Tag Archives: Biff Carter^*+++++&

September 14, 2025 · 8:18 am

00480115 (another one of those Hana Leis)

“Yes, how are you doing Father?” One of them, she thinks privately, because there remains great doubt that this Dr. Mouse, originally Dr. *of* Mouse, could actually be the biological one. *Psychological*: yes. But Axis and the confirmed DNA tests — 2 of ’em — still looms large in the background. Greg Ogden without his copper toned hair, she also knows now. So strange.

Mouse answers. “Come *home*?” she utters about his request as she watches Chet take another dive under the waves. “But I like it *so much* here. No drama, no tension. Just surf and sun and fun.” Immediate reaction, but Alice also knew he was paying for all this. He could cut off the funds. She had to comply with his wishes. “2 more weeks?” she tried to bargain. Mouse answers. “2 *days*?”

“Your mother needs you,” Mouse explained as best he could now. She wasn’t dying or anything like that; she was just in trouble, he said. Trouble but not sick or dying or anything like that. What could it be? she ponders after the click that ended the call. 2 days. She’d have to say goodbye to the dogs. And rock’n surfer boy Chet out there. He couldn’t come along, she knew — started band practice in Caledonia day after tomorrow with the Andersons, bassist Karl and then little Sherwood on drums. Good with the hands Sherwood was on this rock music. And Karl at least looked good on Paper (their “hit” single). Run with Scissors they were called. And I believe we have former runner-of-a-diner Biff Carter as band manager to end that 4 part string. We’ll see if they actually show up again in this here blog and attached photo-novels or are a kind of hard to get, one-off joke like so many others of its type.

(to be continued)

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May 26, 2024 · 1:19 pm

00430108

“It’s bs about the Cleveland Rocks ultimately representing a phallus. And everyone who was hired by Asylum was given that list. They were ask to study it, write down 10 things they noticed. From this, they were assigned their positions within the company, a kind of aptitude test. Grandpa didn’t do well on it, didn’t even spot the obvious reversing of the D words Diablo with Draco in the supposedly completely alphabetized list, and so he was given the position of, let’s call it, sanitation engineer.”

“Grandpa,” asked Fern about the name. “Why did you call him that?”

“Because he was Grandpa Cliffs before he was Drew ‘Grumpy’ Cleveland. He’s *old*. The project was actually started in 1919, not 1972. That list was invented in 1919, both of ’em actually, although of course the second was advertised as the only one at the time.”

“He told us he was from ‘rough’ Grandpa Cliffs, as he put it, but implied it was a place. Just across the channel — I assumed he meant the river that flows below Castle Town, fixed in a gorgeous gorge.”

“No, that was his name,” insisted Teebestia the Asylum bartender, mask removed and revealed for what she was. A fount of knowledge about all things Asylum. She was old too, older than Grandpa, er, Grumpy, she claimed. “He was rough all right, though,” she continued. “Brought a rusty knife right with him into the compound on his first day. Rust is prohibited anywhere on Mars, you see. It’s because it’s considered a concealed weapon, even if you openly wield it in your hand. Mars is just that dusty. Can’t have rust or rust colored objects. So he was given a fine right off the bat.”

“And, let me guess, that was also on the aptitude test. Which Grandpa/Grumpy didn’t spot as well, didn’t understand the rule being openly displayed in the list.”

“RUSTYKNIFE, yeah,” said Teebestia, idle in the moment and free to talk at length. Only kind of rush they get in this place is 12-1 when the labs let out. “Should have been paired with MUSKET as an obsolete or extinct weapon. (The test) is all about pairings. GREEN-GRAY obviously.”

“Right.” Fern had time to study the list more later with this new information but she’d already started in her head. DIABLO-DRACO, GRAYBACK (or Greyback) and GREENGROW. Now MUSKET-RUSTYKNIFE. RUSTYKNIFE also with SPEARFINGER as a small projectile of death given long, sharp nails. And then CHOKE, BURN, BEAT, SPEAR — methods of death. EVE paired with JOANA indicates the overarching name and purpose of the thing. Fern could obviously have been president of this company. And perhaps she still can. “Leader?” she barked to Teebestia. “Wayne as in Bruce?”

