Category Archives: Estate

May 25, 2024 · 6:46 am

00430107 (deep)

“What did you just call those rocks over there?”

—–

“Cleveland,” Fern repeats to partner Lichen what Asylum bartender Teebestia said to her while they were standing with their backs to the hole, gazing up at it. And the co-manager of the Yalta Bar and Grill happened to have the same name. Fern quickly determined it couldn’t be chance. They had to confront Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland with the news.

—–

“Little Big… right up on those rocks… was *taken*. Flung into the far corners of space against his will, his better nature. (Old) Mabel has been looking for him ever since. She thought the hole would provide the answer, or at least relief from her suffering. So she jumped… and came out the other side. Black to white; space again. The hole was a portal to a ship of vast dimensions. She didn’t find her big brother, per se, but found what happened to him, why he never returned. He was *assimilated*. Grumpy — you listening to me? You found that second list, said it was just on the floor when you finished dusting those bookshelves in back. But, truth be told, you’ve *had* that list, probably for a long time. What you didn’t know about is the other, matching list, our first but your second.”

Former porn star and current nudist Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland tried to retain a face of stone but failed. The facade broke down, he started crying even. In the animated blubbering, the huge package down below swayed back and forth like a swinging bridge disconnected on one side and in a heavy gale. He often wondered how it would be displayed when he passed on. In its own big, long jar of formaldehyde at some kind of porn flick museum? He didn’t want that future for himself. He wanted… more.

“I was told,” he said between sobs, “that it would make me *immortal*.”

A phallus! Fern realized. The Martian rocks represent his own. She needed to take a better look at them with this information. Where are the balls, for example?

Built right into the corner of the compound, as it turned out, the whole thing towering over the Asylum bar itself. But the overall smooth, classical phallus shape still lies unhewn and unexposed beneath a rough rock exterior. The sculptor, named TENNESSEE, still had much work to do. Trouble is, it had been over 100 years since she started.

(to be continued)

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May 22, 2024 · 3:54 pm

00430104

He looked at the paper that had fallen to the floor from the bookcases in back. He quickly phoned Fern.

“Listen, I have news.”

Fern thought at first: Barry’s back from his sabbatical, But, no, it was another list, printed on Asylum Inc. letterhead again.

“How?” Fern responded to this. “We were just there. We looked *everywhere*.” The thought passed through her mind now that Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland, a nudist originally from rough Grandpa Cliffs across the channel, was playing an elaborate prank on them. She pondered this more as Grumpy explained he was cleaning up, getting ready to lock up, just dusting the bookshelves as he does at the end of every working day, when the thing simply fell out, about at the location of the “Around the World in *1000* Pictures” book (not 2000, as we’ve already explained). He thought he’d just dusted the book but couldn’t be sure. Anyway, he had it spread out in front of him on the bar counter. He described what he saw to Fern.

“It looks very similar,” he said. “26 words again, just like with the first one. Looks like a whole new set of words, though. And alphabetized again.”

“All the letters of the alphabet?” queried Fern.

Grumpy checked once more. “No, looks like some are missing this time.”

“So we have groupings of words starting with the same letter,” Fern said. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

—–

“So here they are. I took the first and placed it next to the new one so you could compare. Whaddaya think?”

Fern eyed the new set of 26 words with hoax firmly in her mind now. Grumpy playing games with her, just to try to show off what he thought was his own intellect too and put her in her place? But the words would tell her, the patterns they make.

“Diablo and Draco — did you see, Grumpy?”

“Umm, see what?”

“They’re reversed in the alphalist. Only two ‘D’s, swapped with each other. She eyed him now, looking for signs of feigned surprise. The surprised expression coming from the big, nude man in front of her seemed genuine, though. He’d simply passed over the reversing in his scan of the list.

