Tag Archives: Chef/Inspector Petty^*++!

Piggies

It was somewhat before sunrise when Allen Martin began writing to his deceased wife Carol again.

Dearest Muffin,

I hope you had a peaceful night. Me… not so good. I have some news for you. I don’t want to hide anything. You know my devotion to you my sweetest will never be over. Marriage is not, until death do you part. It is forever in another, special way. Yet, things do happen in physical life. Time moves forward. I’ve met someone else. I don’t know if it will work out but I just wanted to be straighforward and honest with you. This is not a usurpal of our love. Not atall. It is a continuation in a strange way.

He paused; peered over at his now ordinary looking son Doogie snoozing away after another tough night of transmogrified grilling on the part of possessor Petty. Victim this time: Allen Martin’s landlord Summerhill Nova. Emerald tablets? What’s that mad inspector on about now?? He returned to his scribing.

I know my feelings are real in this case, but we are the rock, the foundation. This is just a new branch sprouting on an old, old tree.

He paused again as Doogie let out a loud snort.

I want to reassure you our son is fine. Do not hate me for what I, we, did. The gas station was about to be repossessed. I had to provide for Doogie. Irony, eh? Possession for possession. I hope and pray it will be over soon. But Petty is going off onto so many tangents. How about the actual *killing*, sir. Address that for a change.

He put his pen down on the desk. It was no good today. A proper letter to his wife would have to wait. He sat up on its top, looking east this time instead of west.

Wheeler. What demon are you as well?

She also snorts.

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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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Revelations

“Tell me more about this OD… oops, I think I’m making a full transition now.” Chef-inspector Petty was no longer Doogie Martin in any part.

Baker Bloch answered. “Like I said, we contacted him, it, through wegee. He, or she, or it, didn’t identify a sex, but it has male clothing on as it turns out.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Hucka Doobie and I. She’s a member of my avatar family. She’s versed in spiritual matters — why I got her involved.”

“Tell me more about this avatar family of yours. Any criminal records?” His pace was crisp.

“None that I know about. Spongeberg is a destroyer by trade. Does that count?”

Petty became cryptic. “Glad you brought him up. Spongeberg is not a member of your family. He is a member of *our* family.”

Baker Bloch scratched his head at this. “Well,” he began again, “we admittedly don’t know much about him. Are you saying, I don’t know, that he’s from *here*?”

“That is precisely what I’m saying. We also believe there is a link between Spongeberg and OD — know it, in fact. You’re aware of the former property called Pitch Black?”

“Somewhat,” answered Bloch.

“In November of 2016, the property was taken over by the town, with the oft deemed “noxious” or “poisonous” temple derezzed. The FTI gallery expanded into its former space. It was through this incorporation that the town split into two separate realities. Or, better, we became *aware* of this second town overlapping the first. It was always there. But the portal had been opened.” He turned around and looked directly at Baker Bloch. “In the *big* picture, the owner of the FTI is the same as Wheeler. Assimilate *that*.”

To Baker Bloch, Petty was spouting gibberish now. He didn’t think Spongeberg was from VHC City (but he did want to find out more of his background now). Wheeler as the FTI owner? That didn’t make any sense.

“And I’ll give you one more,” Petty continued. “See the innocent looking Musician sitting on the couch between us?”

“Who… me?” uttered The Musician, sitting up a bit and wiping his nose on his sleeve. He had half nodded off during the discussion.

“Yes, you,” Petty answers. “I don’t guess you remember anything at all about creating *VHC City itself?*”

Nope. No he did not.

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Mission

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“Great,” whispers Urch to Turch. “We have to sit next to Smelly Santy; got here too late.”

Luckily Turchin McGurchin was perhaps the only person in the hobo camp who even compared in odor to “SS”, as everyone called him, and correspondingly minded less than anyone else about sitting within his circle of stench. Barely hesitating, he plopped his old bones next to him and offered salutations. Urch took a deep breath and then took the seat opposite Turch.

At the other table of the mission sat Jim Jackson Jones Johnson directly behind Urch, who we’ve met, then beside him the old man who likes to read books over at Furry Karl’s Joker’s Wild bar, then caddycorner to him another shabbily dressed man reading a book who looks suspiciously like the Librarian in a new guise, and lastly Tronesisia, the pleasure bot of the camp, although no one acknowledges her by that title. Currently she’s playing around with a giant 3×3 rubic’s cube, and having no difficulty getting each of its sides to turn a solid color again and again after a reset, the object of the game. She’s very fit in both mind and body, as the camp found out 2 years back when she first showed up as another one of those exiles from cursed Bennington.

