Tag Archives: Bazooka Ferguson^*+

The only way to escape the noose is to up the ante.

They made her put on a dress before she approached the mayor. A bathing suit wouldn’t hack it in such regal settings. One of her mother’s obviously, because it fit perfectly.

“Well… what have you to say for yourself? Daughter.”

Gasping, realizing (thanks Brown!).

“I am in 2 places at once!”

“Yes indeed,” she said, misunderstanding the utterance a bit. “Here. But also a place called Big Sandy over on the old Bellissaria continent. You are stuck in *both*.”

Marsha “Pink” Krakow pondered the impossibility of it all while continuing to stare. She had trapped herself!

In the gap, her mother Wheeler Malone Wilson spoke of possibilities. “You can thank Eddie for digging you out of this situation by putting down his spatula and picking up his golden shovel, a hard thing to do for him by this point. You can proceed to your new home in the dunes. Yes, you and Eddie will be a couple (there), Edward faded along with the past. He was both real and not real. Much like you. Much like any of us. I wanted to have this meeting with you alone so I could tell you some of these things. I forgive you for stealing the car.”

“Why did you put me in that cow suit?” she remembered to ask, an important thing not to overlook.

“Because (*sigh*), I wanted you out of the way. I wanted you, not dead, but in a place where you couldn’t do any harm to my big big plans. Which are still on, by the way. Thus the meeting in private. I paid off Bazooka to shut his mouth already. 10 free readings over at Golden’s. Or 10 free dances from Bun Bun, his choice. I’d go with Golden but he’ll probably choose the latter. Saves me some money if he does so what do I care?” She settled back in her posh leather seat, her position of power. The next time they meet, she knew, they wouldn’t have the luxury of being alone. She’d have some questions to answer to. And questions begat questions; they would mount up. A general council would inevitably follow. And then they’d find out about the 2n1.

(to be continued)

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2fer1

Checking the latest blog post, Ginger (Marsha) discovered what The Sun was.

Her long pink-ish legs elongated the whole card at the bottom. She felt them stretch beyond 9 into 10, with a square root of 3.16 instead of 3. Root beer; ginger. “Dammit, Ed!” she cursed aloud, understanding what had happened at last. And all because of that beach towel he bought for her from Golden the psychic down at the strip mall, 1/2 price of course — planned. She suddenly could see *everything*, facade stripped away indeed. Illumination. She ripped off the also fake pigtails and headed over to Eddie’s apartment. And Edward’s.

And Nas ta boot! she also knew. She’ll start with her. But first there’s the little matter of stealing a car to frame the whole affair up, she thought while walking, while stomping. And right on Police Chief Bazooka Ferguson’s lunch break when he heads over for his own free reading at the strip mall, another set up. Golden ticket as it were. Slightly wrong address on it so he’ll have to circle ’round the back and by their apartment to seal the deal.

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00400211

She was working on her laptop now, Eddie still around, still enjoying the view of the ocean here while sipping on his 3rd slurpee of the day, a drink provided free of charge by the wooden lounger he sat upon. Maybe he shouldn’t go back either.

He pondered freedom in general while lounging and sipping. No payment for land, yet still with the girl of his, I suppose, dreams, at least in a virtual sense. And Edward coming into town as well, a needed sounding board. He can stop using local bartender Nas for that purpose, he guessed. Which would eliminate some other temptations. Meat City, pheh, he thinks. What has Karma brought me here? He thinks of its actual name. Kama, pretty close to karma, probably close enough to count. Edward, though. He must go back for Edward, start pretending they have a relationship beyond cousinship. He forces himself into an animation where he sits down his slurpee on the table between them. He caught a glimpse of what she was working on. The blog. *This* blog. It sort of spooked him. So much so that he decided not to ask about it. Something about Ozark Mountain, he gleaned, although he didn’t see the Daredevils part to end this time. Something else instead. Anyway he needed to get back and start cooking — grilling — since Ginger wouldn’t be around for that any longer. Been wanting to try out the new grill George gave him anyway.

“I should go,” he said, standing up.

“Do you have to?” she responded.

“Yep. I suppose. I have to get back for Edward.”

“Oh. All right. If you must.”

“You’ll be okay out here.”

“I know. I’ll keep the suit on; I’ll remember soon enough.”

But she didn’t, too tempted by the Sun that one fine day in August’s May not far away atall. And she paid that visit to Eddie and Edward to give them a piece of her mind, “borrowing” her mother’s car which was then spotted by the Chief of Police (trapped!). It was all falling down like a house full of cards. But first things first…

(to be continued)

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Meat City blues

“I can’t get that girl out of my mind, Other Edward. It reminds me of that one up in, where was it, Broadchurch.”

“Broadwater?” corrected Other Edward, wishing the other Other Edward would chip in and at least dry the dishes he was washing. One f-ing plate at a time, since they dare not go to the store and buy a dishwasher. Might be spotted.

