Category Archives: Golden Sink^

auditions

“Not too bad for seconds, Hatfield, but also: not good enough. 3.3 seconds. You needed 10.”

“Eek, my spine,” he managed in-between groans.

“Next! Announce yourself first before mounting the Wild Whale.”

“Um, TV. Colored TV.”

“Do you, Mr. TV, understand the challenge facing you? The Wild Whale giveth, the Wild Whale taketh. All Hail the Wild White Whale.”

“All Hail the Wild White Whale,” everyone within earshot repeated, and even Hatfield managed a weak, out-of-breath, “All Hail… White Whale,” before his stretcher arrived.

—–

“11.5, Colored,” proclaimed Baker Bloch. “Most excellent — 3rd best time yet. You can join the winners over in the The White Whale Lounge.”

“Thank you, sir (*eek*). Thank you (*groan*) kindly.”


Colored TV joining the “winners” after being checked out and cleared by the medical staff.

“Next!”

“Hi Male Baker. Do you know my wings are called Dali.”

“Mount the whale, sir,” rushed Baker Bloch, knowing he already had a winning TV character and not desiring random chatter from this *inferior* product, then. “The Wild Whale giveth, the Wild Whale taketh. All Hail the Wild White Whale.”

“All Hail the Wild White Whale,” everyone within earshot repeated. It was over in 2.

Iggy later gave his broken TV head back to Grey Scale Kimball. “A lot of good it did for me,” making GSK nod in agreement.

“Let’s see how far it can roll into the sink.”

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neutral

“Who are *you*?”

“The Boss,” the other figure whispered while motioning for Little Oakley Annie to pipe down. “Who’d you think?” She indicated her torso. “Hence the color.”

“Okay. I think I get it. But what’s with the TV head?”

“Oh. Sorry. Leftover from the last scene.” Grey Scale Kimball removed the prop, then continued. “I’m obviously here to break you out of this place. This *Northern* Jael.”

“Hal-le-lujah. Let’s hit the roads.” The door opened; Grey Scale was in on the code.

—–

“The South’s gonna *rise* again,” LOA expressed as they left the House of Truth together, gathering up one of the chickens outside for a victory supper later on.

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warm

“Unlike with the chickens just outside, my creator plays fair instead of fowl. Fairmount fair.”

“As opposed to Fowlerton fowl, I get it.” Even though they might be considered rivals, Grown Up Kate McCoy, another avatar auditioning for a part in our newly blossoming Collagesity novel, was truly amused by this big orange cat she currently shared the Red Devil “Hot Spot” Sofa with, not feeling the least bit competitive with him. Didn’t hurt that he hates dogs too. We can both enter the game, she muses, perhaps as a team. Another Dynamic Duo. The Fair Party. Down with Fowl, so on. Could be a nice angle.

“You know they’re from the same hometown, Jimmy and my creator,” the large feline continues. But male as hell.

“I didn’t know that,” she replies, hand cupped under chin in a rapt listening position. “Do tell more.”

—–

“Hatfield!” Baker Bloch shouts from beside the missile across the room, so fiery upon its return. “You’re up.” He points up.

“Looks like my turn on The Moon.” The orange cat prepares to rise from the red sofa.

“Break a leg up there,” Kate encouraged before he left her side. “And put in a good word for me. Fair words instead of fowl, ha.”

He pats her diminutive hand with his giant paw. “I will.” He saw where this was going too. A team — a ticket, even. Like Jim A. Garfield and Chester A. Arthur before them. Question is: which is which? He’d have to be top dog no doubt, then pardoned himself for the expression.

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lost eden

They became the Adam and Eve of Golden Sink. Green Acers. Oliver. Blue Feather Douglas; Grey Scale Kimball. It was all in one.

Many theorems have been written trying to explain who they are. Why sometimes with dogs, why sometimes accompanied by cats…

… and then, at other times: alone? Separate even, perhaps, but maybe not as well. Probably not.

They shortly figured out that this was some kind of original home, since deleted. Perhaps a precursor to the House of Truth or running parallel to it.

An Ur Residence.

“It’s important to know where you are and where you are going and/or have been,” Tillie stated to the others after a preliminary study had been completed.

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separate

“Our time will come, Bombie.”


Lt. Tealy and “Bombie”

“Stop talking to that thing,” demanded similarly teal colored Cpt. Jiff from the ALIVE couch. Welcome back Jiff! “And get out of my sink while you’re at it.”