Teebestia was looking for an opening to produce a copy of the red book from below the counter, slide it toward Fern as physical answer to a tough question. And so here it was. She had a stack of them down there.

“You want me to, study this?” Fern said, picking up the book and looking at the town on the cover.

“Start with references to a certain Biff Carter within and work your way out from there.” 3 customers walked into the bar named Sherwood, George, and Rutherford. She had to excuse herself with this.

“Whad’ll — it — be?” she asked them as if she had three heads instead of one, speaking, in turn, to the first, the middle, the last.

A dart shot into The Mouse.

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April 26, 2024 · 3:47 pm

00420516

“Yes can I help you?” she vocalized, not turning toward the visitor, not bringing any energy into her words.

“Wendy??”

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March 13, 2024 · 4:55 am

00420304

“Are you disappointed that she didn’t want to sell the castle property back to you, Shelley?”

Sigh. “No, not really. Gave me an excuse to look around the place, see what she’d done. That’s good enough. For a consolation.”

“It’s pretty expensive still,” says Arthur Kill. “Baker only pays about 1 1/2 times that amount for the Aisle of Palms rental as a whole and that’s about, let’s see, 2 1/2 times as much land.”

“Do you still speak to him?” Shelley Johnston Struthers asked eagerly.”

“N-no. I thought *you* spoke to him.”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, indeed.” Both understood that Baker Bloch, owner of the virtual town we as a family rent now, didn’t seem to know the couple’s whereabouts. They were off the radar. And then both also thought about George, aka The Musician. Was it the same with him?

“We should go down into town tonight. Go shopping and dining.”

Shelley looked out the window on their perch atop Yellowmoon Ridge at all the snow falling. Then she looked around the house at all the elephant decoration. Just came with the rental — no planning on their part. “Nah, I’m fine staying here tonight. That special on indie animation is debuting on Youtube at 8. Then they’re replaying a doubleheader of ‘The Pink City’ and ‘The Amazing Digital Circus’ at 9.”

“Love that stuff,” opined hubby Arthur, envisioning other stuff at 10. This 3rd honeymoon (or was it their 4th?) was working out swell. Cheap rental *exactly* on the spot where the old Ant Castle use to exist. Current owner didn’t even know anything about that storied history. Arthur had a hard time believing it — still does. He checks his watch not on his wrist. 7:45. Time to pop open the first bottle of wine? Why not.

They ended up drinking the 1st glass to Biff Carter, which was a strange toast indeed. Have to think about that.

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February 17, 2024 · 9:16 am

00420108

Long ago she took to wearing an eyepatch while in the public, well, *eye*. Covered up the blue one, you see. Gave her the name Redeye, soon shortened to Red. She was ruler of this land in a sort of iron fisted way. Creating an army, although the other half of her, the blue side, feared for her life because of it. It was time for her monthly meeting with the Redslandian Press, tell them about what’s going on in the empire. How’s hubby The Mann doing? Any new staff hires? That kind of thing.

When she got to the hiring of Marsha, she halted. How to phrase it? Certainly The Mann would see the broadcast, either live or, if later on because of other matters, taped (she couldn’t remember what he had on this morning). She decided to keep calling her Patricia because of this, although as we’ve seen, Marsha replaced Patricia when she assumed the secretary job. Patricia the St. Patrick girl was no more after this, and neither was Tania the Valentine person. All because of the deletion of the tree and all the ornaments, but *especially* that train one. Marsha has some power after that, some leverage. Just like Parasol. They stared into each other’s eyes and saw deception. Both knew about Biff Carter. Both kept this from The Mann.

Marsha was watching it live from her cubbyhole in the middle of the manor about 175 meters away and 20 meters up. A knock at the hidden room’s door, which meant a knock on the Secret Door Bookshelf blocking the only entrance. Who could *this* be? she said to herself while debating whether to make her presence known. But of course: they can hear the broadcast. Should’ve wore headphones, but she assumed everyone else in the building was watching the same. She’d have to answer.

“Who’s there?”

A pause. Then: “Biff. Biff Carter.”

