Tag Archives: Baker Bloch^*++@

Munsters

“Show me the map,” requests Hucka Doobie to Baker Bloch.

—–

“Yes. Christiansted. Surrounded by monsters. These could represent the 4 true Munsters: Grandpa, Eddie, Herman, and Lily. Grandpa is Grandpa obviously. Fangs could be Eddie, who also has them. Or Lily even. Then Herman is Herman. And Munster could be Lily or Eddie, once more. What is the name of the ordinary Munster, the one who doesn’t count?”

“Marion,” guesses Baker incorrectly.

“Marion. So Timmy Duncan, greatest power forward in NBA history, was born and raised in this Christiansted capital city.”

“Correct, Hucka Doobie.”

“When Hurricane Marion destroyed the island’s only Olympic-sized swimming pool in 1989, Duncan was forced to swim in the ocean, where he quickly lost enthusiasm for the sport because of his fear of monster attacks — sharks in this case. He turned to basketball, which was destiny, fate. He went through a conversion.”

“Yeah. But I’m checking on the phone now, Hucka Doobie. The hurricane’s name was Hugo. Marion came 6 years afterwards, a somewhat milder affair. But, in looking closer, that hurricane’s name was Marilyn. So Marilyn must be the ordinary Munster. The perimeter which is the center of it all. Duncan was already a star at Wake Forest by then.”

“A star is born. Let’s go back to SoSo now and study further. I just wanted to see what you had set up in this secret Muff-Bermingham station.”

—–

“This collage 17 of 2007’s Oblong series depicts a later Duncan, after he won his first championship as the somewhat lesser of the twin towers formed by himself and fellow future hall of famer David Robinson. And this is where your personal WBA ends and the general NBA continues. Zircon Zappers Tom Casey and Robert Jones were the parallels to this twin tower situation in San Antonio.”

“Yes, I’m almost positive of that, Hucka Doobie. Duncan later excels beyond Robinson. I didn’t have that.”

“(Collage 17) is another great 3-n-1. And where we also ended an Oblong analysis from, what was it, way back in 2008? LINK”

“I don’t know, Hucka. Pretty long time ago,” Baker Bloch agreed.

“Three (Lake District) tarns. Three choices. River Derwent originating in Seathwaite Fell — SF — reaching Derwent Water through the finger-ish delta was a goal. Fox Tarn rock blocked, with Crazy Clown Head removed. But maybe Angle Tarn aligned with Duncan instead of Robinson succeeds, not the one in Langstrath but in Patterdale. But maybe they are also one. Tarn at Leaves. This (work remains) confusing.”

“But the clincher that this has to do with Muff-Bermingham, Hucka Doobie, is the presence of Herman Munster in the very next Oblong collage. 18. Two from the end now.

That Munster perfectly fills a gap between two mirrored images.”

“The beginning of Stonethwaite from Greenup,” Hucka Doobie adds. “You must return.”

—–


Uroborous = Munster?

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Conversion

“He is his own grandpa,” succinctly explains Mary/Chuckles.

“How did that come about?” asks a nonplussed Pitch Darkly. He’d seen and heard about everything in his extended life.

“A concert. A bat thrown onstage. He thought the bat was rubber. He bit its head off, finding out it was a real bat: his own (vampire) grandpa. Their blood comingled. He became his own grandpa.”

Pitch Darkly stared over at the figure in the corner. “Is he alive? I mean, you’re alive and…”

“… mere mesh figure?”

“Well…”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”

So Pitch talked to the figure. “Hellooo? Mr. Well? Hell–OOO??” He looked back at Mary/Chuckles. “No good.”

“No. He is mere representation. He can’t do what I’m about to do now.”

Pitch watched as Mary/Chuckles got up and stood beside the window, outfits instantly swapped out.

He turned back to the Osborne Well figure. “Is that his grandpa there he’s holding?”

Mary/Chuckles sat back down at the table with Pitch Darkly, green outfit returned. “No, it’s just a microphone shaped like a bat. He holds a bat just like you use to do. But we should move more into who he is beyond what he is.”

