Category Archives: 0502

May 27, 2023 · 12:03 pm

different

Despite the prehistoric nature of the place they sometimes had guests. Like today. Robed angels of death stared at her in several sizes and shapes from this perspective. Death was the guest as well, it seemed.

“If I have children, *when* I have children,” she corrected, “I’m going to name them Flaarf and Bozo, after this Second Lyfe sim.” She has a second life here, she realizes. A second chance.

“What about Ingleboort, dearest,” offered Dr. Brown beside her. “I thought if you had twins you were going to name them Ingleboort and Flaarf, giving up on Bozo — like with the Middletown children. ” He didn’t add *alien* children. “It’s not a very complementary first name. Kids will make fun of him. Or her.”

“Yes,” she said, recalling that decision as well, a Muff-Bermingham one and not from the Moon. That darn, lingering Moon, bearded and all. She briefly looks into the sky to see if she can spot it. No luck; too sunny today she reckoned. Full shine on.

The guest finally spoke. He wanted to make a deal to come back. He wanted a religion named for him, this Mr. X as he called himself. Xianity would do swell. He said he’d die to make it happen if it came to that. And it probably would given our history.

“Starve,” he said, choosing a course to do it certainly not involving a meal. “I’ll go out in the dessert and fast myself to death. If it comes to that.” The visions must be purified, he knew. “Desert,” he then amended. “Did I just say dessert? How fitting!” He laughed, probably in a good way. Ally, yes.

As they negotiated, the roaming Allans roared but kept their distance, instinctively knowing here was someone who could eventually defeat their dark overlord and set them free.

(to be continued)

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April 1, 2023 · 11:06 am

00370502

Not too awfully long ago it was the other way ’round.
filed under: Which one’s pink?, Blue Mtn., One Pink Mtn./Pink Mtn./Pink, flippy floppy stuff

https://www.britannica.com/story/has-pink-always-been-a-girly-color?fbclid=IwAR2dDM-tb-P6QmvsioHs25uHjHJbSxy40fpJBBy4qQII4mCIN_0UFgRTI-M

At the beginning of the 20th century, some stores began suggesting “sex-appropriate” colors. In 1918 the trade publication Earnshaw’s Infants’ Department claimed the “generally accepted rule is pink for the boys, and blue for the girls. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.” Additionally, a 1927 issue of Time noted that large-scale department stores in Boston, Chicago, and New York suggested pink for boys.

—–

“Let’s talk about your plug, Ruby.”

“Ruby?” she said.

“Just go with the flow.”

“Well… it covers up an anatomy flaw. Between 2 Cheeks.”

“Good enough. Now… let’s talk about the pink skin.”

“Pink?”

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January 13, 2023 · 1:17 pm

00360502

Pretty long ways from home, thinks Clifton Mahoney, now to the east of Chapel Vile on The Trunk instead of west. Maroonville, some call  it. Others: Redtown, a generic nickname, also referring to one of the 2 encompassing sims of Red Marsh, not to be confused with Red Mars which currently doesn’t exist. Anyway, it all centers around this namesake cafe that Mr. Mahoney waits in, biding his time before an ace that also denotes a whole pack, bringing us back to Sarah and her gum, which, although it can be made to pop by those with talent in that area, I don’t think qualifies as an actual weapon. Maybe it’s code for gun, maybe not. We’ll catch up with her soon enough. Back to Clifton…

Wonder where Sep is? he ponders. Said she had something important to tell me.

It’s really strange. At the same time the other day I had Baker Bloch teleport into Maroonville through Red Marsh, I had another window open for a map to a now nonexistent clothing shop in the sim of *White* Marsh that Wheeler planned to then visit. Just coincidence — same *exact* time. I think of the red and white queens of Alice’s adventures in “Through the Looking-Glass,” opposite and complementary pieces of chess. That’s where I also found Leni, dancing up a storm in her 68 iterations, more than I’ve ever found before and perhaps the full pack. Hmm.*

Then there’s Whispers Family Photo Mall also found by accident. I miss the guy.

——

*and this is not the 1st time I’ve had a map sync involving the Red Marsh sim. See here:

https://bakerbloch.com/2020/04/03/flashback-friday/

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November 11, 2022 · 4:30 pm

Cpt. Munch

Yeah, I’m here, she says to the Star Trek teleporter crew in her mind. Still walking.

Oh look, there’s Star Wars’ Rutti-tutti robot in a space age mish-mash. What next? Lost in Space?

