July 17, 2025 · 8:51 pm

00470405

“What’s your name, handsome? I’m Madge.”

Was she talking to me? I thought she was looking at the pharmacist. But now the pharmacist is looking at me with raised eyebrows, triangle complete. She’s talking to you! he prompted. Because of course she’d already probably know the pharmacist’s name, both being residents of this here Newtown in all likelihood.

I thought quick. I didn’t want to say my name was Newt because that was the same as the sim, and then I’d have to go down that rabbit hole why they were the same and how I got my name from the sim, yada yada yada. So I made up one on the spot. Looking at the cash register in front of me, it all came together.

“Mark,” I said. “Mark, er, Pfennig.” Born January 1st, 1963 but I left that part out for her. The pharmacist eyed me suspiciously but said nothing. I think he might have even winked at me; yeah, let’s go with that.

“Mark. What a beautiful name,” she cooed, striking yet another provocative pose. The pharmacist rolled his eyes a bit here, let’s say.

“Madge is nice too,” I thought to reply back, not wanting to seem *too* rude. But of course I had no interest of that type in this woman. I have to be 5 years younger than you! (he thought vainly). And look 15 years younger (he kept going down that road).

“Why thank you, sweetie.” She then held out an arched hand palm down, apparently for me to either hold or maybe even kiss. Is this some kind of German custom I wasn’t aware of? I took the hand and shook it. Her face expressed disappointment, insult even. “Humph,” she uttered, her whole arm going limp, hand sliding out of my grasp.

Co-pharmacist or perhaps pharmacist assistant Gerald (Geralt?) comes to the counter with a prepared bag. Stephan (pharmacist at the counter) slid it toward Madge. “Here’s your, um, *soda*, dear.”

“Soda, yes,” she said, grabbing it with the same hand I tried to shake and then giving me a look that told me this wasn’t in any way soda. “Owl’s beaks,” she whispered to me while pivoting from the counter. “For the nighttimesss,” she hissed, then locked onto my eyes for a second while tilting her head before moving toward the door, old yet still effective hips in full swing. I couldn’t help marvel at the scene.

“So what can I do you for?” asked Stephan. “The same?”

“Yeah,” I admitted when finally turning around.

(to be continued)

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July 13, 2025 · 9:10 pm

00470404 (another manifestation)

She had to take Ice Cube’s and, by default, Eraser’s spot in the contest since she effectively eliminated both at once in that scene with the crusher from several posts back (“Apple!, Orange!, Banana!,” SPLATT). But it took some time for her to wake up from this comfy red white and blue US of A tinted picnic blanket and remember all this, YAWN. The prepared Playboy magazine with the girl representing naked truth about to be revealed from beneath another blanket helped. Pure glinty, ruby red it was now. Like her. All she had to do was fully wake up and take a gander inside. Because this was actually her new paired teammate Bookie, here for the cause.

“WOW-za. That’s ME??” she says to him after opening to his Center. Then she unfolds to see even more….

Wheeler and Newt soon join them in the gawking, Alfred and Jim too after the latter stops fishing and fulfills the requirement for no rules breaking from a teammate. Our teams are forming. What other characters will be paired together in this here Town of Newt to continue the Battle, this Newt-Town: Newtown? Like New York except different, since that was Section 02 and this is Section 04. Harmonized none-the-less, I feel. Not planned, though. Just happened. I won’t say hmm again but it is implied.

(to be continued)

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July 11, 2025 · 2:56 pm

00470403 (benchmurk)

Rules freak Alfred Hitcher looked over at Fisherman Jim with fire in his eyes and boiling blood in his body. *No* fishing, he seethed, and was about to move toward him and tell him so in person, right up in front of his face, maybe yanking the rod right out of his hands and throwing it in the pond, then dumping whatever fish he’s already caught into the water right behind it.

Prompted by on again off again hubby Newt already at the scene, she landed right between the two, noted the similar color. Both murky now, she said to herself. Murk Lake, she quickly decided on a new joined name for the former two. Not Clear to the left, Black to the right any more. One lake, one pond. Different (!). She looked around for Newt. There you are!

