Category Archives: 0202

brightening the load (be like Mike)

“What now, boss? End of the road.”

She paused, then said to the foreman with shovel in hand and questions in head: “We go back. We make sure we’ve got everything correct and well rounded up to this point. We refine within.” The non-foreman beside them turned over his blueprint, looking for “within”. No luck.


“Start with mica,” she clarified a bit later as they all walked back inside together. “Mike.”

Helpful! foreman and non-foreman alike thought. They both knew the guy. From a kid’s television show of all places.


Fruit headed Mike at the center of it all stood up, removed the lemon and lime respectively from the mother’s and father’s mouths. “Speak,” he commanded. “Speaaaaakkkkk!!!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0202, Jeogeot, Michigan, Sunklands^

ghost town

“Whoa there. Slow down Speedy Gonzales. We’ve passed it — there’s Fraggle Rock.”

“*Passed* it?” spoke driving Barry DeBoy, just getting really comfortable with the F-150 after 300 miles on the road. “But…”

“… there was nothing much there, I know. I didn’t even recognize the place. I was here during the glory days. It was the main stop on the highway between Arizona and Texas, or so it was billed. The lights, the activity. Like a teeny tiny Las Vegas it was then. But *this*…”

“I saw a shortcut back there,” said Barry, looking for a place on the I-10 to turn around. “We can get to Lordsburg the back way. Maybe you’ll remember stuff better coming at it from a different angle.” But Hucka Doobie doubted it. And the worst was yet to come.


“Well *great*, Barry *DeBoy*.” You *dunce*, she thought, but of course didn’t say out loud because of his past problems with grades. “We’re totally…”

“… lost,” completed Barry this time. “And, let’s see, we have about 2 hours to get the truck back to the rental agency, since you said this town was so walkable.”

But Hucka Doobie was checking her smart phone just earlier. No rental agencies listed in Lordsburg — she hadn’t really thought about this possibility. Nowhere to turn the truck *in* to. Not round these here parts.

“Hold on, Hucka D. I see some kind of rusty machinery sticking up over there from the brush and desert. Let’s go check it out.”

“30 minutes in the sun *tops*,” warned Hucka Doobie, knowing their water supply was limited. Also: sunscreen. They could shrivel up like a sponge and a starfish in no time, with no spacesuit wearing squirrel around to rescue them unlike in the cartoon she was thinking of.


“I know this place, this wagon. We’re going to be all right, Barry.” She points to the formerly hidden buildings. “Shakespeare.”

“Awesome!” Barry already wanted to paint soo badly. Or do collages — something.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0202, New Mexico


Halt! Who goes there? *No* women allowed here.”

“So I’ve heard,” silkily replies Panthera the bringer of curses, perhaps the curer of curses as well or instead. Worshipper of the Tiki Gods is she. Legend.

So she made her pitch. “Your men are… sick.”

“Yeah, what of it sorceress?” Then Chebisoldier 02 realized what was being bargained, perhaps. A cure. Since the curse was already upon them.


“How’s it going, Chet? What ya aiming at today?”

“Grass, the usual,” replied Chebisoldier 03, named this time, to Mr. Babyface, puffing on Red Dragon this morning. Out of Blue Pennant, pheh. He’ll run to the market later this afternoon. If he can get that gal darn company bamboo car started up. Good thing lover Greg’s a top notch mechanic; learned it in the army himself. Portrait painter of war scenes he was. Preferred green, but usually got bogged down in red. So many casualties in the Trojan-Durexian affair. And now: here. Jeogeot Gulf. Perpetual war, that’s what the leaders here proclaimed. We must end war by never ending war. Chinese finger trap, pardons to the Chinese. Small cylinder made up of woven bamboo — appropriate.

Babyface knew this was Interrogation Day, when the local leaders vowed to get to the bottom of the camp’s curse, why most of the men are sick if not dying of some mysterious malady none of the regular doctors ’round here seem to know the origin or meaning of.

Perhaps it was all about those masks the natives gave them as a base warming present, they said. Hang them all around! they urged cheerfully, Durxerian aligned smiles like masks themself. Good luck all around, then! they proclaimed.

And free bamboo to use too for construction and decoration, hmmm. I’m beginning to smell a rat. The whole place may have to be torched.