(to be continued)

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February 14, 2024 · 5:26 am

00420103

He invited her to play pool with him and she turned out to be a god damn shark. Never mind that, he said internally. I simply need a sounding board for my evil plans. From Neptune he was, he started the explanation after managing a satisfactory break, sinking his own 10, 14 and 15 but also her 2. The same as the Joker, he said about his hometown, the same as the Penguin also before him. But he was a new type of Waynesvillian. He had managed to trap the most powerful witch of all time named Hazel and incorporate her into himself. Hazel Wood.

“Funny name,” she said, sinking the 6, 4, and 5 in a row before barely missing the 1 with a tricky jump shot over his 11. They were playing 8 ball, his favorite. Until tonight.

“Not so funny if you’re face to face with the ancient hag. Down in the cellar she is. I took away her power, made it my own.” He produced a bit of electricity from his fingertips to demonstrate.

“Not so helpful with pool, it seems,” she then opined, watching him miss hitting the 12 in a corner pocket with those same hands. She surveyed the table and predicted a win in her next turn. She promptly sank the 3, 7, 1 and then 8 to accomplish this. “‘Nother one?” she asked about a follow up game while assuming a victory stance with the pool stick.

“Nah not right now. I want you to come back over to my desk. I want you to see something.”

“Alright. But no *funny* business.”

“Why Miss… Krakow isn’t it? Whatever do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” She’d felt him staring at her while they played.

“No no no, nothing like that. I want to show you the *book*.”

“Oh. Okay I guess.” The mowing became louder outside as Jack edged closer to the house with the John Deere, new shocks in place for a less bumpy ride. Jill’s electric hedge trimmer hummed just beyond the window. Both were hoping to get a glimpse of that book. This is the reason they came back at all after the dual absences.

—–

“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?” The mowing had stopped outside, the trimmer silent along with it.

What *did* she think?

“Biff Carter?” he prompted further. “Does *that* ring a bell?”

“Did you hear that,” whispered Jill excitedly over to Jack. “An actual name from the thing.”

“We have our lead,” he whispered in turn, and they left the scene before being spotted.

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December 18, 2023 · 3:50 pm

00410401

“Who’s your house singer these days? Stacey.”

“Oh, some Irish lass named Rew…, um, Reem… oh I can’t remember her name. Anyway she’s from Cork. Plays some kind of cork instrument as a novelty act. A trom… a trum… oh I can’t remember the name of the thing. Anyway, she’s from Cork.”

“Right right.” Bots, Newt thinks here. Seems like she can pour beer well enough at least. “Cork, huh,” he says to egg her on again.

“She’s from Cork, right. Plays…”

“Never mind,” he waves her off. “I’m just going to take my beer over there. I’ll be back.” He didn’t plan to come back. No real information to be found here.

—–

From his new vantage point in Shenanigan’s, he looks over at the place in the street he watched her fall last night. And then vanish — after the message had been delivered.

Biff sitting along the side wall of the establishment was thinking along the same lines. Stood up on an arranged third date. Marsha “Pink” Krakow nowhere to be found in town apparently in any shape or form, Pinkie Brainerd or Berta Brainard or otherwise. Vanished.

Being the author of this whole mess, Newt understood he had to go over and explain the situation to him as much as possible. Best he knows he’s losing a secretary as well as a girlfriend so he can set the hiring process in motion (etc.).

(to be continued)

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December 16, 2023 · 10:27 pm

00410315

From the computer table in my apartment, I watched her stand between the two openings, scratching her head and obviously trying to choose which role to play tonight. Pinkie Brainerd, owner of Pink’s Pawn on the bottom level? Or Berta Brainard, secretary and girl Friday to private investigator Wendell “Biff” Carter on the 3rd and top floor of the same building? Nothing was in-between the two; there was no middle ground here, all intermediate floors vacant instead. Despite being the author, I suppose, I couldn’t make the choice for her. The pink color of the dress drew her toward the pawn shop, but the ribbon aspect of it made her want to type and organize files and such.

This was an important decision; this was a crossroads. I’d been here before, almost in this exact spot doing the same. Before the beginning of things in that case. Here: almost in the middle. Maybe there is some kind of middle ground to be found after all.

There. Down there. That was me at the time. Pepi “Can” Kolya was the name back then. Before Mouse fixed the holes in my head and gave me expressions and the ability to wear different clothes. I became non-mesh.