“Both of you just stop yammering on,” commanded Col. Tillie from the bomb shelter’s lone computer terminal. “I’m trying to think of my, I mean, *our* next move.”

But it didn’t take her long to fall asleep again while playing 3 dimensional computer chess, lost in a confusing vortex of time, space and options.

We shall return here. Btw, we’re still in Golden Sink, formerly Golden City. Or soon-to-be Golden City. Something.

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on the other hand

“I told you I wasn’t going back to Jael, Little Oakley Annie. *You* are.”

“Let – me – outta here! What – is this place?!”

“Not so tough without your 6 shooter, huh?”

“Ooo. Your face will be *soo* paste,” she squealed like a grey squirrel.

“I don’t think so,” Big Wanda replied in a confident, bass voice. So sturdy she is now upon those stout legs. And she knows her sign. Big Aries, hence the horns. Horns of Hatton horns.

Big Wanda waves the gun teasingly in sight of Little Oakley Annie. “Gimme. Gimme that! Hand it here right now! And, er, all will be forgiven. I’ll forgive you for Your Mama. I’ll forgive you for Keith B. I’ll forgive you. Yeah — forgive.”

“Then let me ask you one question,” returns Big Wanda sneakily. “And answer it honestly. We’re in the House of Truth, after all. Are you — a Leo?”

For some strange reason, Little Oakley Annie wanted to joke back that she needed to phone a friend (for the answer). Where did that come from? She doesn’t have a sense of humor.

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smoking

“It’s already starting again, Hucka.”

“I know. Surprising, eh? Have you seen your father yet?”

“Not yet.”

“We’ll be — on The Moon — soon.”

“Suppose so.”

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all powerful

“We’re definitely on the right trail, er, Jiggy.”

“Jackie!”

“Jackie, right right. But I don’t like the way he’s eyeing you.”

“He? How do you know he’s a he?”

“Because, er, he’s eyeing you.” He points over to his assistant. “*You*.” He points to himself. “Not me.”

She stares at it; it stares at her. “Could be a gay eye, you don’t know. *Jimmy*.”

“Johnny,” he corrected. “Um, Tony I meant.”

“You don’t know,” proclaims Jackie.

“I don’t know,” he admitted back. “Jerry,” he tries again. “‘J’ I’m pretty sure.”

“I think it’s Jimmy,” Jackie reinforced. “Like in Little. Jimmy Little. Jimmy Powell Little.”

“Just stop it.”

“Or he  — or she — just doesn’t find you attractive.” She looked over at him. “Nah, that’s not it. You’re handsome as f-ing hell. *Jimmy*”

“You’re one to talk,” he decides to say in the void. Did he mean it? Sometimes. On the darkest of azure nights while hanging out in the donut hole.

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the land of gno smiles

—–

Jim A. pushed for the Gno Kingdom to take the second strike. The others protested that there was no sinkhole about, so no past-to-future matching existed. The Gno Kingdom had never taken a direct or indirect hit and never would. So says the rules of Special Sinkology. Then I’ll lure him to Pipersville myself, schemed revenge motivated Jim A. Brown, his heart ripped from his body and projected onto a demon. Maybe that soul stealer Ben Bolt as well. Oh they’ll write a song about them, he dreams. But it won’t have a happy ending.

https://www.bdtonline.com/more-history-comes-to-light-about-ben-bolt-its-author/article_232dc10e-20cc-5f1c-99ae-6e7d5254ec33.html

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where it all goes BLUEY

“I’m *not* going back to Jael.”

“I never said you had to go back to jail, sugar lips,” the more cartoonish Archer uttered. “We’ll stay right here don’t you worry. Wait for the end.”

“The end?”

“That’s right, Ms. Lady Lumps. Where it all gets down and dirty. Dirty bomb dirty.”

“Pete. I mean, Wanda.”

“*You’re* Wanda.”

“Oh right.” She points to herself. “*I’m* Wanda.”

“Yeaahh.”

“Pete, then.”

“Yes, dearest?”

“I –.” She suddenly looks around. “W-where’s Little Oakley…”

“Annie?” Pete offered. “Target practice probably. Since, well, there’s a big target painted on this whole place.”

“Battle of Britain — I know that.” She titters. “Okay, since it’s all going to end here…” She rushes over and takes Pete’s hand and they Skip to My Lou to the blue rug to do the dirty. Explosion before the explosion. Make love not war I suppose is the message of it all. Good work.

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