Tag Archives: Big Wanda^^~~~~~

zzz www

Later they all ate sushi with oversized toothpicks at Black Diamond’s. Big Wanda with “deflated horns”, as I’ve called her floppy pigtails, was in charge, Spore’s plan in action. Master judo samurai Black Diamond (background) gave Little Oakley Annie the honorable name Green River during a pre-meal tea ceremony and her mama the name Kummer, which was short (he explained) for, “coming mother”. Or so that’s what they thought he meant. We were working with places in Washington again, switched from Illinois switched from Mississippi. Faulkner had no hold here, the Rule of the 100 and the way of fame and fortune conveniently forgotten. Zzz was not about Faulkner, nope. This was the mother, this was the father, but not the son, the fruity one.

Big Wanda spoke. “Little Annie Oakley, *sorry*, Green River, has fallen asleep again, cutting zzz’s instead of being in the moment. Too much fighting in life will do that, drain you of the oh-so-precious life force because you have done so with others.” She turns. “But you’re holding up well, Old Grey. How’s that floating device going?”

“Pretty good,” Old Grey admitted, knowing indeed what is holding her up and propelling her forward. Snowmanster and she will be at the tree again soon. In fact: they’re there.

“Interesting,” Core-Alena says to begin in his-her feminine/masculine voice and staring toward Old Grey’s way.

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zzz aaa

“Now. Isn’t that a lot better than that nasty old gun, eh? Corona-V. Won’t let you down, hehe. 9 out of 10 pirates — *recommend*.”

“Who *are* you?” she said to the tiny green creature beside her with the projecting, announcer-like voice. She was getting use to honing in on the frequency, like a small radio that blends into background noise at first.

“Why I’m a *friend*, a guiding spirit if you will, yes.” Spore rubs his miniature hands together in diabolic glee. Plan Z was working perfectly. Except he’s decided to trim the name down to Pan-Z to separate it from that other guy with a plan about the canal that didn’t work so well. NWES City remains in pieces. “Now just rellaaxx and forget *all* about that awful black swamp, eh? Settle back. You remain a star, don’t worry. I’ll be back shortly.” He patters off, still rubbing his hands and snickering underneath his breath. Oakley Annie floats and sips for a while, thinking of the past.

“You use to be *my* friend,” Big Wanda with new doo spoke over, sitting up for emphasis.

“Well things change, what can I say.” She looked over. “What happened to your horns, the thing that gave away your sign?”

“Aww, got tired of them.” She patted her hornless head, indicating her pigtailed hair she replaced them with; kind of floppy horns if you will; deflated almost. “Looked much better on the other version of Elberta I have,” she opined about it, “the one that was going to marry–”

“Don’t tell me,” Oakley Annie beams with new psychic insight because of the brew; in the dark no more. “Toothpick.” She cackles. “*That’s* what Spore was going on about with the guy with the failed plan, ha.”

“You’re not the only one who’s dead here, Oakley Annie. I am too.”

“I know.” She almost reaches back into the box to produce a beer for Big Wanda but then remembers this is all imaginary; in her head. Big Wanda was not dead, not yet. She hasn’t tasted cool happiness at the end of a long, dusty trail.

Another sip (*ahhhh*). Spore says she can stay in his land for as long as she wants, and she has nowhere to go. Could be a while (*sip*).”Who can I speak to next? Who will fill that vacant hole of a zero doughnut this time?”

She trembles despite the good vibrations. “Mom?”

Truly dead this time.

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North again

“Well? How did you like it?”

Toothpick turned on the bar stool. “Who are you?”

She rubbed her big red horns seductively. “An Aries, why?”

Toothpick adjusted. “*What* are you?”

“They call me Wanda,” she said in a bass voice for a woman. “Big Wanda. Because of the, ahem, horns but maybe not. 1/2 –.” She stopped here, saving some grace. “I’m what you became absorbed in,” she goes again. “Just a moment ago. Just over there.” She points to the nearby black couch. “Like the one in the Bigfoot Bar, except that one’s gone now. There are others.”

Toothpick thinks back to Bigfoot. Yes, he remembers now. This was his sister in another guise. She has horns. They’re still testing couches and realities both. Yes he had been absorbed. It was nice. Too nice. He thought back to the pleasantries. A belt was involved. The Great Belt of Marwood or thereabouts, purchased in oppositely directioned and colored Black Ice down south at its Black Diamond market square, or at least as a demo. Near where they were born, actually, in the Deep South (of the Black Ice sim). The original one broke; all he has now is the one with the attached squares that say demo and follow him wherever he moves with it. Like the Gone Fishing square from before, prior to the horned one taking over. He takes another gander.

