And so, only weighed down by the sand he had to tote along to make it all work, Santman’s career took off, at first rather slow and bumpy but then speeding up as more sand was dropped, symbol of a heavy past — poor as piss-ants they were in the day. Killer of children and babies alike no more. He had achieved Heaven on Earth. And the money certainly wasn’t bad either. Bought his first town over in Montana or Kentucky back in ’68, just before the Robolution that kind of snuffed deals like that out for a while, another type of death. But he personally made it through without having to change into a mechanoid. He figured all those other assimilations gave him some kind of immunity virus.
First he took over New Years Day — easy one. Then he set his eyes on Thanksgiving — about ’96 for that assimilation. Then Valentines Day. Then… Halloween. That was tougher. Had to fend off a lot of upset ghouls and goblins for that one. Then St. Patricks Day. The snakes the snakes. But he made it through with his patented snake popper, as he marketed it later, becomes a saint himself, a replacement one. Good.
Only one really significant holiday stood in his way after that. 4th of Juli, America itself. The Battle of Christmas vs. America begins.
Oh, he thinks in the moment, reviewing his past glory. Forgot about Easter! Dang Peter Rabbit, dang Donnie Darko. Yes America’s transformation into a full holiday state will have to be delayed until he figures that all out. Christmas vs. Easter instead. Red-green vs. blue-yellow, echoes of the Trojan-Durexian Wars creeping in. Perhaps this is even an extension.
(to be continued)
Speck looks back in time to check through his activated chronosvismach.
“The car parked outside the Rhino in Gaston is the same as the one parked outside the 1000 Bar in Gemini here, sir.” He pulls back from the image to face his leader with the news. “The license plates match. It must be George…”
“…driven just that far to find his love of his life. Shelley,” pronounces the Cpt., perhaps Munch perhaps not. Leader of a bunch of children, whatever, in his eyes. Needing his protection, his guidance. Grownups can be children too, he realized long ago, near the start of his academy years when he pulled out a stuck pacifier from the mouth of Major Henley, the big googoo gaga. Speck was just the most advanced of these, beyond him in brains if not decision making abilities and intuitive hunches guided by emotions. That’s what Speck was about to find out (through the cloud). Maybe then he can be the grown-up to fill his huge shoes after his retirement to the planet Splunk. There’s even a name similarity between the two through intermediaries Spuck and Spunk. We’ll get to their stories later, perhaps.
“Send a team down to check on the bar,” continues the Cpt. “See what this George — Musician — is up to; what *lengths* — he’d go to — make it so.”
“Sir,” Speck then said. “If it pleases you I’d like to be part of the party. I want to learn more about these… emotions that so control men of your Earth.”
“And women,” the Cpt. duly noted. “Don’t forget the women.”
“Hysterical, yes. So I’ve heard.” Was this a joke between the two men, Earthling and non-Earthling? Perhaps so. We’ll research later. Whatever, Lt. Ohuru behind them grimaces, which we happen to know is Shelley’s daughter Liz in disguise, bound and determined to find out about George as well. She’ll finagle her way onto the team too, despite being the wrong sex for the mission. Probably have to sleep with the Cpt. again, pheh.
U.S.S. Ararat over 1000 City
Long Islands’ Benvolians love their solo artists. Here’s Prince and David Bowie, perhaps the 2 greatest such acts in musical history in terms of just raw, pure creativity.
Then of course Mama Cass (top), along with Elvis and Ol’ Blue Eyes Frank Sinatra. David Bowie has blue eyes too, but, as I think I’ve relayed here before, one appears brown or darker because of a condition called anisocoria (enlarged pupil). And then there’s Wilson Wheeler, I mean, Wheeler Wilson modelling another purple outfit, this time one of her harper dresses. Wheeler actually is afflicted by the same eye discoloration, seeming to have 1 blue and 1 brown eye. No mere accident there.
She stares over at Bowie, wondering if she has his anisocoria or true heterochromia — actual mismatched blue and brown hued eyes in other words. Doesn’t matter, she decides. The effect in this same. In the moment, she’s actually, come to think of it again, a mixture of Bowie and Prince, the latter famous for his purple garb. Interesting they appear together here in this most famous of Benvolian locations called Brazen Head, claiming itself as Our Second Lyfe’s oldest Irish pub. I think the owners anticipated the coming of Wheeler. She’s very famous as well, moreso in the future than the present. She’s working on it. Might be a modelling or fashion designing career that leads her there, might be something else. Desire creates reality, and she’s very determined to make it into that exclusive circle.
Maybe she should take up jazz piano.
Ho ho, she can play!
Three new toys in [insert name] as of today, 6 legged blue-green horsie in center. Didn’t realize they lined up until I stood back and took a gander at the whole.
And boy did *these* kind of holes get me in trouble. Still unknown type of hissing creature! But I escaped to tell the tale. Luckily I didn’t come directly face to face with ’em.
Best guess right now: an owl or a possum, possibly a badger. Too large of a hiss for a snake. Not growly enough for a mountain lion or any other type of wild cat.
I’ll be quarantining off these tiny fissure caves until further notice. Maybe dead of winter I can revisit. My Mt. Tom is certainly holding surprises (!). Will go back today and take a couple of more toys with me for the fledgling rock village. Report soon…
The white block shoes were not ideal for walking on rocks but she had to find something on this beach, perhaps a discarded *Can*.
But how to kill that man who found it first and then dispose of the body? Issues. Always issues.