“Yeah, that’s it. Without the pigtails this time of course, but…”

“I saw it too,” admitted Other Edward, who was actually the only Edward here despite the name playing. He: Edward. Him: Eddie. And a change in the last name as well to help disguise. Edward Daigle and Eddie D’Aigle, then. Or “D’Aigle, Eddie” as he also jokingly liked to call himself now and then.

“Welll? Could it be?”

“Impossible,” waved off Edward at the sink. Tough stain on this one; he’ll have to cool it with the curry, he reminds himself. If it’s doing this to the dishes imagine what it’s doing to the inner piping. Bloody mess in there, he supposes, given all those kind of meals he’s woofed down over the years. “I saw her in the news just the other week,” he continued. “Mayor was opening a new strip mall in Kuradov.”

“I bet he was,” quipped Eddie, taking a sip of his coffee and contemplating what to say next. He’d gotten the sex wrong but he’d made his point. “We have to get an old photo somewhere — remove the pigtails; just to be sure.”

“We burned them all,” reminded Edward. “Evidence.”

“Right right.” Eddie hung his head. “I can’t even remember her name now, Edward. But you know I’m bad on names. That’s why, heh, I just call you Other Edward all the time.”

“I know you’re not,” replies his cousin who was now disguised as a lover, as in gay partner. They even had to kiss in public the other day for demonstration. His own cousin (!). And then that other time… but he doesn’t even like to think about it. “It’s Wanda.”

“Wanda, yeah. What kind of car did she drive?”

“I think she just took the mayor’s car most places. Of course, that’s what got us caught in the first place — why we’re on the lam *now*. Two gay lovers instead of two gay cousins. I mean, two *cousins*. No gay.”

“No, since we fell for the same gal and went to that place in Broadchurch [sic] and, right, she left the car outside and then the police chief drove by and then wondered why the mayor was in such a seedy spot in town, *seedier*, and went inside to check. Caught!”

“Like rats,” Edward at the sink reiterated. “The mayor’s daughter.” He scrubbed harder, as if trying to erase the memory from his brain. No go. He had a better one than Eddie. He recalled *everything*.

(to be continued)

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00380610

They switched horns with each other, Ben with Jerry, becoming Benny and Jer again. Jer gets up after the transformation, says he has to check on his bars, even the Zero, even the Nine. Beyond the visible compendium. Larry would not be happy. Or Lawrence.

—–

The scene is set. The return of Thomasina Boyy.

—–

“You’re nervous aren’t you?” the old woman beside me on the waiting bench spoke. “Why don’t you feed the pigeons to take your mind off your worries. Steven will be back soon.”

I checked but no animation in the bench that would allow such. And laying on her lap, another one of the few options, seemed inappropriate, although I *was* sleepy. The end must be near. Yes, down there, unseen to me in the moment. Because she was me.

I thought of the visible compendium again, the 1 through 8. Jer, left horn in place again, becomes the owner of bars, Kedas and others. He wanted me to don the Crazy Blue and perform the cancan, old fashion style. How dare he (!). I’d slap him if he were here beside me instead of this old woman. I wanted to get a name. So I decided to bring up the lack of that animation she spoke about.

“You call me Grammy,” I finally got out of her. I recall her from the Newt pharmacy, striking provocative pose after provocative pose for the apothecary in an attempt to get SODA. Most likely why she’s here, and it turns out one in particular did the trick. Call it her cancan moment.

—–

His break over, Steven returned to playing the guitar across from us, entertainment and also a needed distraction. The policeman guarding the gate to the inner sanctum, Tank I believe, mysteriously clapped in slow motion to the beat, about 1 per every 4 to 5 measures, I reckoned. It’d been 1/2 an hour already, maybe, yes, 45 minutes (as I checked my watch). Ten till 2 now. At least the meeting didn’t take place in the cursed fairy blue light of middle late morning. Else I might be doomed, designated for Hell and Devil alike. Hellville. Joining the Hills, or at least Grant. But Mike is trying to save them by roping my parents into the story, of all people. “Lemon!” he said earlier, stuffing that one in Mama Wheeler’s mouth. “Lime!” he then said, doing the same with Daddy Newt (named for the sim and not visa versa). “Speak!!!” he then shrilled after telling his own tale, but the fruits were still in their mouths. He removed them, causing the cascade of words we talked about before which still didn’t satisfy him. Guess what he uttered next.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0038, 0610, Nautilus, NORTH, Oooo, Rank & File, Rim Isles

mountain majesties

In the southeast corner of Sandman’s sim, where its lone tunnel winds through we just saw that chopper exit from, exists what some call the Purple Uplands, or Uplands anyway, its landscape dominated by 4 same sized, purple banded, hexagonal towers which move up and  down through slotted holes in unpredictable patterns. Some say The Void lives here, and indeed I was able to find her/him/it easily enough in a mine located beside the corner-most moving tower. Snow covered, it appeared — I believe the only object here so adorned. A bit of winter in an otherwise hot desert land. Conifer trees instead of palms.

