I figured I was in the right place because of the flag. A community where Big Pipe and Little Pipe meet to create Double Pipe, a juncture of 2 supposedly equal yet opposite realities. This is America as we know it, red (white) and blue. This is the Key.
…to the east of Detour is Keymar, to the north of Detour is another unincorporated community called Keysville…
About 1.6 million Americans don’t have this in their house (no pipes!). Here: front and center in the middle of town, like a planted Tardis.
We begin heading backwards.
There are other things to see hear on this continent of Jeogeot.
“We will return.”
“We have to get rid of your kind to make room for the ships.”
“We’ll give you a proper burial spot.”
“Query?” Rock would have raised a hand to ask an important question in his mind if he had any. But [Paper] already knew the answer.
“Quarry,” was his presumed corrective response. Stupid Rocks, he thought inwardly. We should cover them quickly to halt the dense talk.
Scissors then cut in, the hopeful champion of Rock and defender to the grave. But he would only beat her to a pulp when freed from his cage in the interrogation room, continuing the circle ad nauseam.
… the Blue *Thorn* walks into a pizza establishment, only to discover the irony of his main bane. He *himself* is this mysterious Monroe Ray who borrowed his antique red Chevy and perhaps drove it into the levy but definitely, at any rate, got himself lost… then killed. Smashed in the face by Casey One Hole in the 256 defined Red Room, one a-hole of a guy as we know. Thus the cybernetics. “Don’t die, don’t die,” said the one armed doctor, hovering above him like a white masked angel. And so he didn’t but being brought back to life in this way, in this manner, cost him. Recruitment into Pot-D; tough boss Buster Damm over him now. “Damn!” he often cursed at his situation.
He sat in Collagesity’s newest business for half an hour, waiting on the pizza he’d ordered just before climbing the beige hill to the village within the village, a microcosm. He’d figure it out soon enough. The pizza was made by himself at the same time and it sat there on the counter, waiting for him to open the lid and solve the puzzle. More would come of this.
So many more stories to tell in this here Paper-Soap, sims still united despite the best efforts of Old Man Allen Martin and his Paper Kings. See what I mean? But we must move back to Nautilus for now to investigate the eye. Monolith painter Greg Ogden’s on his final quarter, we could put it. STOP
START Someone is about to emerge.
Clothing challenged, lawn mowing Jacobia was stuck, unable to press forward on her own.
So she decided to put on a few more clothes and join another progressive rock group, this time *not* starting with a G, or at least only the letter itself being referred to this go around. The G-Spots were born, half black, half white, all Basterds after naturally evolving into a punk band. Okay then, let’s go with The Basterds, since The Bastards is obviously taken and also the Basturds. And The Bastords doesn’t make much sense, and neither does the Bastirds. Hmmm… Bastirds.
When I spoke to Jacobia about it she said that (the name) Bastirds was silly and that they would go with G-Spots, except spell it Gee Spots, like a frisky gee cat she knew growing up in Paper-Soap. Anita (lead guitarist) agreed, and so did Stig (keyboardist) and Dirk (bassist). The band hit all the right notes, just like during good sex. After acquiring drummer Peter Sun (formerly Mitch Peterson) to complete the quintet, their first gig proper was in front of a tunnel playing to a disinterested crowd wondering why their train went missin. They would move on to bigger and better.
Guy Benjamin carefully checks the mailbox for explosives before continuing to move in.
He plans to stay here for a while, despite the dangers. Because he’s in hiding again.
Yes this will do I suppose, he thinks. But the animations in the house *suck*.
I guess that’s the point, though. No energy to detect up here in the skies. Blanket silence.
Oh no. Another picture of Foxtrot above the head of the bed. But this one’s crooked. I’ll just get up here and straight– OH NO!!
Gee Cat had doubts at first but then realized he was exactly where he was suppose to be. At this spot.
He waits patiently for someone to emerge from that tunnel, perhaps a friend but also perhaps a… fiend. Time will shortly tell.
A painter soon arrives. “I was just — Soap Lake,” he started with the broken sentences to add to the plot confusion. “Suds — Bubbles — took care…” He collapses at Gee Cat’s feet. Lordy, the big orange feline thought, have to drag him over to The Asylum for more rehabilitation. The body is back but the mind is still, let’s say, lacking. Dr. Mouse will fix him up, but he won’t be happy to see me.
Better get to work.
“We found a dogg, Police Chief Vice Chancellor Inspector Martha Wiggins. But *not* in *this* Lyfe.”
I recognized him immediately, even though I’m not sure I wanted to. Not the man on the bike also staring over. That would be the long sought after Dr. Mouse, shortened over time from Doctor *of* Mouse, as in Mick Mouse, as in Pansy Mouse which Mick changed into after the operation to remove all the black and fatten up the face and body. No, I’m talking about the shadowy man in the window with the red eye, presumably with a matching one hidden behind the grille of the window pane. I’ve seen him before: the house on the hill in Pickleland. This is Schuman; Schuman is interested in what I am doing. Endlessly inventive, he has found a new guise.
I also think about the “red eye” of the 1st Bogota collage, there the color applying to a lightning bolt design highlighting an eyeless socket of a skull, a facial tattoo made famous by pop musician David Bowie.
And to further this, I’m reminded in one of his last videos called “Lazarus”, Bowie had bandages very similar to Schuman.
So is this Schuman or is this Bowie? Perhaps a game of eeny, meeny, miny, moe would be appropriate here.