“Are you Satan?” He thinks back to well known Aries and settles on the idea of batting champ Peet Rose, red as a. Why Peet Rose? Why not Jonny Bench or some other bench player, like Leeroy “Steamboat” Kelly who filled in for the Browns when Cleveland Jim Brown became a star on Hollywood Boulevard?

—–

In a related scene, Big Wanda’s sometimes, gun toting partner Little Oakley Annie, a Leo, was visiting her own grave but having trouble remembering the name of her own star. She only recalls (with a shudder) the wide, yawning abyss just beyond, the Great Black Swamp devoid of such. Her star was the first out. Polar came to mind but that wasn’t quite it. Pole star?

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zeppelin tube

The stage is set for Toothpick and Elberta’s “Beech vacation”, a test run. Mr. Z and Mrs. M won’t like it but the wedding has been slightly postponed. Trouble is, Toothpick (and Elberta) aren’t even sure now, when checking, that Munday is actually a day: seems to be a mash-up of real days Sunday and Monday, borrowing letters from each. If so, that would mean there are actually 7 Happy Days already instead of 6, which throws everything off, and also explains, it seems, why olive colored alien Carrcassonnee can’t become fully alive at the Temple of TILE. Because the non-olive eye is the 7th (prim), Tin and Gold both. Self. POLK. “I need my voice!” she says inside. 6 + 1.

—–

“Budweiser casserole’s ready, dear.” Toothpick didn’t budge. He wasn’t even sure which was which. He was both on the couch and announcing that dinner is served. He had on coveralls but he also didn’t. This wasn’t working. 7 had been reduced to 6 and the 1 was missing. And that 1 was him. Zeroed out. Time for Newtonia Cashcow, aka Tracy Austin, to step in, 88s accompanying her as usual.

I, as the Man About Time, decide to meet her at Axis’ coffee shop in the heart of the city as we’d done before but find it closed. Newtonia then invites him, me, over to her apt. for coffee. He watches tv while she changes upstairs into something more comfortable — “less period,” she puts it — but I know this doesn’t involve romantic advances because we’re related. Brother and sister as well?

Hmm. He’s (I’ve) seen this video before. But where? Fuzziness consumes again. I decide to get rid of the I. He’s been asleep for an indefinite time when she arrives back downstairs, offers him some hot Sumatra. “Rats!” she exclaims. Forgot the sugar. She goes upstairs again. She’s trying to be funny. It’s working! After putting lumps in my java she calls me Willard and asks how my gang is doing and if we’re still working on all those map things. I jump back in the picture and say, “yes,” because she just alluded to them. She asks about the mouth of hell and the cave between two synchs and the hole in the cave and why it leads to the center of the Earth where gravity becomes comedy. We talk about a lot of things and I know what she says because we sort of speak a common language. I realize, at the heart of things, she’s just as much in on this communication as Toothpick/Filbert. I needed to talk to the female half for a while, for a post or two or close enough. Grahams. I ask about the Grahams and she produces two, one cracker each. She puts on some Crosby, Adler, Fraud and Young. Spoken book, each taking turns explaining their theories of psychoanalysis with the first and last also involving music. “That is one river of words,” she says when they finished, wiping off the extra sugar from her lap in preparation for the next act. “Like the Mississippi and Amazon. 12 tiles each.” She moves atop her chair and starts to scratch herself like a Monkee for all to observe. I decided to put an end to it for tonight. More soon.

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Sweetwater over Sweetgrass

“We’re going to have to make a decision, Wanda. Are we gay? Or aren’t we gay?”

“Well — *my* old lover is a psychopathic killer. Enough to turn a woman against gaydom. And *yours*…”

“Marcus, I know,” spoke Pete Archer, a Sagittarius through and through. Big Wanda? Aries of course. Horns of Hatton.

She looks downhill into the heart of the village, shifts her sturdy weight in her chair. “Well. One things for sure is that I’m not going to take orders from that Grey Scale woman who recently came in and just took over the place. Freed *Annie* for Pete’s sake.” She then looked blankly at Pete. “Sorry — I-I know you don’t like expressions using your name.”

“That was a long time ago, Big Wanda.” He flipped his hand. “Forget about it.”

“I’m sorry your mother never let you go to school. All the advantages lost–”

“I said forget about it.” There was finality in his voice now. Pete had forgiven his ma, his pa, his bro, his ho sis who joined the 1st Prostitutian Church of the Deep South when she was only 15. But now a woman of 30 and straight in her ways. Except she was gay as well. Was *he* gay? Maybe Big Wanda and he should do the big dirty again. Test all those different kind of moves out once more. But he could just be bisexual — no harm in that. Except it is frowned upon by the community here. He’s either in — or out. Can’t flip both ways.