“And, look here, Greengrow and Grayback — same thing if you spell Gray as Grey, like if we were English instead of American.” UK and US united as one, she thought here, lovely red-headed, pinkish skinned Wendy a vision in her mind. Or maybe UK and France is a better match, Fern quickly amended, considering the bar’s name they were in and the Churchill that had to be involved. “But, see,” she refocused on the colors green and gray instead, poking the printed words with her index finger, “this has something to do with war. This has something to do with *the* war. Green-Gray, sometimes colored Green-White for reasons I can’t quite remember right now.” She waved off the attempt. “Never mind that: Asylum is involved in the war. This Asylum Inc.,” she summarized, “is maybe a weapons manufacturer, or maybe something to do with military training.” Brainwashing, she realized. They’re brainwashing men to become soldiers. Just like…
—–

“Describe ‘hole’,” she asked the bartender in the city of Mars where Old Mabel disappeared from.

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May 21, 2024 · 2:14 am

00430103

“Those books in back aren’t for the general public,” spoke nudist and co-manager of the Yalta Bar and Grill Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland to Fern and Lichen later on. “I only let friends back there, people I know, people I can trust who won’t sully the pages and so on. And I know all the books as well. I had ‘Around the World in 1000 Pictures’ not ‘2000’. That’s a later, expanded version I didn’t purchase. And I don’t take donations — not directly. I buy books. I *know* books.”

“Pure enough,” said Fern to this, still scanning the list before her on the counter. 26 words for 26 letters in order from A to Z. But Asylum isn’t among them — didn’t start it off. Instead: company letterhead at the top. She’d done a little research before confronting Grumpy with the list they’d found. Asylum Inc. was started by one Wayne Bruce in 1972 in Nightsity, California. Thing is, Nightsity doesn’t exist. Not in *this* reality. In 1988 it supposedly moved to Jasper County GA near Atlanta, apparently another lie.

Here’s a Google Street View of the address from the letterhead. Nothing.

The most confounding thing of all: When Fern and Lichen returned to the bookshelves around back to check for additional evidence, “Around the World in 2000 Pictures” was no longer there. Instead, a copy of “Around the World in 1000 Pictures”, brown colored instead of blue for the former, was present in the exact same spot, just like Grumpy said he bought. Even ultra-sharp Fern couldn’t figure this out in the moment. Not yet. It would take the closing of one eye and the opening of another to accomplish.

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May 14, 2024 · 3:00 pm

Seven (Dan sim)

Here I sit and think about my outstanding pinkness.

How did it come about? Well, it was *stolen*. From Baker Blinker. Way back in the day. Model 1.0 you could call it. Now I am considered to be a savior of some sort. The white horse leads, the black horse steers.

I came here…

… in a boat.

But not that one.

Maybe here I can get away from testers Fern and Lichen. Be my own body in my own person. That’s the hope.

Mama T. and calf will help me.

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May 11, 2024 · 3:50 am

00420616

“It’s simply beautiful here, Barry. But –”

“Why did I wait so long to show you this?”

“Well… *yes*.” It could have help swayed my judgement, she thinks. She could still change her mind, but… a contract was signed. Wendy’s Hot Dog Restaurant is a go! Except switch hot dogs with hamburgers and meat byproducts to just pure beef. Okama talked her into it, just as he talked himself into giving up the dream of taking over the Dream Emulator band and kicking everyone else out except maybe classically trained guitarist No Lag V, which they usually just shorten to No Lag. He’d assume the mayor’s position of Kangarootown instead, recently vacated by disgraced Golden Jim, fired because he’d called the wrong person the wrong name, it seems. Anyway, Okama = Mayor, Okama invites Wendy to open her restaurant in his former K-Town store (basically just a store for mouse traps, he said, waiving off the inconvenience), and then giving her a 25 year month lease on the place for 500 lindens a month. That’s the contract signed; too good of a deal to pass on; had to act fast, she felt, lest he or she changed his or her mind. And her affections returned to Bastard — wherever he is up there on the Red Dead planet. St. Dennis, she’d heard for a possible location. She hadn’t given up hope that he not only lives but thrives, and is just waiting for the right time to invite her up too. Hmm, but she’s locked into a lease now. She better think about a second in command just in case.