Not knowing any better, Mr. Babyface and his lover Greg, sometimes with a 3rd g to add to the 2 already there, walked into all this with blinders on, ready for art not action. “Paint *anywhere*,” the leaders said to Greg after his stint was over at the bloody battles up the coast, not wanting to tax him too far. “Relax and head for our Xilted base if you want.” Green! Return of green, he thought, knowing the story of those emerald hills (now with grass!) from childhood and perhaps even before beyond.

They weren’t sick yet but they were stuck. Mr. Babyface decides to get into solving the mystery himself, to save his own hide if nothing else, his and Greg’s. Another fear: Greg may turn into Gregg if he becomes too ill, frustration setting in. What if he can’t paint green and turns green himself? Much to worry about there (bloodbath returns).

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0202, Jeogeot, Xilted

a number of characters in a number of sims

“So nice here beside the fire. So, whaddaya think, Wheeler? Is Claude on to something?”

“I want to be independent right now.”


So Baker shared some links and let her go. Cloz they were here, Sporminore and its Roberts and Franklin (and Albert?) just north. Claude to the (Wild) West again, where’s he still under employment at the Umbrella Club where we first ran into Darla and Lois and those other girls, the purple clad one and the other one we haven’t revisited under the umbrella itself. Moray and the now bombed and destroyed Docks Town 2 sims to the east of us. Apples and Etherea — and now Darla and Lois again — about 400 meters southwest in Darter (Ohio parcel). Let’s see, Shelley, yes. Also in Cloz, having escaped the explosion by returning to the Triggerfish Motel. Ah yes, Triggerfish.

But first, Zander. Sorry: Codlet.

But that’s not Shelley on the beach behind the island shack. Liz instead, and we’re not quite ready for her story. Back to Triggerfish…

There. We start again. Apologies. Still no Shelley. That’s The Musician, her fiance, her soon-to-be husband if all goes well for him. Wonder what he’s doing here? Hold on, I’ll have to log Baker back in for this.

Looks like he’s getting at least semi-professional advice about his marriage, his life in general from Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, who we haven’t seen in a while in these here photo-novels, 35 in a series of… well, we’ll see. Let’s listen in.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0202, Crisp Sea, Nautilus, North, Wild West


“There’s nothing in the church birth registry about a Paul Duck, Snowbob. Or any kind of duck atall. Looks like we’ve wasted our time here.”

But Snowbob thinks otherwise. He’s figured out who his *real* parents are.

They’re the same as his children.

(to be continued of course)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0202, Wendy-Ontario


In a place run by cats, there were always a lot of naptimes to get the information he needed. Like the actual scoop on the Poop Pool, as it was called locally, at least behind closed doors, often in the middle of the night when a faint whiff of the former smell could be caught by those who’re perceptive. Deputy here had been out since about 8 now, hugging her little froggie toy until the wee hours of the morning. Eddy Daigle, cousin to our Edward Daigle already met in part one and originally sharing the same name, sniffed the air. Faint but perceptible. He hit delete on the sheriff’s computer and the file about it was permanently gone, as if the problem never existed. Much like Edward from his name, revised and revamped to the more colloquial Eddy after 5th grade when he also switched first and last names to hide the connection even more. “Daigle, Eddy” he liked to be called after that, 2 steps or functions away. And he was from Montana, not Louisiana or Maine or, especially, Illinois. Unlike that John L. Brown we’ve yet to come across in the current novel but who played a part in the last one, small but effective, like a rat silently and stealthily tearing away at the insulation in your walls, leaving you eventually laid bare to the elements. John L. Brown was a bad one, and deserved to be behind the bars of this here law enforcement establishment.

Uh oh. Deputy’s rolled over and lost her grip on her little, favorite toy. Sheriff’s snores on the couch over there are getting a little shallower and further apart, REMs decreased. Soon dreaming will be over for the fellows, Eddy knew. But he still couldn’t find the second file he wanted. Best to pack it up, come back tomorrow. Or after, actually, the next town animal banquet when the ferocious gazelles would bring more fresh kill from the beaches and the water. Snorklers this week. Could even be some deep sea divers mixed in next. That would put them even more under for his clandestine night operations; would allow him to get more work done, dig deeper.