“Let’s head to the Deep South again,” he offered. “Love Letters in the Sand.”

A big smile spread across Big Wanda’s face. Maybe they won’t have to stay here after all.

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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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fork

Little Oakley Annie and Big Wanda were foraging for fire kindling in the small forest when they heard the car roar by then suddenly screech to a halt. LOA threw down the sticks she was holding and moved over to the cliff on the edge of the woods. They had prepared for this moment. “The car,” she whispered to Big Wanda, now standing behind her and gazing too. “A *fast* car. We could use a replacement for that old red clunker we’re now using.”

“Which you stole off that farmer before you shot his head off,” whispered back Big Wanda.

“Well — he *sneezed* in front of me. How dare him.”

Despite wanting to protest again for the needlessness of the violence, Big Wanda remained silent. But, like Keith B. in front of her here, she too had a choice to make soon. Sooner than Keith, even.

Little Oakley Annie aimed her ever-present gun at Keith’s head. “I’ll make sure I get a clean hit so we won’t damage the Porsche. The other dude will then run and we can mow him down too. Like grasssss.” She pulled the…

Big Wanda karate chopped Little Oakley Annie’s arm down, making her almost shoot her own foot. “What the…!”, and then she turned toward her partner in crime, gun still in hand. The weapon pointed to the face, the mouth, the nose, while the holder glared. “I should have done this a looong time ago, ” she then threatens, moving toward Big Wanda while the latter retreats, now perched on the edge of the cliff. “You almost disappointed me at the Your Mama concert. 12 years in the future, 12 years in the future, 12 years in the future…”

“Hey up there!” Keith shouts from the road, quickly moving toward the cliff from the car. Jim A. Brown, however, remains frozen in place in the passenger seat. He would always remain frozen in place from now on. Because he was stuck in time.

And there was noone at the cliff any longer. Little Oakley Annie and Big Wanda’s journey through time had also ended, the Big Loop broken.

Keith looked back at the car and frozen Jim B., then back toward the empty cliff. “The Room,” he muttered. “The Room did this.” He dropped to the roads and gave thanks.

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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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Beatlesque

Firesign Theatre material was conceived, written, and performed by its members Phil Austin, Peter Bergman, David Ossman, and Philip Proctor. The group’s name stems from astrology, because all four were born under the three “fire signs”: Aries (Austin), Leo (Proctor), and Sagittarius (Bergman and Ossman).

“Ahh, see, there’s the rub, because mother *did* want me to go to school.”

“Interesting.”

“You know, it all ends here Pete.”

“Stop calling me that Dave.”

—–

Big Wanda yells over the music. “Didn’t you get your symbol!? Don’t you want to know your sign!?”

“Nah!” shouts back Little Oakley Annie. “If it’s anything but Leo, I’d have to shoot the astrologer in the face! Good band, though!”

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psychopath

“So what do you think?”

“Nice. Elements of TILE. This will do. For a while,” she tacked on.

“Of course.” Big Wanda shifted her sturdy legs. “You know you didn’t have to shoot that girl. She wasn’t doing anything but doing her job.”

“I know.” Little Oakley Annie waved her heavily used revolver in the air with this. “I just didn’t like the way she talked. Too nasal.”

“You shot her in the *nose*. You didn’t have to do that.”

“She lived. In fact, she’s right over there at the coffee shop. She came with me. We made up while you’ve been away scouting for a new place. I bought her a new nose. Plastic. New place; new nose.”

Recalling the awful scene, a surprised Big Wanda looked away from Lake Como, searching for the pot peddling girl they’d met in Rethymno behind them. No luck. Instead, Little Oakley Annie and her gun pointed kind of toward her own nose dominated the view. “You do believe me?”

“Umm. Of course, Little Oakley… Annie.”

“Because if you *didn’t*…” Annie positioned her gun more threateningly, the face obviously a target now.

“Of course I believe you,” Big Wanda reinforced, starting to sweat.

Little Oakley Annie then threw herself back on the rainbow colored recliner, laughing. “Because I didn’t… she’s dead.”

Big Wanda gathered her legs under her again. “Oh.”

“Yeah, that face was pizza after I got finished with it. Which reminds me… I’m starved. Any place to eat around here? I’ve had enough coffee.”

Obviously, though Big Wanda, but dare not say it aloud at this moment. Must remember not to buy LOA any 4 shot expressos again. Nor talk in a nasal way in any shape or form. Talk through the mouth, talk through the mouth, talk through the mouth…

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