“I was waiting for the right time,” Barry finally answered, allowing Wendy’s internal monologue to unfurl in a proper manner. “I thought–”

“We could go steady?”

“Well…”

“Barry. I still have Bastard — you know, Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate.”

“But… he’s dead,” answers Barry to this.

“No, I refuse to believe that.”

“But… they found his *skeleton*, the Red Dead crew did. They *buried* him… out to sea.”

“No. Not true. I *sense* he exists still. I’m just not sure how.”

“All those rumors about him surviving and living in St. Dennis are just that. Fiction — fable. The skeleton in the boat was *his*. There was even his trusty sword to go along with it. Wendy — face it.” He makes her face him. “He’s gone.”

She was tempted to slap him for the stubbornness. But after all, as Okama Majo also pointed out, *he* has Hucka Doobie now. She substituted the slap with that harsh declaration.

Barry quickly looked away, almost as if he’d been slapped anyway. “She’s with someone else, I’ve heard. A Marion Star Harding. Never met the guy. But he predates me, even. Last I heard he’s in Gaston. Do you know of Gaston? I had to learn about it. I learned it from–” He stops. He realizes the irony, the *synchronicity* of the matter.

He recalls piecing together a document about the place. From wadded up papers strewn about his shed near the Pink Motel. Home.

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April 25, 2024 · 6:01 am

00420515 (centerpoint)

“Honey, get out of the shot. I’m trying to take a picture of that ghost over there!”

—–

“So this is where we’re going,” Mabel said to Teebestia, who had removed her mask since the facade was dropped, like water off a duck’s back.

“We *all* do,” the mechanoid rattled. “Eventually.”

“Riight.” Mabel was pondering how to get out of this. Really hard (!). “What happens when I wake up? I mean, when I get to the other side.”

“You’ll see your brother,” Teebeestia spoke plainly. “Reunited at last.”

I must be dreaming, thought Mabel. She goes to the edge, stares down into the hole, sees light at the bottom, way way down. She’ll be killed, yes. But the light will take her, swallow her. (Almost) all water removed. Just like a mechanoid. There will be little remorse for a life lived fully, quietly, in contemplation on the world at large. *Worlds*.

“Soo… this is how you got to be who you are.”

“Yes,” Teebeestia clipped rapidly. Death was good for her. She had a diseased heart, a diseased mind. The hole was a way out.

Mabel looked around the landscape for perhaps the last time. So much had changed about the Dawg Pound since their childhood, growing up with Winnfield — happy happy days. But the Cleveland Rocks up there remain. Perhaps, at least in part, as a memorial for Little himself, she imagined, the last place she saw him before he was taken. By the Universe. The mechanoids at least do that for him while shifting around everything else. She can’t really blame them, though. Climate change, she knew. “Oh, Little,” she lamented. “What have your Green-Gray Wars done?”

She shifts her attention back to the hole. Taking a deep breath… she jumps.

The bones rattle on.

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April 25, 2024 · 4:43 am

00420514 (Asylum?)

She sat at the bar nursing a tall cool glass of lemonade while waiting. Risky to come back here of course, but she had to take the chance. Potential information about her brother! After all these years.

Bartender Ricki Bendicky didn’t seem to recognize her — good. 052 class mechanoids like her sometimes have leaky memories, drippy recollections. Like a faucet they could even run dry if left on too long. And that’s what Mabel was hoping. For a reboot here on the red planet… *not* dead but alive with fauna and flora unique to the universe.

“Slow night tonight, it seems,” she tested. No immediate answer; does the mechanoid even recognize where she worked? Mabel pondered. Is she just programmed to served drinks in this out-of-the-way establishment and that’s that? No RAM for barroom banter, as they call it, no ability to even direct customers to the bathroom? She’s heard of such stripped down types.

But then: “I expected someone older.” Dang, Mabel thought. Spotted!