… Lost in Space, yeah. But maybe I saw it out of the corner of my eye, heh.

She stops walking. She turns to the second robot she’s encountered in this here pyramid dominated area. “Can you tell me where *Marilyn* is? The president’s concubine, in your time. Just kidding. It’s Roosevelt, Marilyn Roosevelt. But not the same president (in the joke). Or… maybe it is.” She ponders how Lichen got the last name in the first place, and, by association, her own. What a wit!

No answer from the robot. He seems to have lost his powers of function.

Still in the pyramid: “I’ll check with Howard on that,” a pill shaped robot (robot?) squeakily and waveringly answered Fern Stalin’s rephrasing of her original question, which went: “How do I find The Void?” Because Marilyn/Lichen was most likely there, or as close as possible to the despicable, object-less Abyss. She’s trying so hard, Fern though here. If only she had my brains.

“We’ve met before, BTW,” the thing said to Fern while texting this Howard, perhaps a workmate. They could be maintenance mechanoids because of the overalls, Fern rationalizes. Had she not heard of minions? But perhaps she is toying with us, the reader and also the writer, in this case. Probably (again). There are toys after all; a play on words.

The minion kept typing and typing but never got back to Fern. No answer from Howard apparently, or nothing the creature wanted to share, if Howard is even real. Fern moves on, down the stairs to the other side of this, er, space platform…

… to a game that should *definitely* not be played because this was actually a representation of The Void again, the power behind the powers.

It eats thoughts like it’s breakfast lunch and dinner all at once. Maybe the Tilists were onto something with the switching around of meals.

Back to the teleporter, and quickly. Marilyn/Lichen’s presence lies elsewhere in Gemini retconned from Mercury. We’ll get to that aspect in a moment.

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September 2, 2022 · 10:57 am

The purple building in Mapleton, Oregon, is now vacant.

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July 1, 2022 · 8:26 am

the problem with toys (whiches)

“Let’s split this crazytown,” said Red to his cousin Grassy as they crossed the tracks and drove away from the scene…

… at the same time they just arrived.

“Whatup guys?” the amalgamation of figures in the center said in greeting, not knowing the difference.

—–

“No I’m not putting up with that,” she doubled down, remembering the spectacle from the future.

“(The situation will) clear up; get better,” countered Baker. “First try.” After a pause: “We could simply *ask* Grassy about it.”

Wheeler was thinking the same thing. Red was about to change over to green.

—–

“Aloha!” he said, garish Hawaiian shorts thankfully hidden by the table. He immediately starts staring at the book, the hand.

“Welcome back Grassy,” relented Wheeler. She looks over at Baker. She knew she would be called Flip at these meetings from now on as compensation. Or win a wrestling trip to fabled Muff-Birmingham in the far corners of space, whichever door she so chooses. She opens the door of the refrigerator to see which one.

“Coke, Grassy?” she called over while grabbing, but Grassy was no longer there. Sprite instead.

Several of them, in fact. “Here we are!” said the seeming leader of the three.

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April 16, 2022 · 5:52 am

00320502

Listening through the walls and the coke machine is over. It’s time to find out who’s in the basement. Is it Rooster?

I think it must be Rooster. Smells like Rooster, even from this distance. We’ll see.

“Halt! (wheeze)”

It wasn’t Rooster. He backtracks a bit; forgets about the end of the tunnel for now.

“Who are you?” he asks mildly.

Squeaky voice, like a inflatable toy full of little holes: “I am (wheeze) the answer you seek.”

Significant pause as he takes the creature in. “Where’s Rooster?”

“He is (wheeze) not here yet.”

Smaller pause. “Will he ever be?”

“(wheeze) No.” Slowly and skillfully the seated small being then moves a chest pin down to emphasize his pricked nature.

“Funny,” is all MAT could think of to say.

“Is (wheeze) it?”

Voodoo doll, Man About Time mulled over. Obviously related to Kactus back in the library — up in the library, just above him in fact. He tries to see through the ceiling toward it. Doesn’t work.

“Ponder (wheeze wheeze) the nature of the peninsula, another (wheeze) sticky outy thing (wheeze wheeze). I am (wheeze) running out of (wheeze) air (WHEEEEeeeeezzzee).”

The final prick did him in. He shouldn’t have done it, MAT realized. Like Conception Concepción Conception, he’d made an error between his legs.

He moves on beyond the deflated being, encountering himself in the first of two cells off the passage.

