Category Archives: Estate

December 26, 2021 · 9:55 am

completed Table

Grassy Noll had shifted one chair down to make room for Nauty, but he said that wasn’t what it sounded like. It was just short for Nautilus (continent) — he wasn’t some kind of sex toy doll, he reinforced. “Or was he?” he then joked, and repositioned the pin near his navel in a most inappropriate way, getting a laugh from Wheeler at least.

“So you can help with our pin cushion problem,” said Baker, staying serious because he had a big problem. The Nautilus map behind Nauty had been itself overrun with red pins, marking locations already featured in the blog and with more to come. He needed organization, he needed categorization. What is the true relationship of Lower and Upper Austra? How is the North, deemed non-Austran, really different? And what of the Wild West, the Mild East, the *Southwest*, where he’d just been with Man About Time? And then: Collagesity. Between Highways 13 and 14 that stood for M and N. Soo much there already.

“Yes,” answered Nauty, and then said he had a Rubber Soul. Baker thought about this for a moment and realized it meant he was beyond Help (!). If it kept progressing in this direction he’d need a Revolver to end it all.

“You mean *I* have a Rubber Soul,” he said to Nauty.

“Yes.”

Across from him, Opp or Tropp (True Opp) had also shifted one chair over to make room for another newcomer, this Al guy we’ve already mentioned several posts back, the last one set in Paper-Soap in my new rental there, the one in front of Soap Beach but in the Paper sim, the place where the dead wash up in banded groups, ready to be sudsed and bubbled for rebirthing purposes. Wash away the sins type of deal. More newcomers. Perhaps, secretly, Al with his multiple faces was one of ’em. Also: Nauty. Maybe Jinx Doll as well. Seems too coincidental they’re here.

(to be continued)

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December 25, 2021 · 8:44 am

short for Anselmo

Baker Bloch couldn’t help himself. “Hold on,” he said, delaying the meeting even further. “Lemme get another beer out of the fridge.

“Everybody good?” he calls to the assembled cast and crew while fishing out a Krings from its depths, including new gal Jinx Doll. Who invited *her*? he thought when she arrived at 15 til 8, 20 minutes before anyone else. “I’ll take one,” said Wheeler directly across from him, who wandered in at 8:35, the last to show up. Immediately before her at 8:25 came Opp, her true love. And then, before that (8:15), Grassy Noll, the most famous of all Mmmmmm’s, a species formerly inhabiting the Great Lake area of Herman Park. No longer. Now friend Wheeler originally questioned him about selling out his kind, but he denies it, despite being the only true Mmmmmm left after successfully transferring over to virtual reality using his massive wealth and status as bargaining chips to the Great God of the Great Lake in ’64, just after the JFK debacle he was also responsible for, a warm-up act some called it. Like Wheeler, although she was only echoing what she’d heard at the time. “He took a *shot* for you,” she grilled beyond cooking and into simply burning to a crisp. Crisp Lake crisp. Grassy was use to the heat, though, and took Wheeler’s best (return) shot in stride, deflecting it a little bit up and to the right like he was good at — he was *fractally* good at, in fact, able to whirl it down into a vortex hole if needed, out of sight and also out of mind to those swirling all around, still trying and failing to become a singularity like that. Bay City was renamed John Fitzgerald Kennedy City because of it but that was only Alaska. Things happen differently it’s so cold up there, far away from the heat of the grilling and burning. It was a displacement, you see. And because of it “America the Beautiful” became the national anthem instead of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” But no one remembered, no one knew, Marilyn (Lichen Roosevelt) least of all because she was so close to the subject, a tree for forest deal-i-o.

Baker slid a Krings over to Wheeler past the face of Al, the second to arrive after Jinx Doll at 8:05 and the last member of the Table to be brought up in this here post. He has 3 faces, actually. That’s the story we must go into next.

(to be continued)

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December 24, 2021 · 4:57 pm

something to crow about

Back in Whippersnapper, Baker waited outside for a new Christmas shipment of antique art (and pottery) to the Blue Baron’s.

“Monolith…?” he questioned when it finally arrived from ports unknown. “Let me check,” offered Chuck Wakdins the delivery man, and looked down his inventory list. “Which one,” he finally said, “Ansel Adams or, let me see, Greg Ogden? New guy apparently.”

Suc-cess!

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December 20, 2021 · 8:42 am

around the corner 02

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.

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December 20, 2021 · 6:32 am

dwarf crushing

“Red green blue, man. Red green blue.” Bob tripping the white stick fantastic.

“But where’s yellow?” added Dole, and then looks around as if it would materialize in the air as well as on his jacket. He spots the concrete parking divider right in front of his face and realizes what it is. “Whoa, dude,” he exclaims, trying not to look directly into its “eye”. “Check it out.”

“Radical,” Bob said more low, exhaling pungent smoke into the air. He looked even further away. He knew it was there all along. Alll along.

“Straightened and everything!” Dole exclaimed, and started shuffling his feet a bit in the excitement. “Like a… huh, banana or something. Frozen banana, wow.” Still averting the eye. Peeling away from it, even.

“Exactly, man. Exactly.” Bob bogarted the last drag off the white stick.  “You got it, man. You’re so (*exhale*) right on.” Stick fragment to the ground, then…

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December 20, 2021 · 4:47 am

Quick Stop

“Can I help you with anything, inspector!?” the acne faced clerk called over. He’d neglected the chef part in the title — must be a town newcomer. But that’s the hat he’s currently wearing: private cook not public dick (he’ll switch over at dusk). And he needs some special ingredients for his surprise pie. He’s almost got it. Something about recently deceased Bob Dole in a Franco-American afterlife. And butterflies — he can’t help mixing business with pleasure. He always seems to have eyes in the back of his head as well as front; part of his two faced, interior/exterior personality.