Okay, a couple of oaks here in additional to firs, and maybe the snow is just different shading on chopped wood. But the indication still stands I believe. This is one a-hole of a place, cold as Uranus in comparison with the rest. Shelley walks inside…

She stands before it now, walking around it, examining every side and corner. A big red button is the only marked thing on its surface, much like a New Mexican police intercom has such to call in the military when needed. Like we saw conspiracy theory mongerer Tank Bazooka use earlier in Lordsburg vis-à-vis Hucka Doobie aka (or so they say) pop/surrealist artist Charles Nelson Blinkerton, returned from the dead and inhabiting her old 102 hotel room on the strip. He felt like he was in over his head on that one — again.

Knowing something needed to be done in additional to what already had been, she presses it. Sirens fill the air.

(to be continued)

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small European counties

Barry Deboy made simple collage-photos about it later:

“No luck, chief,” Officer Blair spoke over the police radio. “We’re sitting right outside 102 — been here for about (checks his watch), 17 hundred hours.”

“Since 7 this morning,” chipped in Officer Doublebush riding shotgun, simplifying Blair’s language as usual. Blair continued. “If that old scoundrel Charles Nelson Blinkerton is here, then it’s like he disappeared into thin air. Over.”

“Roger that,” replied the chief. “Keep… your position. Over.” Lt. Tank Bazooka had made a decision. The military needs to be called in. Hesitating only slightly, he punches the big red button on his intercom to start the process.

—–

“Wonder what kind of conspiracy theory Tank roped us into this time, ha ha.”

“UFO’s?” also laughed Officer Gore, riding shotgun. “Portals out the desert?”

“Shakespeare, pheh,” said Officer Chamberlain to this. “And now a surrealist painter come back to life.”

“Pop,” said Gore. “Pop artist. Like Luxembourg.” He meant Lichtenstein of course. Or did he?

(to be continued)

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Wooboostoock (Baltimore)

The 2 parts of the letter appeared before him, as if by magic. “Abra-” ended the first page and “-cadabra” began the next. Baker has much to ponder.

—–

He landed just out of sight with his out-of-place swimming trunks and beachy attitude. Arthur Kill, still confused over his role, still confused over who he *is*. Arthur? Kill van Kull, a much tamer cousin? Or, dare he speak the name, Lemont. Lemont Sanford. The overseer, the one who controls. Not him, though. Not yet. But he has to choose a cousin in the meantime. Else: this keeps happening.

—–

“*Not* here. Not on my watch,” speaks bartender Zane Tar, holding out a stop hand. “We know about the castle.”

“You *do*?” But Arthur knew he had to move on. These were military people at the bottom of it, good at digging out information. This was, in essence, an extension of Rose Heaven, where his user had gotten in so much trouble looking for the fabled Murdochh Castle of Loch Ness. “It was all a misunderstanding,” he’d said in his head to them, the collective, so many times now, a defense set on repeat.

“Actually,” he decided to say, “I’m just looking for a child named Archie,” and then took his leave. He would keep them hanging this way. Because Archie would lead them right back to “East Lynne” and confuse the heck out of them, for at least a while, until they could get their bearings. He’d check back later to see what they’d come up with in the meantime.

—–

“See you later, Clyde.”

“Good day, sir.” The policeman made a note about the HUD being missing this time. Cousin? he pondered, probably also reading his mind. Military people, pheh. But he’d try to use all that to his advantage… we’ll see.

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missing letter

He made sure he was wearing the right colors.

We are here.

“I am looking for my red and green umbrella,” he spoke as clearly as possible through the rusty metal window.

Umbrellas, Alysha thought. But: close enough! “Come on in.” (creaaakk)

*There* you ares, he thought, spying them when entering.

Oh dear. What’s this?

“No more war. No more war! Stop *NOW*.”

“What are you *doing*. You’re going to *KILL YOURSELVES* ahhhhggg!”

“Move along. Nothing to see here. Move along.” (kkaaaerc)

“Now you know,” she said, still inside. “It’s all about Castor.”

How could he live with this?

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root of the problem

He found her in a town full of bigots and zombies on the other side of the wall, a mere apple’s toss from where he was before. Annaball or Annabell, the pretty, white, raspberry beret wearing woman of the night who was dating that [black guy] who just broke into town one day, stole all its dignity. She had ambitions, she did. The hooker aspect was just to tide her over until her *real* dreams kicked in. Plus she really wasn’t a hooker; they just hung that tag on her back because of the incident in the alley and it stuck. A lot of things get stuck in this town of 9 that can’t quite reach 10, however hard it might try at times (try 3.16 instead of 3). “And to think she use to teach our children!” exclaimed one when learning about the alley. “Abhorrent,” hissed the other sitting across from the first, still below the TILE colored lights where green mysteriously switches with yellow at times, another round and round situation. If only the carousel could stop. We have to get off.

“‘Nautilus,’ she said to me (he relayed later on to the proper authorities). ‘I have to get back to Nautilus.'”

“And you just let her *go*?”

“I didn’t… have any choice.”

“Dot dot dot,” the authority figure chided. “It’s always dot dot dot for you lot. You’re as bad as her,” he finalized, spiked helmet secured on zombie head with a dead leather strap. Or so they say.

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