“Hi me,” he said nonchalantly to himself.

Should he wave back? Or is that how you become trapped in the first place? Acknowledge that you’re here already? MAT decides to ignore him(self) and walks down to the final cell, the end of the journey that has become this post. Is he ready? After seeing himself down here, what choice does he have? No going back.

“What is it?” he asked, out of his cell and sneaking up from behind.”

“How–?”

“I think you should go back where you came,” the other requested, pointing down the passage over his shoulder while he finds himself waving at *it* for some reason. MOA he knew, but that was just another puzzle inside a riddle inside a cypher. The foul smell was starting to become overwhelming; not Rooster indeed. “Let me handle this now. I’ve been waiting for you after all.” STOP

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February 9, 2022 · 9:32 am

one of a kind

MAT understands the current photo-novel, 31 in a series of what-ever, is weighed heavily to the western side of the continent. So following leads he slides over to the east — Sliderule to be specific — and finds these colored letters, which seem to indicate the next step in the development of newly rented land in Collagesity. TILE, obviously, he thinks at the time. The heart speaks; the star listens. 31 began around New Years or just after. Now we’re almost at Valentines, Christmas and its star studded trees behind a window in the past. Gone but not forgotten, because we still have a tree. Let’s switch the colored lights to white and take away the Santas and called it Winter. 3/1: Winter over? First things first, though…

Next he boogies with new friends in neighboring Kryophelis and decides that Boogie will be his new nickname for a few, maybe for more than a few. He counts 7 friends he’d like to explain the theory to. Naive, I say. Overcount. Go down to 4, like the 4 colors he should be focusing on instead of just dancing away the night. 7 to 4. You know what needs to be done.

*Town*, Boogie (ha). Man About *Town*. Not Time.

—–

Myrtle flies out of the Valentine Garden of Love and Fairies to tell the Moss Queen where he is. They’re always keeping track.

Turns out she wanted to see him this time.

(to be continued)

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December 13, 2021 · 9:10 am

Paper-Soap National Park

Biff Carter looked up from the red book he was always reading, wondering where they were. Keith B. was to his right, talking to Cubby the bear cub about his lost mother. “She’ll show up soon,” he tried to reassure, but Cubby had seen her wander off into the Hunting Zone, confused in the twilight’s last gleaming. Many of her kind don’t come out of there, she said earlier to the young bear, her third in a litter of two, although she didn’t know that fact at the time. A magical bear he was; able to talk and converse with the humans — like Keith B. here. “In the meantime, you just stay put here with… sorry, what was your name stranger?” he asked over to Biff, sucking on a piece of lettuce between his teeth left over from supper at Rusty’s. He couldn’t handle the beef stew what with the state of that kitchen in back — he’d seen the health inspector’s rating writing on the wall. Better stick with salad, he decided. No meat.

You know my name, Biff wanted to say back, but instead just said it for him. He looked over. Did it ring a bell? Dirty diner? Always redding the read book? He could tell by Keith’s expression that it didn’t. He felt abandoned by the older guy from his childhood ever since the death of his grandmama, who was practically like his mother, raising him up after the death of his dad Dirk, who had already lost his wife, his mother, to another kind of virus long ago, not long after he was born actually. Dirk thought that the birth may have done her in, or at least weakened her to the effects of the virus, but this wasn’t really true. Or was it? Anyway, Dirk kind of blamed the boy for her death. Her name was… right on the tip of my tongue….

Elizabeth, he decided, thinking back to the book. He raised it to his eyes again and continued. Paper now. Rock earlier. Scissors coming up soon. His mother had some and she contemplated doing his father in once more. Because of the boy.

(to be continued)

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October 19, 2021 · 4:56 am

the Vegetarian

Star trees, he called them, because they had little stars in them, all white of course, add in a little pink.

This was handy, but what about the box that was suppose to be here?

She wore the Pepper blouse-shirt and the Pepper blouse-shirt wore she. The apples inside were hers. She always lamented they were too small. They were exteriorized before she met Lichen. Stalin she was after that. Fern Stalin. And then they found Wendy who turned into Red. They’d analyzed her. They knew what she was. Mirror. And: the cake is a lie.

—–

“Lisa, it’s time to come inside. Mom has finished baking her stack of potatoes. And afterwards: turkey — for the rest of us. Come on and be a good girl and go clean up.” He leans his head down. “I’m sorry for what I said before. You can skip the turkey, we’re all okay with it.” He saunters back around the house.

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