Noticing her on the bridge now, Alfred’s attention suddenly shifted from Jim to Wheeler. Where’d *she* come from? He tried to think of a rule she was breaking by just manifesting out of thin air on a walking board between the 2 once differently hued bodies of water but couldn’t come up with one, despite sensing that at least one indeed was being violated here somehow. The rules he loved to separate black and clear had also turned murky in this particular case. Hmm again.

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July 11, 2025 · 9:06 am

00470402

Driving Norris and riding Pietmond arrive in town, running over Germans right and left with their ramming, bamming van, bam bam bam! (ram ram ram!)  But they were all zombies, they justified the killings, kill or be killed being their current team motto. Something was afoul here, they quickly and correctly deduced by sniffing in the air once inside the city gate. Denmark? Close!

“I figured it out,” said Pietmond to Norris, not worrying so much about the driving and ramming and thus with more time on his hands to think and ponder and study. “The ones with the old fashion helmets are zombies, and the ones with the newer headwear are actual people. I can tell it by their eyes. Better avoid those ones from here on out.”

“Right!” But a newer headgeared one was right in front of him when he said this and was run over anyway, oops. “Starting… NOW,” Norris said just afterwards, perhaps even with a smile as he keeps driving forward at a still pretty high rate of speed into the heart of the situation. The rest of the teams should be arriving soon.

(to be continued)

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July 10, 2025 · 2:10 pm

00470401 (Center)

Miss Ouri looks to her right now with her matching orange eyes. “Come out, child,” she urges manifested Shelley. “Come out from under the lamp and become big before us so we can properly see you.”

“No.”

Good girl.

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July 10, 2025 · 1:58 pm

00470317

Voodoo doll holding Miss Ouri observes Pietmond Boy patiently waiting outside SC’s Secret Door for a father who seemingly never shows. Wait for it… Wait for it…

There.

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July 7, 2025 · 6:37 am

00470316 (course reversed)

Grassy Noll stares at the giant statue and wonders: Is it about the Faune? Really? After all, Spongeberg is a *destroyer* not a creator. His very nature, his very essence in essence. The old Christ the Redeemer statue he worshipped up on the beige (read: yellow) ridge should be down not up. Conversely the Faune here is down on Green not up. Everything is Bass Ackwards. His 12 x 12 Atom *should* destroy, hmm. Or be destroyed.

“Why do you keep staring at that thing, Grass?” asks his friend from the couch of his Route 14 apartment, or just off of.

“Oh. Just thinking what might have been.”

Silicon Soul Church… Siliconicus. Yellow not green.

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July 7, 2025 · 6:33 am

00470315

“So Ice Cube who also stands in for Eraser is dead,” observing Nauty said about the crushing of the vowel object-characters in this game of FILE. “Done in by Ruby Gem’s spell centered on All Orange. But let’s back up, examine what these fruits actually represent. Everyone has an Orange, but only females have generally recognized Apples and males have generally recognized Bananas, Big Apples and Big Bananas we can call them.  Although all have spaces on their body that can be filled with such.”

“Everyone is actually All Orange with Apples and Bananas to fill around (an agreed upon) center,” I attempted.

“Big Orange, right. Or Old Orange,” he wheezed out.

—–

Thanks to the pills she manifested in her mouth, Original Phyllis returned on the ottoman on the 2nd floor of the Crooked building in Constantynople, now depossessed or unlinked from the harmful inner spirit known as All Orange, who some call Big or even Old instead. Like Myrtle Beech for the latter. Shame we can’t get into more of her story right now but there’s only so much you can do with a 24 hour day these days. Outdoor fun like watching a tired dump truck driver unload a Big Arm beside a Big Banana in Flathardt with the help of a handy elephant can only last so long, else you run out of time for other stuff. Plus there’s the rain, the seemingly daily mountain showers and thunderstorms to contend with, PHEH. Else who *knows* what could be achieved. There would be an outdoor center congruent with the inner. But back to original Phyllis in her original role.

“Red yellow green blue,” she begins. “NO orange, NO–” She pauses. Is it about the orange? she briefly contemplates. NO, it’s not about the orange. Nor the violet. “NO violet,” she starts again in her loud, confident manner, pills in full effect now. “NO nothing else. We HAVE — our 4…..”

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July 7, 2025 · 6:31 am

00470314

Something’s happened over in Crooked, psychic Myrtle Beech intuits from her position at the center of the island while spying the distinct looking Constantynople building through a gap. One person would definitely know and that’s Old Orange (= All Orange). On her way…

“Okay, Old Orange. Start moving your dangly red legs which are the same as your forked tongue and spill the truth for a change!”