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April 21, 2024 · 3:21 pm

00420512

Pitch Darkly and especially (of course!) born fisherperson Mary Ball Darkly were so successful on their extended angling vacation that they had to rent a truck to bring the caught loot back home to Aisle of Palms. “Hope you brought your appetite back with you too,” issues Mary while staring at the smelly crates piled 3 high in its bed, knowing they had limited space in the manor’s freezers.

Now to get down to serious issues once more: the Ball situation. They were four weeks late getting back as it was. Too much fun! Couldn’t let it end despite the potential cost. It’s all virtual reality anyway, said Pitch to Mary after their huge haul at Fox Island (alternately Squirrel Island) in Endlessly Antipodal. So it was on to the Amazon Basin and piranhas/electric eels after that to finally get the cold of Walsh County ND out of their bones and blood, and then All Orange to finish up, a virtual fisherperson’s paradise as indicated by Mary’s knowledgeable friend Sandy Beech way way back in the days. Just got around to getting there. Sandy’s never wrong about these things, she knew. Best fry cook in the whole of Great Belt where he comes from, she’s heard from not one but several sources.

“Are you sure this is right, Mary? Fish in a *volcano*?”

“Emm, maybe I got the wrong color in that name. All Green?” she tested, burning through yet another line. “Brown?”

“Let’s go, Mary. Well have to rent a truck to get back our vast haul as is. We have enough.”

“Alright.”

“Plus the Ball situation; Baker wanted us back there a month ago.”

“I know I know.” Mary starts packing up the tackle…

… just in the nick of time as it turns out. *Great balls of fire* that was close to where they were standing! And more on the way. Get off that erupting mountain quick guys!

But, as we know, they got home okay, phew. Mary wasted no time in placing a call to so-called expert Sandy Beech.

“All *Blue*,” he erupted back when hearing the color she chose to remember in their by now long ago conversation about the place. “There’s no fish in a volcano!”

But, savant that she is, Mary still caught a couple.

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April 20, 2024 · 7:40 pm

00420511

So Newt/Baker Bloch started looking around the various shops spread across the twisty-turny alleyways of Kowloon’s Gate city in search of the “Greg” avatar Mr. Moon used as the star of his fabled “Ticket to Hell” movie about the pitfalls of Our Second Lyfe. He purchased a cheap Mr. Moon t-shirt found on the marketplace to, in his mind, help bring him luck, and sweet talked Wheeler into buying a women’s version of the same. Below we see her joining in the search; she had some almost freebie female avatars she wanted to purchase here anyway, as observed by Newt and, above him, by me the user of all. Then a 3rd version of “me” entered from the rear.

“Looking for, ahem, *me*?” They turned.

“Greg!” both yelled at once. Turns out he was one of our default library avatars, hidden there all along. Good ol’ library.

“Are those… Mr. Moon t-shirts?” he observed. “I’m *flattered*.” He was already in character, awaiting another plot in another movie. Or at least a blog.

(to be continued)

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April 18, 2024 · 2:41 pm

actual museum this time

I wondered why these two little figures of the same person were running around a Kangerootown table under the watching eyes of two looming rabbit creatures.

Then when I found two normal sized figures of the same in a nearby fort, my interest was really piqued. The name of the object was Magnum, created by Magnum Yoshikawa, obviously a self image of sorts.

His profile picks quickly led me to this shop in Kowloon’s Gate City, one of the most notable locations in all of Our Second Lyfe. Places like this are a big reason I keep hanging around the game. 🙂

His created museum there was *big*. Then around the corner…

Ah hahaha. Mr. Price! Well, the same Real Life guy who *plays* my Grant Price who is actually called Freddy Price. You remember, the guy who guards Bull’s Bar and is now the same or has incorporated the figure of Gray Man from the LSD Dream Emulator game. I’d be insulted if you forgot *that*.

This find certainly acts as inspiration. I must locate this “Greg” avatar if possible and purchase!

Reference video here, perhaps the best one about Second Life® ever made and certainly the funniest I would imagine. And the best video by the prolific auteur Mr. Moon period as far as I’ve been able to check, the Freddy Price ones included (although they’re very very funny in stretches too).

Ticket to Hell

More on this soon (!).

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