Tag Archives: Buster Damm^

swears

“So hard to get comfortable in these f-cking chairs,” Buster complained, wishing he would have tried one or two more before Duncan showed up. But he didn’t have time.

“Yeah, I saw your green dot over here and decided just to teleport over, to save you the trouble of sending me an invite and all. So: what’s up, Buster? You said this was of utmost importance.”

Buster squirmed a bit more before replying. “Pot-D is what’s up, Duncan Avocado.” He let the high pitched declaration hang in the air.

“Pot-D?” Duncan thought about it a second. He looked around the restaurant; checked his inworld map before leaning in closer. “Drugs?” he said in a lower tone.

“No, no, no Duncan A. Get your mind out of the slum, er, gutter. I’m talking about a secret society we want you to join. To help us with the investigation of The Diagonal. Pot-D stands for Protectors of the Diagonal. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Duncan Avocado pondered on this as well, then answered: “W-what do I have to do? Sign some papers or something? Um, be sworn in?”

The small vampire shook his head. “No, you’re basically already in. It’s all verbal in this club. Angus Nuffin suggested it, and he’s sort of the boss, the ringleader I suppose.” Buster’s pace was brisk; he wanted to get Duncan initiated and then get the hell out of here. The Chelsea so close, so close. Blue Angel. “What do the initials R.B. mean to you?”

Duncan went into thinking mode again. “Nothing,” he then answered after a spell. “I don’t know anything it’s attached to… for me… personally. Could be wrong.”

“Good. Then you’re on the right timeline — you’d know if you knew. You’re as good as a member right now.” He reached into his xxxs sized jacket and pulled out a necklace, silver in color with a red pendant. “This is yours. You have to put it on now before I leave. The necklace must touch part of your skin. That way we can always be in communication with you. Are you cool with this still?”

Duncan Avocado had been studying The Diagonal in his own way for many months now, and George with him (Duncan and George go *way* back together). He’d been waiting for a new role to show up at his doorstep. And now it had. He didn’t want to miss another opportunity.

“Sure. Why not.” He grasped the necklace from Buster’s extended hand, put it on.

“Argg, daybreak. F-cking, cursed sun. Must split, Duncan. We’ll be in touch. Get it? Touch.” He didn’t wait for Duncan to respond, but just winked out with this, right when the sun’s hateful rays were washing red over his seat.

Duncan stuck around a while and finished his croissant and cup of creamy coffee. Pretty good. Maybe George and he can eat breakfast here tomorrow. Talk about what has transpired.

But what *did* just transpire? he then considered.

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Filed under *Second Life, VHC City

arrival

Interesting, thought Buster Damm, teleporting into the center of the Tussock sim under the cover of darkness. Right in the middle of the railroad.

He will call Duncan A. once he finds a good spot to sit at the restaurant. One he feels comfortable with.

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Filed under *Second Life, VHC City

he died in Washington D.C.

One wasn’t suppose to do so, but Mrs. Misty Dorn often walked the 150 or so meters from her Philo retro-home to the lip of what “later” became known as the Catsocks Sinkhole, a portmanteau name derived from the Catalpa and Tussock sims which share the depression.

And behind her from this vantage point: the main gallery of hot tempered artist Angelina Dickenson who drove Pitch Darkly and Buster Damm from VHC City spring before last. Like driving Frankenstein’s Monster away from the village with fire, except in this case vampire monsters are involved instead of collaged together, electronically activated beings.

But Misty knew them as tamed pussycats: a rather henpecked Pitch (by Mary) and a somewhat dominated Buster (by Bettie). Like a modern day Fred Flintston and Barney Rubles they are, neighboring Collagesity pals who enjoy going on adventures and do male bonding stuff with each other like bowling for dollars. Totally harmless; the sustaining blood they need now supplied by an herbal substitute distilled from locally grown turnip plants. The progression of monster medicine!

She turned back to the hole. But it all started here. Birthplace of Monsters they will also deem it, not technically true but that is how it will be remembered. Plane crash. Mary had told her all about it. She said everyone within a 1000 meter radius of VHC City came to witness the aftermath. And the insulated crates containing Pitch, Buster and others which were opened, freeing their contents. No humans survived, although they were they ones who wrecked the plane. On purpose. The rallying cry according to legend: “Let’s rock.” The target: well, most would assume the giant Hotel Chelsea itself only 300 meters from the site, not much further away than her own house in Philo. A fascinating and tragic story, which upon retelling Mary usually got a little choked up about. Not only for the dead humans but the still living, breathing monsters who emerged from the intact tail piece. The ones who received part of the blame, however undeserved. Like her husband Pitch. Mr. Mary.

She rose from the ground. But it was time to get back to Philo and meet with Septimius, who offered to come over and escort her down to Swindon’s Coffee and Tea Emporium in the center of town. She had other plans, however. Might as well get it over with because the event was inevitable. She knew Septimius, or the man behind Septimius, and the attraction would reach a logical conclusion. He didn’t have a General Grant tucked away in his back pocket like didn’t-die-in-Vain Abraham Lincoln, but it was still upon him. Thus the reason he thinks the 28th president of the United States is a female. Trees. Giant tree. The largest in the world, between it and Sherman, another back pocket filler upper. Another 2 fer 1, it seems.