Pincushioned Nauty hid behind a nearby tuft of grass ready to run interference on this beachcombing chump if needed. He’d found MOA and that called for protection. Because *everyone* still in their right mind was looking for it, good or evil. Miss Ouri: probably evil since she’s emphasizing kill over kiss, death over love.
Whatever you seek with focused intent, there it is. Fear (tentacle emphasis) can bring you to this point as well.
While he was waiting for her, this Moss 03 who goes by Alysha, he decides to prepare a Valentine letter to her professing his new found feelings. ‘I looov…’; ‘I luvvv…’ Strangely he can’t get himself to write the word ‘you’ after a drawn out version of ‘I love’ or ‘I luv’. He looks around at the beige landscape instead, and the objects scattered all about the place. Crypto, he thinks. And this is where they live, all three of the Mosses, Alysha and the 2 others, the black and the blonde haired ones. Alysha: pure red. Red itself. ‘Redd,’ he thinks here, and then writes that down instead. It works!
Alysha Redd comes up from the main house, finished with her shopping. She couldn’t find the new tattoo she wanted inworld. Disappointment, but it may have distracted from the ones she already had, the tree, the orange and the violet. Sometimes she dreams about them: they are as much as part of her as her fingers or her knees. Not overdone but not underdone. To add to them at this point may be stretching it; and tough to top the tree. She’s heard tattoos don’t age well with the stretch marks that inevitably come. Nervous about meeting MAT again, she gently nibbles at at the silver metal ring in her lip. When to tell him she’s actually married, if separated? Probably best to do it sooner than later. And I suppose I’ll have to wake him up at some point as well, she tacks on.
She reaches the table. “Okay, I’m ready for our second date.” This one should be a doozy if all goes well, she thinks to herself. The apartment above the citrus fruit shop is all prepared, including another writing desk. He can pen all the love letters he wants after we’re through. MAT keeps on writing. ‘Reddd, Reddd.’ “Ahem, *now*? This evening sometime?” MAT wakes up.
He read well into the evening with Cubby still by his side, still waiting for his mother to return. Although he didn’t speak any longer — the magic had worn off for the time being — it’s as if the cub’s thoughts were transferred to the pages. Magic was not good here at night, thus the return of the virus symptoms for poor, confused Keith B. over at his cabin just beyond the woods, across the road. He had taken the paper pills but they didn’t seem to do him no good. He sniffed the air. No odor from the outhouse, although he wasn’t able to clean it due to lack of suds. Tamatoa the tamed wolf hound had spilled the product trying to put it into his mouth to obey his master’s command to retrieve it for him from the washing machine just over there. Oh to have an actual human servant around for such chores (!). But he wasn’t suppose to think such thoughts. Not after Alvin [delete name], and the beanstalk they found that went all the way to heaven, some say the Moon, some say Uranus. But it ended up being a compromise: Mars. Halfway between the fuzzy warmth of the full white Moon and the bitter cold of Uranus, only perceptible to the sharpest of eyes if they know exactly where to look in a blackened sky. So one could say the Moon and Uranus were opposites, like Keith B. here. He doesn’t even remember how the preservation started. END
I’m right over here, son. Just out of sight. I haven’t eaten in several days, but I’m certainly stuffed to the gills. I’d laugh if I wasn’t crying. I’ll be with you, though. Cubby. Dennis. Warren — we never decided on a name, just kept calling you Cubby. My bad. Maybe that new guy you’re with, Biffy or something, can give you a proper name. But stay away from Keith. Keith did bad (as well).
(to be continued)
Lisa was such a good writer there was little to correct for Alysha. The one truth, she thought while staring at the end paragraph of her newest text. “Cowabunga” was first uttered by her brother and used commonly after that. And *Bartholomew*… more corrections, much more. He laid in the hammock outside while waiting, eager to get the news about his own stuff. He knew there would be red line after red line, but — more time with Red (!).
“Bart,” she called through the open window, tired of having him follow her around like a little yellow puppy. “Why don’t you go see what *Lena* is up to today. This is *not* your day off, you know.”
“Oh, *pheh*, she’s looking at barns, saloons, anywhere that could possibly act as that studio she wants to make her comeback album in. And, anyway, Zach’s there for her.”
Zach, of course, she thought. Lena has Zach, I have Bartholomew. Two dogs for two masters. “I just finished your sister’s. Could be a while is all I’m saying. Why don’t you go prepare the sink. I want to dye my hair again this afternoon.”
“Blue?” He was eager to see that if it happened, but it was only red again.
She was done. Bart had hardly started. So much red!
“First off, Carumba is not a word. It’s *Caramba*. And that’s the title (!).”
He unfortunately found himself on the opposite side of the Greek village from the parish, staring into a mirror and admiring himself. Typical.
Later he went down to visit John. Jack was now playing the preacher, churches over liquor stores. A marriage was taking place. John was not allowed to perform marriages. Not after Reno.
“We need to *talk*,” he hissed over as the “I dos” were spilled out like fine wine.
“Meet me at the bar,” he whispered calmly back. Bells rang out. It was over.
(to be continued?)
“New bar in town, Chief.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not an Indian any more. I’m an *American*, dammit.”
“Sure you are Chief. Anyway, Gus and I…”
“Gus? Since when did you start calling yourself Gus, Ben?”
“Since, I don’t know, yesterday?” Distant but distinct.
“*Forever*,” countered Stan, formerly Stu. “You’ve always been Gus.” He turns to Chief. “He’s *always* been Gus.”
Slowly but surely, they traced all the confusion back to that birthday party where they summoned The Devil.
“Oh yeah,” spoke Ben at the time. “Guess that could have done it.”