“Daigle, Eddy” knew he wasn’t kosher and that saved him many times from being on the wrong side of one of these feasts. 9 times he had been saved in fact, making him part cat himself. Thank you great great grandma on my father’s side! He licked his hand softly as he does instinctively every now and then and shuts the laptop off and heads home.

No one in the cell right now except a member of the Bad Katz Gang, who was turning her back to the illegal nature of his visit. He hoped to change that soon.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0202, ENIGMA, Nautilus, North, Wild West

retired, 2nd foothold (between black and white)

“So here we are again. Water. Mask. But you hear me clear as a belle.”

“So pretty here,” Baker Bloch deflects, emphasizing the so so much he shows up. “Oh… hello.”

“Hello,” Peter Soso says cheerfully to his side, just glad to be a part of the action again.

“Always someone between us, Baker Bloch,” she says in response to the manifestation. “And look. Now Prissy has arrived. Just because I said *that*.”

“Hello,” Prissy says daintily in her octave higher register. Both arrivals merpeople, both in love. Unlike Baker and Wheeler who are faking it at best. Instead (for them), a Prime Minister-Queen relationship, with no King involved. Unless Axis-Tropp counts. And I suppose he does, at least up to two.

“We’re back to square one,” Wheeler who is not a mermaid exudes, joined feet a false narrative. Likewise for the male Baker. “257.”

“We’re just off the coast of Alien Island and that is something to hold onto,” he says. “We’re on another lead. We’re still in the Wild–”

“Don’t say it,” she requests, thinking of Adam. And his own Eve. She postulates: Baker took over. About 2016 or 2017. About the time of the first third photo-novel. Passed the baton. That’s perhaps the only reason why we’re *here*, at this far point in The Pattern. On the Shoulders of Giants, she also ponders. Time to give something back.

“Someone else approaches,” topmost Prissy says, her head strangely merged with the surrounding kelp, weed in sea talk.

Just later:

“It looks like, sir,” Peter proclaims, “that you are still trapped in black, at least a byte.”

He took my hat! Baker thinks instead of correcting him with “bit.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0202, Alien Island, Long Islands, Nautilus, Wild West

Silver King revisit

“If we keep focusing on Nautilus I think we’ll be okay, W. The link with Iowa.”

“Successful,” concludes the other. She seemed happy for a change. Or at least happier. Maybe the change of scenery did her good.


“Where to, Hucka? Post, Texas?”

“Next post for sure, ha. Have you peed yet?”

“Forgot, sorry.”

“Get on back in there, then.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0202, Bay City/Nova Albion^, Crisp Sea, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Sansara, Wild West

resemblance 02

Baker Bloch comes back to study it, knowing he was summoned.

“What do you think it is, W.?”

“You know what it is,” she replied, still beyond the frame. Probably Wheeler don’t you think? Maybe not.

“Oracle,” he answered. Both were thinking, of course, of Carrcassonnee. She’s returned (!).

“You put the eye in there,” she stated, ready to move beyond the veil, “and you’ll *see*.”

I wonder additionally if this is Borneo. Borneo to Delphos, actually. “Whadaya think, Blackey?” he says to his bird on his shoulder, the same size from this angle as the blackbird in the background more in the center of the beach, highlighting its name. Staring up as well, Blackey thinks hard. He knows it has something to do with TILE.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0202, Nautilus, Southwestern

really big shoe tonight

“We bagged him,” Gotham remembered later. “Green as the grass we just smoked.” He was both right and wrong, as he often is. The vision, the hallucination, was real enough. He just couldn’t pin down Time and Space amid all the Options. “I… remember… looking down at him.”

“Those eyes, yes,” Man About Time agreed, having experienced kind of the same thing. Sort of parallel visions, at least for about 20 or so seconds, just enough to finish the joint, pliers extracted from a green, yellow, and red pouch between them just earlier. Gotham always came prepared. He had to. Else: chaos; lost in The Abyss. He didn’t want to go there again until it was unavoidable, like every night upon falling asleep. 20 or so seconds was all it took, the last toke for both of ’em. Indeed: they had bagged one.

Dare they go see if their joint vision had produced reality?

“He’s in that tent. I know he is.”

“Nah,” countered Gotham. “You’re an inexperienced toker. You don’t understand how it works.”


“Told you.”

“Look! At your foot.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0202, Chilbo^, Corsica, Instabar^, Jeogeot, Maebaleia/Satori, X-City^