Category Archives: 05

June 1, 2021 · 5:52 am

almost over the edge

“Jasper, take a look at this photo one of the drones took over the Amazon and settle a bet with us. Does that look like a beaver to you, because Marion says it’s a propeller.”

Jasper studies the photo. “Where’s his head?”

“Well, it’s underwater obviously. And you have a tail and and two little arms sticking out plain as day.”

“And how about this picture of a swimming pool while we’re at it. Do you think that’s suppose to be Vermont, or New Hampshire?”

—–

She floated on the two lips joined together in the center of the pool. She kept glancing anxiously over at Dr. Mouse and his greatest creation, Pansy, conferring about the deal at a table on the cement’s edge. She wondered how it was going. Copyright infringement? Trademark protection? That’s how it all started, this conference in the Amazon. A River runs through it, Source to Mouth. Or Lake. George had traded places with a girl, Hitgirl to be precise, not selling corndogs any longer at a Southwest Airport. Or cornogs I suppose I should say. But hot dogs remain in the news. 6 dead now in in Slaashsides over in the nw part of Nautilus continent, with the last squirted with both mustard and ketchup, indicating his kind. That brought it to the attention of Dr. Mouse, who then asked Pansy to enter the picture for more visiblity. He was planning on a national campaign. The Pooping Pigeon was going to mean big time money, big time power. It was a built in headliner.

“A chain of restaurants,” shot back the doctor. They were exchanging ideas rapid fire.

“Chocolate. No: vanilla,” came the squeaky reply. “Like the color of the…..”

“Poop. Just say it, Pansy. Don’t be afraid of the word. It’s going to make us a fortune.”

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0026, 0507, Amazon, Nautilus, New Hampshire, NORTH, Slaashsides, Vermont

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May 31, 2021 · 11:44 am

00250506

Gotta keep my eyes peeled like a banana, thinks Officer Spotty John, back on the beat. Crime everywhere in this town these days. Why it’s becoming as bad as, say, that Collagesity down in Lower Austra I’ve been reading about in the local toilet. Nautilus (continent) is being overrun by animals!

Officer Davis Jefferson was asking the local hookers in a nearby alley if they’d seen any illegal activities lately while working their own beat. “Nothing,” came the answer from Shelley Poplolly, a member of the City Gang and thus friendly with the police. “Something,” deviated Nancy Pantsy further down the wall, a Country Girl and thus not obliging to the local law. She was being paid by the Black Lake Bunch to get them off their tail.

“Weeeellll?” exuded Davis, tapping his foot in anticipation.

“Ketchup,” she said.

“Whaaatt?”

“Ketchup stains… all over the body. Then mustard came along and squirted him real good too. He was a true hot dog then and fit to be roasted, er, roosted, in that a pigeon came down and then roosted on his buns. He was done.”

“What’s alllll this with pig-e-ons, for crimeny’s sake?” Officer Davis Jefferson, formerly a busty barmaid of the Irish Resistance Movement out on loan for the moment, scratched his head with this. “So we’re looking for two squirts…”

“Squirters,” corrected Nancy Pantsy quickly, not wanting him to get too close to the truth.

“I’m going to call them squirts because that’s what they appear to be. You are how you act. Am I right. Ammm I riiiiiight?”

“Yes Officer Davis Jefferson,” dutifully recites Shelley Poplolly, a Loyalist.

“Yeah, what-ever,” recites Nancy Pantsy, a Dissentist, but then realizes her slip-up as he glares. “I mean, yes Officer Davis Jefferson.”

“Thatttt’s betterrr. Now: tell me more about this… doggg.”

(to be continued?)

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May 31, 2021 · 9:59 am

two of a kind

“I broke it. My phone (*sob*).”

“Alright, alright,” Justin Dustbin hurried up former 2nd cousin once removed Beverly Dooright, found crumpled and discarded outside a local club. “Just how much do you *want*.”

“I’ll have to replace… my face!”

“So, erm, 500?”

—–

Yeah, I just spread my arms out like this to look big, you know, like an animal…”

“Yeah, like *this*,” Sugar McDermitt imitated, spreading his arms as well.

“Like an animal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Rooaarrr, heh heh.” Sugar claws the air in front of him then returns his arms to his side.