With her standard 128 meter draw she could just make out the top of an autumn tree in Philo from this perspective. The town is afire with leaves brightly burning yellow, orange, red. If only their user’s real life world beyond the mirror was so blessed.

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Filed under *Second Life, Heterocera, Myron

more effigies

Once again disguised as a girl of relatively ordinary height, Bettie/Tonshi Ashokan entered Collagesity from the west at sunset and spotted something different about this statue in front of the Town Diner, a 2d copy of Rodin’s “The Thinker”.

It was moving back and forth — barely perceptible but still obviously present. And the vibrating would both slow and increase in radius in the coming weeks until a climactic point is reached. Think about that, attached giant rock and spoon.

—–

“Ahh, my love! I thought I’d greet you by Pitch’s new statue so you’d know the way. Right across this bridge, light of my life.”

“Thanks. Back at you, Buster my sweets!” She changed to match him one-to-one before they crossed the wood plank bridge to their new home.

“Over here dear. It’s this smaller house.”

“Oh.”

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Filed under *Second Life, Rubi

holy 02

By the time The Bill had returned to Collagesity, Pitch Darkly was already well into his Russian phase. He had recreated Maebaeleia’s Russian Matrix in the town skybox, a Second Lyfe landmass he insisted on calling the *Russian* continent and not the Japanese Continent, although the latter was its most common nickname (Just to be clear here, many consider the continent’s primary name to be Satori and not Maebaleia, but let’s don’t go into that right now). “Look at the Jeogeot-Maebaleia Rabbit Hole,” he would argue with Buster Damm and others who expressed confusion about his terming. “The Maebaleia end is in Ubab… Ubablab…” “Ulyanovskuly Oblast,” Buster might correct Pitch on any given night. “Yes, the oblast or politcal region where Lenin was born, true,” he might say. “That’s the only way it worked,” Pitch then could continue. “Russian… or actually *Polish* in that movie with the 47 Room…” “‘INLAND EMPIRE,'” Buster Damm might accurately insert here. “Yes,” Pitch could reply, “the Jeogeot-Maebaleia Rabbit Hole is the same as the hole or portal in that movie, caused by pressing a lighted cigarette through a folded piece of cloth. That way you become Rebus Caneebus and fall in. All the way to Russia. Or Poland.” “‘Back in the USSR,'” Buster might tack on in an attempt to wrap the topic up and move on to other things.

The Ulyanovskuly Oblast side of the Rabbit Hole had long been smoothed over, but once it looked like this:

The other side of the hole, in the sim of Blackmount in what I call the Sunklands district of the Jeogeot continent, remains intact quite amazingly, thanks to the faithful stewardship of long time owner Alyx Sand, with whom I exchanged a couple of messages over the subject some years back now. As I recall, she inherited the hole, and made the obvious connection that it was a rabbit variety leading to parts unknown. Pitch has since followed up on my initial contact, asking if Alyx ever fell through the hole when it was actually and truly operable. Before the time of direct teleportation between two distant points in Our Second Lyfe, in other words. She indicated to him that it no longer served that function when she purchased the land in 2007.

Pitch has made several pilgrimages to the Blackmount hole in the last several months, falling in on purpose each visit just to see what would happen. No “bottomless pit” this time leading to another “dimension.” Only immersion in a small pool of Linden water at the terminus of an approx. 100 meter fall. Try it for yourself!


“Hmmm, a WWII American fighting plane on the extreme corner of the Sands property,” Pitch thinks. “An F4U-1D Corsair, vers. 2.5,” Buster Damm might clarify here.

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Filed under *Second Life, Jeogeot, Maebaleia/Crabwoo, Rubi, Sunklands

color row 02

“Giant Jiff,” Buster commands, “this morning we need to dismantle this block of houses and attached tiny village. Location change — other colorful houses used for the set, you see. Also: phone Bettie up and tell her we need to start preparing to get the heck out of Dodge. I have to take a shower.”

“Sure thing boss.”

“Shoot,” exclaims the overhearing sheriff down at Tiny Towne.

“Looks like you’re free to go Prisoner Pothead.”

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Filed under *Second Life, ., Heterocera, Morrison

Clown at Clownski’s

“Performance artist??” exclaims Paul.

“And he says he’s been doing this a long time,” interjects Buster.

“Yes,” answers the famous clown. “And I can help *you*”… he pauses and turns toward Buster. “Er, what did you say their name was again?”

“The Lambs,” replies Buster.

“No,” states Mary firmly. “Just Lamb.”

“Well then, I can help *you* Just Lamb.”

Mary sighs. This little bloodsucker’s plan better work, she thinks.

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Filed under *Second Life, ., Heterocera, Lapara