“Okay.”

“Can you guess?” asked Mary/Chuckles.

“Umm. Vampire from the etheric plane. Er, vampire from the Planet of Vampires. Or just a vampire from (an airplane).”

“All three, yes. Another great 3-n-1. Their plane or planet crashed or clashed over there.” Mary/Chuckles pointed behind her toward what Pitch understood as the Catsocks sinkhole he and Buster had visited just yesterday. “A deal was struck with Chelsea: Stay across the tracks from our hotel and attached developing city and we’ll let you do as you wish. Thus the killing shacks. Thus the creation of the multiple fishing holes. Like me, vampires, or at least this particular strain of vampires, love to fish.”

“*You’re* not a vampire?” Pitch Darkly logically asked. “But, no,” he then added more to himself. “I would obviously be able to tell my own kind.”

“Owen Grandpa,” Mary/Chuckles chipped in. “That was his vampire grandpa’s (ironic) name. But Osborne Well didn’t know his grandpa was a vampire until he bit his head off in bat form.”

“Interesting (developing) story. What happened to Osborne, Mary? I mean, since this figure really isn’t him.”

“As a living breathing dichotomy, Well soon became ill and died. So another ironic name, both grandson and grandpa. Other vampires moved in to fill the power void. I wasn’t around but I heard it from my grandma. I speak with her still sometimes.”

“Channeling?” guessed Pitch Darkly.

“No. Phone. She lives over in Farmington.”

A face began to form on top of the Osborne Well figure’s own, glasses intact for now. The facing Mary/Chuckles saw it and then asked Pitch to turn around. From his surprised expression she understood he saw the same. “The Protector,” she explained, face locked in. “Monsters all around.”

Well’s glasses faded as well, making Pitch Darkly revert back to Baker Bloch. “I know that face.”

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Virgin territory

“Thank you for showing me this, Baker Bloch. I’m grateful.”

“You’re preparing for a big role shift, Wheeler. You deserve to know about Muff-Bermingham at this point.”

“And the corresponding pictures on this other wall? Is that me in the center?”

“Kind of,” responds Baker. “The title says ‘Chuckles’. Obviously our fisherwoman friend across the tracks.” Baker Bloch checks his watch. “Speaking of which…”

—–

“Mary. You’re real name is Mary. Not Delbert, not Wanda.”

Mary meekly nods.

“Now tell me all about this Osborne Well.”

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Blue Angel

“The Musician said he wanted us to check this place out, Hucka Doobie. Oh wait, he’s started.”

Look at me
Who am I supposed to be?
Who am I supposed to be?
Look at me
What am I supposed to be?
What am I supposed to be?
Look at me
Oh my love, oh my love

Here I am
What am I supposed to do?….

“I’m not sure I like it as good as News and Views for a hangout,” whispered the bee-person to Baker Bloch while The Musician continued his crooning. “Nice song, though. Who is it?”

“Who else?”

—–

Buster opened his lid to listen better. “Damn. What’s all that racket up there? Wednesday afternoon already?”

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here and there

“So you’ve decided to play the role of Clare Nova, Wheeler. Third Nova sister.”

“Third *found*,” she said. She takes another sip of her Cabernet Sauvignon wine. “Somewhere in this store is the appropriate avatar. A step up from (Summerhill) and (Golden Bee-ing), true. Something with a little more meat and flesh. Maybe the ancient alien.”

“Study up more on the real Clare Nova,” Baker Bloch suggested. “Find out additional stuff about her land and its relationship with The Diagonal. We’ve already discovered that obelisk tucked in the southwest corner of Hooktip right on the line…

… and then an accompanying leaf screen in *Leaf*roller to the immediate south.

Synchy stuff still going on.”

“And the multiple rose pictures The Musician found in Sister galleries,” reinforced Wheeler. “In his dreams.” She turned toward her Musician, now fully awake and tinkling the ivories of a nearby piano. The tune for the day: David Bowie’s “Alladin Sane.” Third take was the charm.