“Yeah. Oo ga oo ga oo ga, huh huh.” Pissy Demwit beats on his chest; arms then return to side.

“That… that banana ran all the way back to the fruit stand he came from, har.”

“Yeah. Lickity split,” reinforced Sugar again.

“On *Sundae*.” They almost split their sides with this, laughing and laughing as Biker Mann finally drove his XK59 motorcycle away, having enough of it. He had other concerns today besides talking to two ruffian *meatheads*.

—–

It came to be called the Pigeon Butt Murders, because there was one roosting on the rear end of every found corpse. This was the first. John E. Weissmuller III, a former special ops swimmer for the pentagostal church out on loan to the navy.

And where was this off duty swimmer/sailor heading to on main street in Slaashsides when he got whacked on the back by a still unknown assailant? Jim’s Club, the very same we’ve seen Justin Dustbin and Beverly Dooright on the other side of just a minute ago in this here blog post. They shortly become victims nos. 2 and 3. Nearby Sugar McDerrmit and Pissy Demwit, arms still raised to sides: nos. 4 and 5. Biker Mann drove away. Biker knew more than he was letting on. He knew these guys were as much toast as bacon and eggs, and that they’d never be harassing a poor little innocent fruit child again.

—–

She warned him at the bar earlier on. I believe it was about 1/2 past 6. “I don’t like seals, leeches, or any other type of animal. I’m going to do away with the lot of them, starting with the area just around this club (*sip*).”

Biker Mann drove far on his XK59 that day, but not to the police, because he was on the lam himself for a series of serious crimes down in Slayertown. He had no right to judge a fellow murderer (etc.). Later they became husband and wife for a spell, but that was after the kids had themselves already grown up to become looters and burglars and so on.

(to be continued?)

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May 30, 2021 · 3:51 pm

loop

From the top it looked like 2 giant, naval style oranges frantically trying to merge. But from the bottom: 2 dancers (with All Orange highlighted), obviously having a good time with their parachutes.

Where did they drop in from?

“Questions,” warned W, still observing from somewhere nearby, perhaps behind that palm tree with the woody woodpecker pecking up the wrong, Yelloo upward.

“More dancers nearby,” spoke observing George now, hidden at the bottom of his small pool. Big George, small pool. A Lake he just proclaimed it ironically enough, but more firmly aligning himself with TILE. MUST STUDY.

“Channeler,” I observed myself. “TILE.”

—–

And now: correct upwards.

“Oh, I know. Blue blue blue!” George cried, knowing we were one short in that category. But which one? Michigan: above and beyond them both. The 26th. Where was this photo-novel, 26 in a series of something, taking us?

I could feel W frowning behind that left-behind tree.

Younger George now: “I always wanted to play this game. Richochet.” He tosses another marble, perhaps a blue.

“This is your time, George. Enjoy the game! Soon you will be 13 again and forget about all this.”

“No I won’t!” he protested to the big eye, and gathered up what he tossed while marking the spot of the furthest marble for future reference.

“We are almost done here, George. It’s time to find your future place in the spheres.”

“I won’t let you down!”

Back down.

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May 30, 2021 · 11:56 am

Michigan

“We’ll call this Little Lake George. Or Big Lake George — just *Lake George*. I can’t tell if you’re big or small right now.”

“I’m *13*,” spoke the floating boy over to the famous and/or infamous British musician from the 60’s or thereabouts. Our Marty, currently with red hair instead of black.

“So: big. Just Lake George, then.”

“Let’s just go with… Lake,” he measured out intelligently from his reposed position, knowing more than he let on. Aunt Clare had taught him a lot about TILE.

They stayed in their positions for a while, he floating on Lake and Marty dipping his shoed feet in same, testing the water to see if he could safely take his loafers off. George, in fact, was doing the same with his clothes, with his feet already being bare and exposed. They were indeed one here on this OWL island in the Southwest of Nautilus continent, ready to begin their next adventure.

—–

“One Blue Eye gone from OWL, W. We must be in Arkansas.”

“Or Missouri,” she offered.

“But probably Arkansas,” I returned.

“Probably, yeah.”

“Because of the red.”

