiculous Mr. Bean man Rowan Atkinson involved as well. Aliens, hrmph. She couldn’t stand them. They didn’t exist in her world. The World of Cheese. “This one will go first to prove my point and to cut the heart out of the resistance at the beginning.” She turned. “Now… the hand.”

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May 17, 2018 · 7:50 am

infiltration

From the folds of her gown, she lifted a green metal cube about fifteen centimeters on a side. She turned it and Paul saw that one side was open – black and oddly frightening. Paul slowly put his hand into the box. He first felt a sense of cold as the blackness closed around his hand, then slick metal against his fingers and a prickling as though his hand were asleep…“What’s in the box?”

“Pain.”
From Dune, by Frank Herbert.
Published by Putnam in 1965

Sister Martha Lamb has her eye on all the degenerative art of Collagesity for certain. But most of all she has her eye on the Cheese. The Great Cheese.

She expects many more seekers to pay for the privilege.

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