“Where’s Baker Blinker?” Wheeler suddenly asked.

“You know where they are,” Baker Bloch responded.

“Oh yeah. Chilbo.”

—–

“Where’s Wheeler?” Karoz suddenly asked.

“You know where they are,” Baker Blinker responded.

“Oh… yeah.”

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winesaps

“Soo… are you really Baker Bloch playing the role of Pitch Darkly or Pitch Darkly playing Baker Bloch? Enquiring readers want to know.”

“It’s to be determined, Hucka Doobie,” answers the man in question. Baker liked staring out at the lively action in front of the giant, virtual hotel, but he had another role to play tonight and Hucka needed to be seated in the forward facing chair to effect the setting. Because they were not alone tonight. Tronesisia sat on a stool at the coffee bar, pondering what she had just done.

Her new vehicle was parked in the middle of the aleyway behind the shop. Aley-way.


Dramatization.

“Should we go up and talk to her?” asked Hucka Doobie, waiting for Baker Bloch to make the next move.

“Pawn to King 4,” he said, and walked straight to the bar, sitting beside Tronesisia. Hucka Doobie then joined them. No one Everyone ordered drinks. It was a sober affair.

—–

“There’s something about this place,” exclaims a flailing Pitch Darkly. Gravity all nonsense now, I suppose. Are we about done?”

“Yeah, 10 bottles for you and 10 for me.”

“That wasn’t the agreement. If you haven’t noticed I’m considerably larger than you. I’m 200 lbs. and you’re 50 soaking wet. So we’ll graciously say it’s a 4 to 1 ratio. That’s, let’s see, 4 for you and 16 for me.”

“12 and 8,” Buster Damm bartered in turn.

“14/6. And that’s my final offer.”

“Done.” Buster Damm spits in his hand and extends it to the flying Pitch, but the larger vampire’s dead ball era days were long gone. He’d take Buster’s word for it.

—–

“That’s disgusting Buster.”

“Thank you. Better go get rid of the car.”

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Around Town

Baker Bloch marveled at the constantly changing furniture in a VHC City store called Prim Possible.

Wheeler mulled over multiple realities surrounding the death of Allen Martin while sipping expresso at News and Views across from the famous hotel.

Snowmanster kept spinning around and around in his CB Dylan Dresser at Bemberg Towers Apt. #6, unable to enter this dimension.

Across the tracks in a tiny two story house, a fly got stuck in Pitch Darkly’s wine red nightcap.

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Adjustments

Wheeler heard the entrance bell jingle again. “Alright, I’ll be right there,” she said while trying to concentrate on making a key for Mrs. Cooper in Bemberg Apt. 11. She swears under her breath again. Twelve customers in 4 hours! And most wanting back orders. I should have thought more about buying this cursed little shop from Greentop before following through. The offer seemed so attractive at the time. I believe I’ve been tricked!

Wheeler turns to face the newest customer. Great, she thinks, another vampire. That’ll make almost half my customers so far. And this one looks worst of all. But then he said something Wheeler didn’t expect.

“What do you think, huh?”

She recognized the voice. “Baker?”

“Of course. It’s my new night time outfit so I can blend in here better. Vampires won’t attack another vampire.”

Wheeler adjusts her glasses. “They might want to be *friends*, though. Compare blood baths.”

“So…?” He extends his arms and turns side to side.

“It looks ridiculous, Baker Bloch,” Wheeler spoke honestly. “Besides, the streets are pretty safe here. If you haven’t noticed, there’s strong management in Bemberg at least. And probably in the other sim we won’t say the name of yet.”

“Working on it,” Baker spoke back. “Gonna spend some more time with the Oracle tomorrow on the problem. That and others.”

“Well, you did a good job linking Wegee with Key in this particular spot — that started the storyline flowing better. And then follow it up with OD. Speaking of which, talked to Greentop again yesterday. Did a tour of local fishing holes.”

“Oh? How’d that go? I see your clown face has cleared up. Visiting the country must have been good for you.”