Old/All Orange complies.

—–

MEANWHILE… world maker Philip Linden had made it over to Constanynople library’s Special Collections, despite his head blowing up about 57 times now on his journey across the island south to north. “What’s in those crooked bookshelves over there?” he couldn’t help asking room attendant Swanie Rivers, trying not to flap her wings in disgust and irritation despite the gum. And the gun; both poppers, if both dormant for the moment. Tough stretch of land in the middle of the island — The Abyss some call it — and he decided to pack some heat in his pocket beside his pack of Wriggles chews already planted there. Back to the crooked shelves, he believes he’s seen them in a dream.

Flattie cleaning robot-lady Ross C. slides through the secret door connecting SC with the rest of the library and takes a listen while dusting the totally straight shelves — easy work. Is this really Merk Coolie Brighton in disguise? she thinks. She’d only seen him twice since his death almost 3 1/2 years ago, job killed off along with his Records Center, which he had become the functional manager of down through the years. Blue Boy, she thinks. He called me Blue Boy! Do I *look* blue to you, Merk Coolie Brighton? But I can hear him say he was just trying to kill off the library in turn, making everyone he actually cared about within a color of his TILE, red yellow green blue, with me at the end timewise. It was all up to me to find out the truth, she thinks. 42. Bad juju, and so on and so forth.

But she can’t quite make out what they’re saying, what Philip Linden or what appears to be Philip Linden actually came here for. If it’s that book, that one single book, then she can slam the door on the subject, case closed. But if it isn’t… then the door remains open.

It all depends on what happened in Crooked.

(to be continued)

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July 6, 2025 · 10:03 pm

00470313

“I always wanted to break down the 4th wall,” Alice responded when I asked her if she liked her new home in the woods. “Now I can speak directly to you, the observer! We have no barriers between us.”

“Ka,” exuded Ka to her left, also joyful. “Skwi,” squeaked Skwi in glee to her right.  If Mistress Alice is okay with this then her pet cat and squirrel respectively are too. Let the Flathardt experience commence!

Oh. I guess I should explain where we are. It’s a bit difficult. Let’s just move around and see who else is here and I’m sure everything will become crystal clear as soon as possible.

“Where do you want the Big Arm,” issued Ted the dump truck driver, tired from a long journey across upper Woodlawndia to get here.

“Just over there. Beside the Big Banana,” said pointing Pinky, sort of a manager here I suppose and dependent on outside help until the village gets its own fleet of trucks and drivers. “Ellie, give him a, er, *hand* if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing,” the elephant said after they all had a chuckle over the joke, even tired Ted, although he laughed the least. Still about 5 seconds.

Not really becoming clear yet… oh, here’s another group to investigate.

“This giant frog skin is soo smooth and colorful,” gushes Pantomime Penny to her father or perhaps her brother.

“Don’t touch it,” he says down to her. “Warts,” he summarizes. I was thinking poison and I believe by the look the lamb is giving him she did too.

Well, let’s just back up, zoom out. Out out out.

There we are. That grove of green pine trees, with undergrowth consisting only of rhododendron which you can’t really see from the air. And, most remarkable, despite this being the top of a hill, all land in this grove is completely and utterly flat. Hence the name Flathead, as in flat head of a hill. Plus that whole Montana thing we’ll get back to in a while.

The toy avatars that are already here debated whether to name their new community the same as the hill, Flathead, or instead go with Flatheart, meaning the heart of the hill since their community is much smaller than Flathead itself and in the basic center or “heart” of everything. At least in their eyes. They settled on a portmanteau of sorts: Flathardt, 1/2 head 1/2 heart (kind of). And one of the more vocal citizens at the meeting was a big Dale Earnhardt fan and owned a #8 toy race car in his honor (see right of frog above). So that probably played a role in the compromise name too.

What next for Flathardt? I’m guessing toy train tracks, since I’ll be the one hauling them up here and laying them down. I wanted to bring the tracks up today but I couldn’t find them in the junk heap that is our basement.  So I settled for some other toys. Hopefully tomorrow, then. Weather should be okay again.

(to be continued)

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