But nature calls right now and he can’t wait until he gets back to the apartment. Public will have to do again. He pivots, he sliides. He opens the unlocked door.

“Oh. Excuse me,” he calls into the man in the dark also studying butterflies. Is no place sacred any more?? The apartment it will have to be.

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December 19, 2021 · 10:09 am

Trapped!

“*Cult* of the 3 Suns brought ME here.” Zzzzz’s from the “listener”. “You still with me?” Clearly he wasn’t, but Dr. Herbert Thomas Brown only needed a sounding board this late at night, when the bitterness fully kicked in. “My Three Suns, the wife called them, before her own mysterious disappearance.” A snort this time, then rolling over and more snores. Tom was a good guy, Dr. Brown could have thought here. But he sleeps a lot. Oh well… not a lot else to do in this alley separated from reality. He tried to think of a joke combining the words reality and alley to more accurately describe their situation but it didn’t quite come together. Fitting. “Then I went to *Falmouth*… don’t get me started about *Falmouth*, pheh.” He looked over at Tom: still rolled over but quieter now. Had he awoken? Brown thought. Was he, I don’t know, actually listening to him this late at night for a change? Something about Falmouth?

—–

Knock knock knock. “Honey?! I decided to join you on your vacation after all. Darling?! Are you in there?!”

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December 19, 2021 · 8:43 am

34th Street

“I’m just saying you haven’t been the same, since… since…”

“Cincinnati. Just say it.”

“Bench.”

“I know,” he interrupted again, knowing the story all too well.

“It was a lot of lumber!”

“He deserved it.” Silence for a bit, then: “I guess we’re going to talk about Rose next. The *ul-timate* Red.”

She shook her head. “No. No, I’m just saying…”

“It was the frigg’n Metz!” he exclaimed, finally raising his voice on the subject, as he almost always does. “How would I know, a MIRACLE would occur?”

“It,” she tried to calm him down, “was… a long time ago.”

“Not in my nogg’n.” He knocked on his head. It made a hollow sound. Lumber again. Bench would get his revenge. “The whole *team*, was jinxed. Just look at their names. Rose, pheh. Bench, *huff*. Perez… well that one was kind of normal. But *Morgan*.”

“Now dearest, why don’t we wrap up some more presents,” she distracted again. “Then afterwards, afterwards…” She dangled her leg seductively. No need to think about 69 any longer. *That* 69.  It was often the only way to get him to shut up about it once he started. Now the other leg joined the first: two danglers. Would he take the bait?

—–

“Tom… SEEVER!” he said to end. Always the same.

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December 18, 2021 · 8:34 am

another one?

“Why aren’t you guys sitting across from each other still? *Anyway*, we know the Anomaly is the same as this beanstalk being mentioned around this here town, Paper-Soap still, despite the attempts at division. It doesn’t jam our systems any longer — a situation we should toast to sometime (come to think of it) — but its presence is still around.” Goober gobble. “Reports now. Whatcha got Agent 47?” he speaks to the closest one. “Er, 23,” he adjusts, seeing a hair on the upper lip. Male this one is. The other: female, despite the baldness and otherwise seeming identicalness. More experiments of The Mouse.

“We’re monitoring situations of a bust,” he metered out crisply, almost like a robot but without the needed metallic squeaking of the inner mechanics. Like with the Claudes. “A painter. Paper.” He glances over at Agent 47, noting the hairless lip and the current desire to kiss it. When did these feelings start for 23?? He guessed that birthday party. Where they summoned The Devil again, pheh.

“A ring,” continued 47 on the same case. “Within…” he looked back.

“… a ring,” completed 23 for him, contemplating whether to blow him (*a kiss*!).

“So you’re saying to me, people, that this bust involves a ring (*brinnng*). And not only that, another ring within that ring? (*brinnngg*). How deep are we?”

The phone rings for the third time at the far end of the table. It’s one of the Claudes, which is always bad news.

Jim walks in (*brinnng*). “I’ll get it.”

“NOOOOOO!!!”

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December 18, 2021 · 6:42 am

Paper… Soap

An expert at 4 was called in to help with the transition from whole to half: Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, last seen wheeling this dark baby around NWES City over on the Jeogeot continent one last time before putting it in storage. Stored no more; out and about again. Thanks to Zoidboro and the magically pronounced words.

Mr. Yellow glances in at the *plant* sitting beside him in the yellow chair, the cheese being also known as Marilyn but seldom seen in that guise except for the gifted of sight. She’d even given him back his attached rats to make him pure rabbit again, although he didn’t know it in the moment. He talks to his supervisor via phone. Dr. Mouse. Dr Mouse? Yes. Dr. Mouse.

“Good, good,” he says about the setup over at the new rental beside the old parsonage Zoidboro was kicked out of just yesterday’s today’s tomorrow. He knew now he was (also) fully back to life. He imagined he could throw a stone from his asylum and it would hit the roof, perhaps rolling down to knock his agent on the head. In fact, I think he went up to his own roof to gauge if this were actually possible. Let’s take a pic of it.

No: a bit too far still; trees kind of in the way. He can’t help but point with his cane at what irritates him presently, old habits dying hard.

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