Category Archives: 0215

March 6, 2021 · 7:41 am

00250215

2 days earlier, Jeffrie Phillips knew he had to arrive 1st at the Brilliant fairy village. If it was to survive and even thrive. Take me to your leader, he thought, but without a snicker. This was dead serious stuff. Fern would be arriving two days later and for all he knew, she would strip all the foliage off these protective trees and expose the wee people here to the relentless sun and rain for who knows how long. Years. Jeffrie Phillips had a name. Richie. Richie Griffith. He didn’t know if that was the leader or a representative of him or her. No doubt the village residents had been alerted to his presence on the edge of their compound. Best just to wait here at this rock. He brought a book along for the trip. “Gulliver’s Travels.”

He became so engrossed in the book that he didn’t see them approach with tiny pitchforks and rope.

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January 12, 2021 · 6:48 am

let them eat cake

“Wheeler will be my downfall, um…”

“*I’m* Wheeler,” spoke the person across from him, not wearing a red dress but we’ll assume she’ll be in one soon enough. At the Red Dress Diner. In New Eden. Probably.

“Right, right, I remember now. Like a wheel. 12:37.” He looks at his left shoulder. No spark. He was up too high.

“Man About Time,” spoke Wendy/Wheeler, saying the correct name the first time ’round. “Do you (even) know where you are?” She stared at him, red hair if not red dress. Very red.

“Downfall,” MAT muttered, noticing the same. “I’m MacDonald. I did something to the Ind– indigenous people of this great land.” Now: red on my hands, he realized. Blood on my face, yech.

“We’re not in Canada,” measured out Wendy/Wheeler. “That’s Toddles and Peet Archer, traveling across (its) frozen Heartland, waiting for a chance. And now they have it. The wife said, ‘pick a town, pick *one* town’. And so Picton it is. But after the Green Yard, er, Yarn in the middle of town…”

“Picturetown,” MAT recalled. “I remember that much.”

“Don’t forget it. Because it won’t change back.”

MAT then saw too much at the crossing. Twins — he had picked the wrong one to converse with today. Someone had warned him about the wrong dress. The one without blood. Without blame?

“End of Time,” Wendy/Wheeler said after the moment, about the place they were in. “We have crossed over.”

MAT looked past his left shoulder at the askew windows of the treehouse they sat in, remembering that too. A spark of memory. 12:37. Dinner time.

But Wendy/Wheeler couldn’t cook worth shite. Fast food hamburgers it was again.

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November 25, 2020 · 5:57 pm

102 01 02

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September 25, 2020 · 9:08 am

suburb

Toothpick’s best friend from high school Mr. Z returns to his home of Meat City after extensive world travel. Note the masks on his pack representing every continent he’s visited. Fra- Fra- Francis tells him he’s can’t get in the club because he’s not a member but he says he just wants to use the phone and he won’t look at anything he isn’t suppose to. He remembers the pay phone from days gone by. He remembers (Fra- Fra-) Francis as well, the only black kid in his 5 child class who use to train ants to wage war in his playdough fort. Good days, good times. Francis remembers them too; he lets Mr. Z pass through after a stern warning. “Don’t look at the girls,” he requests almost under his breath. “They’ll remember. They’ll report me. Don’t look at them,” he repeats and then steps aside after a lengthy, glary stare. Mr. Z recalled that stare from his ant vs. wasp battles with Francis back in the days. The wasps never stood a chance. Mr. Z promises he won’t look at the girls. He knows something much worse than ants awaits if he does. Fra- Fra- Francis has evolved beyond his childhood times into something much more adult oriented.

—–

He couldn’t help himself. He glanced over while talking to Toothpick (aka Filbert — *not* to be confused with Filburt! (he’s different)) about his journey to the Eleph Trunk and finding Venus and Mars combined into one. “Oh God,” he then sputters into the receiver, “is that Aunt Fannie over there?” He looks away quickly but not fast enough. Aunt Fannie has eyes in the back as well. He recounts why she is so named as he hangs up the phone and scuttles out the door.

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August 6, 2020 · 7:12 am

basket case

Baker’s new friend Appleyon eyeing the Second Life globe spinning ’round the top of Teepot’s schoolhouse tower and noticing there’s no Orient to go along with the Occident. Pre-June 2009 he determined. Before *apples* became oranges, ha ha. He he he. Ho ho ho ho.

Appleyon is a bad one.


Silly humans. Should have never opened the box.

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June 14, 2020 · 7:40 am

Stranger Creek

I recall now. This is where I met Messed Up.

I saved her from this place. Now she must save me.

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April 18, 2020 · 9:35 am

Youngs’ town

Axis felt it should be *him* sitting there, talking to Kind Of. Not this Prof. *Young* Harris. Young, indeed. Gone around the South Bend if you ask him, far far from the North, pheh. But it is what it is at this point. Let’s focus in on the conversation.

“I haven’t been to Strange Creek in a long long time, Mr. Messed Up 02.”