There was a polite period of waiting before Turch moved to the food buffet on the opposite wall. Everyone else had done eating, with paper plates and utensils already disposed of. Despite the stomach rumblings, Urch decided to beg off food this morning, saying she had a lot on her mind and didn’t want to weigh her body down. “Oh?” said the stinky but kind Santa being at her table, trying to help. “Did your brain eat something disagreeable in the last several days? That could do it.”

“I don’t think that’s quite it,” offered Urch, use to SS’s strange words.

“Then perhaps a parrot brought the disease in from a foreign tropical country, perhaps that one with the long coastline. Seas breed disease. That’s why the one word is nested in the other.”

“Could be,” Urch said, trying to agree with Smelly Santy so the conversation will end in this direction. “How’s Farmington doing? she then asked. “I heard you went back there for a couple of days.”

“Nice in late autumn when the leaves are dive bombing off the trees and creating bloody colors on the ground. But this is early spring apparently.”

“Then how was it?” asks Urch again. She was use to this drill about having to ask the same question to Smelly several times to get a type of proper answer.

“The sand blurred the dimensions between people into fuzzy cantaloupes. Dust everywhere. Hoofprints. You know the story.”

“I do,” Urch began again. “And how was it by the way?”

“Oh kids are fine. The wife is asking for the alimony check. The elves are back at work.” Smelly Santy paused, then corrected himself. “*Out* of work again. It’s early spring, right?”

“Right, SS.”

Turch now returned to the table with a plate containing a huge egg and piece of bacon, obvious products of the Bennington experiments. Suddenly glad she wasn’t eating this morning, Urch excused herself to check the upstairs. She was looking for someone in particular.

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“Get me a glass of water while you’re up, Urch,” Turchin McGurchin requested before she left, nodding toward the food bar. “And don’t forget about telling me about your dreams,” he then demanded. He was hoping that Urch would spill the beans wine while he ate, but there’s that condition of hers to cope with. Poor Urch, he thought. Always running away from food and eating.

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VW(XYZ)

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“Let’s see what this so called ‘secret society’ is all about, you Joker,” he says. Wilson goes into the VWX fairy house.

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—–

“I thought this is where he said the hole was, son.” Allen Martin pivots around, looking. “Where’d Aspy go?”

“Dunno pops,” answered Doogie, who continued staring at something in the distance.

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“There he is. Where’s he heading *now*?”

Doogie does a 180. “Looks like he’s going down the hill on the other side of this house or whatever it is… shed.”

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“Well keep up with him,” his father implored. “You know my legs aren’t what they use to be.” Allen Martin struggles to get to his feet. His son doesn’t move to help him, instead following the snake.

“Hmm,” Doogie says. “Now he’s on some kind of green table. “Looks like he’s waiting on us maybe.” Allen Martin hobbles up to his son.

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“Great. Another hill.” the older Martin complains. “Help me out a little this time, Doogie. Will ya?”

“Sure, okay,” the son says lacadasically.

10 minutes later they were at the bottom, staring at the picture. On the white pillar now, Aspinwall kept knocking his snake head against it in emphasis.

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“Hey pops,” Doogie finally says. “Doesn’t that kind of look like the picture of your old college down on the bottom floor of our house now.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” the older man replies. “I was on the wrong wall.”

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Table Meeting 02

For Table Meeting No. 2, Baker Bloch arrived at the Blue Feather in his self named Spookmobile, almost running over Old Mabel and Hucka Doobie while humming down Old Cannon Road from his attic home in the western part of town. Baker apologized to the two while they were walking up behind him, nerves rattled.

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“You know it’s only about 100 yards from your place to the Blue Feather,” says Hucka Doobie, still dusting herself off from diving behind Major Stone to avoid being hit. “You don’t really need to drive. What is that thing anyway? Where’d you get it?”

Baker Bloch realized Hucka Doobie wasn’t inworld all that much and hadn’t caught up with the news. So he caught her up.

“Fascinating,” says Hucka Doobie afterwards. Anson and Anton. Yet another one. *Must* be the work of Mid Hazel.”