I started out wearing a beanie with a spinning propeller thingy symbolizing windmills but I quickly grew out of that early look. I gained the coat/mantle of Axis, but moved beyond the darkness of a second Great War as well. I’m not German, but I proudly wear the red, yellow, and black colors of the modern aspect of that nation to remind me of my origins. A small dog named Spider was around here somewhere in my Cass City apartment to remind me of the swastika (thanks Greti!). I cannot escape my start in holey darkness but I now strive toward holy light. Through me (the author again I have to assume), Marsha “Pink” Krakow is now doing the same.

The lights grown softer, more realistic. She turns toward me and even though she doesn’t make eye contact I’m pretty sure she recognizes I’m there — at the computer desk — typing what we’re doing in the moment. She suddenly staggers and falls, then brushes herself off and assumes an upright position again. She falls once more, but in a different way. Then another fall, a 3rd kind.

She doesn’t get up this time. She remains frozen in the same position on the pavement of Southside in front of the 2 doors she apparently can’t choose between. Paralyzed, I understand. Unable to walk toward either now. She eventually vanishes on the spot but I’ve received my message for tonight. There was more to be found here.

(to be continued)

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December 14, 2023 · 9:38 am

00410310

It was still before the Great War II that never was, leaving only the Great War in history books without a needed numeral to accompany it. Axis was not yet in control, and, even if he were, it would not result in war. Only a child (Alice Tart). 1939 would be the year by that time. But right now it was ’36.

They knew her as Clare by now, the Boss’ Girl Friday instead of Biff’s down at Southside. This was Northside or thereabouts, close enough to count. She heard the Desire streetcar pass by below and thought of conductor/driver Dennis Martinnis, what he said the other week to her as the rain poured down outside, making it undesirable to walk to work like she usually does. He asked: Are you the One?

“*There*, Madam Mayor,” she said, her physical work probably complete for the day. “Ancient computer’s fixed. All we had to do was change the ribbon.” This made her think of her ribbon dress that she elected not to wear to work today. Instead she chose something simpler, something plain and black and more conservative. Maybe she’ll try the ribbon dress out next week on the public but for now: inconspicuous will do. Until they find out about the coins.

The mayor was right beside her, just having finished rechecking office files for the missing 3-n-1 folder, another thing the Boss had in common with private dick Biff across town. No luck.

“Clare,” she said, turning. “That grey haired man who came to see me last week… Dextre or something.”

“Keith B., right,” Clare corrected, knowing where the confusion came from. He *does* look like a serial killer, albeit with a code. ‘Nother one.

“Were you here when he left? Weren’t you on some kind of break at the time?”

“Let’s see,” she thought out loud. “I let him in, you guys talked for a while. It was about 12 and he was still in there with you. Yes, I took my lunch break at the time. I didn’t see him leave.”

“And I didn’t follow him out. Got sleepy all of a sudden — can’t even remember the next hour or so. We had coffee,” she said, thinking back. “And donuts… he brought donuts.”

“*I* brought donuts,” corrected Clare again. “Per your suggestion. Said you had a lot of figuring out to do and needed caffeine *and* sugar, a double boost of the grey matter… as you put it.”

“Okay, *you* brought the donuts in.” She stopped, trying to picture the scene. The information was stupendous, almost knocked her off her feet without the needed drugs. Moby Prick is alive and well out there somewhere off the coast of Flores. And pyramids are out there as well! Atlantis; Abyss. She had seen into the depths of her soul and it wasn’t pretty. Dr. Mouse and his Serapis Club may have a point after all.

(to be continued)

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December 7, 2023 · 6:02 pm

00410217

He checked progress in the book while Marsha rested her now covered arm on top of his hat, a sign of the irreality of the situation. “Let’s see, I’ve come into the pawn shop, I’ve found Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow asleep on the job, I’ve spotted and then continued to gawk at her short pink hair, and then I’m reading this book to check on progress.” He puts down the book; continues to gawk at her hair while noticing the change of clothes. Only one thing left to do per his next line. “Go on… a date with me Victorian lady?” And so their second one and actually maybe their first official one was set up for that night at mirroring Shenanigan’s just across the street. There they would run into June Bug Johnston aka Plain Jane Johnston once more as their stories continue to grow and evolve.

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