“*Kind Of* Messed Up 02,” Kind Of corrects, knowing he wasn’t — yet — on the nutty level of his master actually named Messed Up. He kind of explains this to Prof. Young Harris, then, who nods in semi-understanding.

“I had a mother once, who was kind and then messed up. I think I understand.”

Kind Of moved on. He said things were even weirder in Strange Creek these days, thus the furthering of the name. “It’s *Stranger*,” he punctuates.

Prof. Young Harris then has an idea, and points up in a Eureka moment. “Cyan!” he exclaims quite loudly, pricking Axis’ ears even more.

He imagines his wife standing before him. “What have I done?” he asks. “*I* had to be Young Kane instead. The transgressions.” He shakes his head while she stares steady. He thinks he should probably get back to her…

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February 23, 2020 · 12:07 pm

bargain 01

She didn’t even want to look over at her, this Mother of Vampires. Time hadn’t been as kind to her. Cat-Witch, on the other hand: PHEH! She could still claw her eyes out right on this spot and get the last laugh. But she was admittedly curious about the story. Martha Lamb and the Cat-Witch as sisters (!). How could she not have known about this all those years back? There must be deception involved here. She’ll wrangle it out and then expose it to the child. The kid will be under *my* powers. For all eternity, even beyond death. Because she had worked out that *little* detail as well, ha (!).

Cat-Witch winked at Katy Kidd while the Mother of Vampires kept looking away and fuming. Because this was Billy Jean Kidd again, dressed up temporarily in a new body. She was dead, yes. Casey One Hole swiped at her with his metallic club and knocked her head clean off into the next sim of Danshire, where it washed up on the shore of that tiny central island we’ve seen several times already. Then One Hole built a shrine around it, which lasted until several days ago when neighborhood watch fanatic Red Pepper spotted the shack and had the thing deleted. The head is dead.

Trouble is, it was also Katy Kidd’s head and that’s what dead Billy Jean told her first off about it. She saw it from a distance, while hovering above. Like an angel, she explained. “We are the same,” and then they merged into one from opposite sides of that walkway where they met, just for a moment. Just long enough to *know*.

Billy Jean changed. They walked inside. Cat-Witch sat downstairs to wait. Katy helped Mother hobble from her bedroom, down the stairs, to the parlor. She couldn’t look. How does she stay so *young*??

(to be continued)

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December 19, 2019 · 7:57 am

Junk Yd 02

Some would later say it happened in Burnt Oak, a logical transference because everything was so open and exposed there — and hot. Plus the word Burnt threw people off. But, in truth, only the more temperate or moderate clime around the bay at North Yd escaped the extreme heat of daytime paired with the quite chilly night degrees. There was certainly more a *swing* in temperatures up here on the plateau making up most of The Waste. And it was during one climax moment of heat that the bush ignited and became rooted on that spot forever and ever. Or very nearby, since it managed to crawl a bit more, to the edge of the Junk Yd sim itself. It wasn’t in Burnt Oak, despite the legends.

Nor was it in the Sand Seas in the southwest corner of this land, although rumors persisted down through the years that this was the location as well. Again because of all the heat and openness there.

But certainly 3D and Hoborobo here knew better. Because it was their job to take care of the God Portal.  People tired of playing second fiddle in an orchestra of ill definition and sought the pure truth coming from the ever-never burning leaves and branches. Well, branches now, because the ever-never burning leaves had finally burned off after a century of ignition, leaving only the ever-never branches to define the bush. Experts estimated that the branches would perhaps last, at best, another century, maybe even down to 50 years. The God Portal has a limited, functional window, despite the rumors and legends that it is perpetual. And already, we’ve seen a breakdown in functional information coming from this window. Just yesterday it misspelled itself as Buch (for example).

Still, ever-never — a word that could only apply to the Bush. Just outside.

“It’s your turn to water it, Hoborobo.”

“No YOU,” he lashed back. They were both very very tired of taking care of the thing. Hoborobo personally was starting to see it as a portal of evil (Devil) instead of good. 3D remained neutral on the subject, drawing from a more well rounded body of information.

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October 10, 2019 · 7:04 am

power

The personnel in the central police station watched the burning of Club 88 and attached Little Jimmy from a distance and talked amongst themselves.

“Now order will be restored,” said Officer Brennon to Officer Barney, turning away from it for a moment. “*Big Brother* will be restored,” offered Officer Warren behind them (off-camera here). True men these were. They waited for Ms. Tanner to weigh in, the most important opinion.

“There is only one Big Brother,” she finally declared as the fire crescendoed, damage done. Casualties inside for sure. “Big brother Ingo Ratts has been eliminated, like big brother Little Big before him.” Brennon, Barney, and Warren didn’t know who Little Big was but nodded in agreement anyway. The point is: everything was reset. INGO banners had reverted to pre-film INGSOC, which stood for the fictional English Socialist Party of George Orwell’s seminal “1984” novel, and whose totalitarian ideology represented what he saw as the worst possible outcome of socialism in his native Britain.


Hehehe.

The new center of town was burning while the old one looked on satisfied.

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