“It was! But I need to get back to key making if you don’t have any other business here.”

“Guess not.”

“Go back out into the night,” she commanded playfully. “Attack those cats, those rats. Drink your needed sustenance. Then go back to your dark dank basement apartment and prepare for daylight. You do have a coffin? Because no one will believe you’re a vampire if not.”

“I thought you were suppose to hide your coffins — underground or in the attic or something.”

“I don’t know. You better study up on vampiring more if you’re going to disguise yourself as one. I’d ditch the whole concept if I were you. And: hope that was a freebie outfit.”

“It was the most expensive (vampire) one I bought,” Baker admitted. “57 lindens.”

“Well,” Wheeler breathes out. “I guess we’re both stuck with lemons. Mine a little more expensive than yours, but, there you are. Trying to adjust to a new town is painful.”

“I feel ya.” The thought crossed Baker’s mind just to pack it up and go back home. A small vampire said, “excuse me,” in a meek voice behind him, wanting to make his way into the shop to place an order.

“Town’s full of doors, Baker Bloch. I’ll give it that. If I wanted to stay busy, this is the place to be.” At least she’d hardly thought of Musician or Allen today. But a decision loomed. Above or below? Or… just leave altogether. She waved Baker goodbye as the littler bloodsucker pushed around him.

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Simsity

In his new basement apartment, Baker Bloch had begun dreaming.

Outside, he followed a man looking exactly like The Musician into the Underworld but who instead claimed to be one Sikul Himatk. Sikul had been dead for many years, 100 to be exact. It was his centennial death day today. He wanted to uncelebrate by going back to the place where it happened, he told Baker Bloch.

“Don’t linger,” he implored as they came to a white door just down the steps and around a corner. “Lingering causes absorption. Stuff like that.” He indicated a painting to their right…

… which then moved swiftly down the wall and out of sight as attention was drawn to it.

Opening the door, Sikul took Baker’s hand and dragged him through to the other side. “Bemberg,” he said. “Different sim. You *don’t* go back through the blue door.”

The white door shut, the blue door opened.

Baker had seen enough. He woke up.

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t&a

In his newly rented, creepy basement apartment, Baker Bloch rezzed the entire “Wall of Ass.” created a number of years back now for the Biggie Gallery in Sunklands, only to delete most of it in favor of Salvador Dali’s last painting, “(The) Swallow’s Tail”. Seemed appropriate.

A knock at the door, then. Strange, Baker Bloch thought. No one knows I’m here yet except the landlord. Should I even answer it? It’s the dead of night. Vampires most likely. Fresh blood smelled. The knocks resumed, then a voice. “Baker, it’s me. Martin. Allen Martin. And Wheeler.”

—–

“Nice hat, Martin,” Baker Bloch spoke.

“It’s Allen, actually. Martin is a last name.”

“Oh right. Like the bird.”

“I suppose. Have we even met? I know your sister Baker Blinker, of course. She was my landlord over in Collagesity North.”

Baker Bloch ignored the sister misnomer re Baker Blinker. “I don’t think we have. But there’s a lot of characters in the Collagesity stories now. Perhaps our paths have crossed already and we’ve forgotten. Yes — come to think of it, I believe I saw you eating alone in Perch one night.”

“I did that sometimes, yeah.”

“I understand you have a son.”

“Doogie, yeah.”

“Something has happened to him?” He looks over to Wheeler for help. “See, I was over at your apartment just last night, Martin, er, Allen. Sorry. I was called over there by Petty.”

“I see,” states Allen Martin, repositioning himself in his chair. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Queerly,” answers Baker. “Odd accusations being tossed about. Stuff that doesn’t seem possible.”

“Like what?” Wheeler remained queerly silent. Then she was gone. Baker Bloch turned to Allen Martin, who just shrugged.

“She’ll get back here,” he said. “Go ahead… continue.”

As Baker spoke, the rest of the “Wall of Ass.” disappeared behind him, leaving Dali’s paintings alone in the apartment.

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