“Hey look, Frank. It’s me! You know, I was going to be the biggest Youtube pooper of them all. The Pooping Pigeon I was called — or going to be called. Bigger than Mickey. Pansy knows. Ask Pansy!”
“Dawg,” responded Frank Lynn, as was appropriate and desired. “What are you even *doing* here? In my castle, sitting in my chair, looking at my video feed, huh?”
“Well, I have to be here. Remember?”
“And *why*?”
“Well, okay… um.”
“Is it because that car ran you over while you were standing in the middle of the road, dawg?”
“Well…”
“Because if it is, I can fix that. We’ve already been over this. You don’t have to *die*. You don’t have to come *here*. You can still do good… in the world below. I can — fix — this.”
“Yeah, I remember you telling me that,” admitted still chair sitting Dr. Mouse, cane still pointed at his paused big Mouse head looming on the screen before him, part of a 3:33 long YouTube poop video I recently found online, ‘nother one. “But–”
“No buts. I can, let’s see, just place you back at that other 32/225 spot, where you’re just staring at that can of sody pop instead of being in the middle of the road, just waiting for things to end. Pick up the can, let’s say. Communicate with whoever is at the other end of the line. Don’t be… afraid.”
“Pick up the can, eh?” said Mouse, contemplating the proposition again, considering it more deeply this time. He *did* desire contact, mutual friendship. But who was on the other side? One way to find out.
“Okay,” he said. “Send me back.”
“On one condition, though — and we talked about this too. You have to deal with the man-woman polarity. You have to find a—”
But Mouse had already returned back to the place he was at just before he died. At that other Rodentia 32/225 spot, one sim up and left.
He picked up the can in front of him. He knew exactly where to take it next.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 