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May 29, 2021 · 10:24 am

monsters

“Tennessee, pheh,” she uttered, staring over at the fake, flat snowy mountains standing in for the real ones just behind. “Come on, George,” she urged to the meditating youth gazing out in the other direction. “Let’s go see what this *Abyss* is all about.” She starts walking toward the stairs, still talking. “Nothing to be afraid of, George. So says TILE.” Was Clare losing her faith? Now that she remembers the whole of the Wheeler existence? Do we even need to be asking this? I believe it is so.

“Come on come on come on.”

“Oh all *right*.” George was enjoying the meditation. He didn’t want to encounter the Abyss just now.

—–

“Well, here we are at the mouth of this thing. You-go-first.”

“Me? But I’m just a kid.”

“You’re no kid. *Go*. Protect me if you must.” She sweeps her hand forward. “Off you go,” she commands again. “Come on come on come on.” This was not like Clare Nova, who was sweeter. This was the orders of Wheeler. Fully clowned now, she needed to find out what she was facing at the end.

—–

“What do you see in there?” called Clare-Wheeler from just outside the mouth now.

“I don’t know,” replied George. “Skulls. Candles. Lots of skulls and candles.”

“That’s the Abyss part,” said Wheeler. “What else is in there? Look in the corners, along the walls. Look *beyond* the normal.”

“There’s nothing *normal* about this place.”

“*Try*,” she urged. “I’ll be right here, ready to help if needed.” She definitely wasn’t going to help. If the power behind the Abyss got George, then another one would fill his spot. Just like she did with Clare. George could die, yes. *Duncan* had already died, maybe several times — hard to keep up. But Baker Bloch will continue on. Along with herself it seems.

“Um. Oh yeah, Mother Mary. I guess that’s good. But then a, let’s see, Medusa Gorgon beside her. Not so good.”

“Great. Keep looking. Maybe something in writing?”

“Well, the Gorgon is holding a, er, book it looks like.” He stands on his tippy toes. “But I can’t see the cover… (strain) to tell what it is.”

“Get that book,” Clare-Wheeler commands. “Just *grab* it from her.”

Dare he?

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May 29, 2021 · 9:59 am

Abyss, The

“A boy 13 to 10 and back to 13 and over and over. Obviously this is TILE, W.”

“(Small) ‘e’ to (large) ‘E’,” she agreed. “5 to 8, gaining 3. Years in this case.”

“Yellow to blue.” He looked out at the sky, the suns rising over the horizon. Horizings.

“But what of the step-down?” she continued in this vein. “The 12, then the 11, back to 10 and then back to 13, over and over?”

“Children according to the TILE documents and creeds. Red and green. Gred. Or Reen.”

“Redgreen. I remember that place. A place of war.”

“7 and 6. Mixed up. Which is higher, which is lower? Confusion in the middle. And by extension…”

“At both ends. Hi becomes lo. Hilo.”

“But one thing we agreed,” he offered as a compromise. “The Abyss plays no role in the end game. Because the Abyss has no real power. Only illusion.”

“Like static.” She squelched the urge to tack on the state names of Tennessee and Kentucky to this. It would all play out.


Tennessee. And Kentucky.

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April 1, 2021 · 5:09 am

Pickleland end

He was near the start again, deciding which way to go and whether it was even worth choosing at this point. The house on the hill to the left remained a disappointment, with no Grandma inside except a kindly one named Tessa who was obviously not the horrible monster he’d heard about from several denizens of PickleSong now. But there also seemed nothing of real value or meaning to the right either: no real structures of substance. The red door loomed front and center before him. Dare he (despite the warning color)? There was nowhere else. Except retreat a little further back toward the Portal and thank Brunhilde for the bike, which he never did, and ask for his advice. He seems kindly enough as well. Yes, that sounds like a plan.

“It’s already been taken care of,” offered muscle bound Brunhilde about the door, helping Sandman more than he could know if confusing him in the present. “I’d go ahead and start over: go back through the Portal and start afresh tomorrow. Things will be different, trust me. And, oh, leave the bike behind. I need to pedal to the store up on level 5 today for some bread and eggs and some other stuff.”

—–

Jeffrey Phillips woke up back in the Blue Feather in Collagesity. He wiped the little bit of grit from his eyes (sand!), and looked around at familiar surroundings: the infamous red tie draped around his bedpost, his tuxedo hanging in the corner on an antique coat rack, his Phillip Linden doll beneath him that he’s cried into many a night before sleep. And, most immediate: Charlene the Punk beside him. “Put on a dress babydoll and get out of that babydoll,” he spoke over to the groggy punk. “We’ve got to go see Man About Time and pronto!”

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April 1, 2021 · 5:09 am

confluence 02

“How did it go today, sister of mine?”

“She is *definitely* one of us,” Daisy Mae Flowers replied to Lou Ferrig No, not seen in this blog for a while. Not heavily since photo-novel 4, when she interacted with The Musician in her own, similar realm of Bermingham and took care of his pet dingo for a while, if memory serves — maybe still does.

“That’s great, yes. Can’t wait to meet her. Staying in Shauna’s room I assume?”

“Yes. The snow monsters have her now.”

“Nice — I suppose. I mean, the snow monsters aren’t *that* bad, I’ve heard.”

“They’ve killed 3 million people!” exclaimed Daisy Mae, pushing a popular myth about the actually quite decent blizzard creatures.

“Nah, not what I’ve heard. Do you still get your news from FOX?”

“Lets not go into all that sister.”

“I’m just saying, *dingo* is better — all small letters in that case. Small is for humble; truthful.”

Daisy Mae looked away from her sister, not wanting to start an argument that had no end and would most definitely spiral into the Abyss. She’d seen enough of the Abyss. Instead: “She’s met David A.B. here, the normal one. What I mean…”

“What you *mean*…” continued the sister, “is that he’s not the Devil.”

“No, he’s the God,” agreed Daisy now with her sibling. “At least he *thinks* he’s one.” Both titter with this. They act in unison again.

—–

It was a long time ago and it happened in the theatre below the castle. It was a round concavity full of something but not popcorn this time. Instead: brains, specifically the diamond like brains of David/Dave, who had not chosen a moral direction yet. The victim slumped opposite him. Keith B. most likely, who subsequently acquired his own new brain from… well, let’s just keep some things private for now. The man they called The Barber sings a tuneful song of familiar design while he works.

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April 1, 2021 · 5:08 am

more Highcastle

Shauna never made it out of the static monster (aka snow monster) realm.

“Shameful waste of life,” spoke investigating Officer Bill Mustardgas over to fellow investigating Officer Michelle Roundup. “But also, wouldn’t you agree, a shameful waste of popcorn, nom nom nom.”

“Agreed! nom nom nom.”

—–

Tessa was nosing around the castle while waiting. “Grandpa?”

—–

“I hear that my step-cousin didn’t make it in from the snow today, Willa. When will it stop snowing? Will it be March?” *sigh*

“Pills!” exclaimed the Registered Nurse, a type of monster herself who had a whole bunch in her hand to cure any ail.

“Put those away and bring the girl to me,” she commanded, wanting to stay lucid if melancholy for the moment. “The Grand Niece”.

—–

“Stop looking over there, child. Stop touching things.”

“Oh, okay,” Tessa agreed while lowering her hand, trying to stay compliant. She knew this woman — creature — before her had valuable information about her beloved Grandpa. Was it possible that he was still alive? She had to find out.

“Look at me, girl. Look me in the eyes.” Tessa did as she asked again. “Do you know who I am? Do you know why you’re here?”

Tessa said she’d heard that she was a member of the family and that she could come to the castle to live if she wished. She was told she could also take step-cousin Shauna’s room soon, and that Shauna was going away for a while and that she might not be coming back.

“That is correct, child,” then spoke the creature before her, who had decided to take the name Daisy Mae March as a sign of hope that the Realm of Snow will end soon. “The Grandpa is upstairs,” Daisy stated, knowing what was foremost in Tessa’s mind.

Joy! Reunion with the most beloved! But then the complete downer was revealed: Grandpa was still dead and only living in Grandma’s head while she herself remained alive. Grandma? Tessa then thought, puzzled. April Mae Flowers?

“Who are you?” she demanded, eyes boring into her now.

“So much pain, Tessa. Yes, you are most definitely one of us.” Joy in return.

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