“And we further speculate that Wheeler is trapped on New Island now, unable to escape. I’d take you there to see the broken bridge but the meeting’s starting up in a moment.”

“Without Wheeler?” Hucka Doobie scratches her bee head in confusion.

“I’m taking Wheeler’s place,” Baker declared. “Let’s head inside and get this thing started.”

“Cool, I suppose,” says Hucka Doobie, still a bit in the dark on things. Old Mabel remained silent, not liking where this was, er, heading.

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—–

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“As most of you know,” Baker began, “Wheeler’s wishes were to move forward instead of backwards. Toward ‘Pumpkintwisters’ and the future instead of ‘Billfork’ and its Northfork and Billville in the past. *But*… Wheeler isn’t here.”

Old Mabel suddenly perked up. Could it be? Could it be?

“So we’re going to talk about ‘Billfork’ tonight.”

Old Mabel actually jumped out of her chair a bit in joy. She had been preparing to discuss ‘Billfork’ for weeks now, listening to all the pertinent John Lennon solo efforts and reading up about the Ono debacle and so forth.

“Now I’m sorry Tin S. Man. I know this was your time to shine.”

“‘T’is okay, Baker Bloch. The Ray Davies inside of me can wait. I am sympathetic to the plight of Northfork and Billville both. Both flooded, both moved. A moving tale each.” He smiled.

“Yes,” agreed Baker. “So since we’re backing up from ‘3 Friends of Belleville’ instead of going forward, we can point out that *Belle*ville camed from *Bill*ville — and also visa versa since time really doesn’t exist. This is part of the overarching complexity of the Piera. Old Mabel, do you want to help me out and pull up some pertinent videos on the interwebs? Try ‘Northfork + Polish’.”

“Sure thing, Wilson.” Everyone stared at her. “I mean, Baker Bloch, tee hee. Slip of the tongue.” She went over to the suave chair she had sat in so many times now and did the appropriate search.

“So what is ‘Billfork’ you might be asking?” then said Baker Bloch. “Well, on the audio side it’s primarily ‘Boom Dot Bust’ by Firesign Theatre. On the video side it’s the movie ‘Northfork’ by the Polish twins, Michael and Mark. As Tin S. Man alluded to, both feature towns that have to be moved in order to be saved. The town of Northfork is being flooded by a new lake. Billville is threatened by tornadoes, and also, strangely and syncily, a flood at the end, where the mayor has to turn into a fish and ‘swim, swim, swim’ to stay alive. Tonight, to begin, we’re going to look at a number of clips from ‘Northfork’ which are available on the Youtubes. We’re just going to look at them as they appear in Old Mabel’s hit list here, and I’ll talk about the relationship with ‘Billfork’ afterwards — I don’t think we need to do them in order. So if you would just start at the top of your list, Old Mabel, and work down.”

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“Yes *sir*”.

—–

2 1/2 hours later they had gone through innumerable Youtube videos featuring not only ‘Northfork’, but Firesign Theatre, Pink Floyd, and John Lennon and his Beetles. Even Old Mabel was getting a little tired. But they had learned a lot. They knew ‘Billfork’ contained some kind of code which Baker Bloch simply dubbed the Billfork Code during the meeting, having come up with that name several hours prior. Baker had passed out most of the 8 oranges Old Mabel dreamt about to participants at The Table this night, setting the remainder at empty seats while saying that each represented a whole track from ‘Boom Dot Bust’ used in ‘Billfork’. Old Mabel grasped hers tightly as Baker handed it to her, making sure she didn’t drop it this time (unlike in the dream). “Now I know we’re all tired,” Baker continued, “but we need to also talk about the 9th tonight. The 9th is ‘Doom Bot Dust’, the opposite of ‘Boom Dot Bust’. And that’s where we think the code comes from. A south by southwest direction.” Old Mabel nodded her head in agreement as she looked past Hucka Doobie in that direction.

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Anton

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“So this is another one of your disguises Wheeler.”

“Yes. Baker Bloch,” she answered. “But call me Wilson (when I’m like this). Or Wheeler — whatever. So… you have information about Doreena.”

“She is called Doflia now,” states Keat Owens. “Reborn on January 15th of this year. She has Mad Max hair, (and) Apocalyptic Female top, shorts and boots.”

“She has turned into a monster,” Wheeler-as-Wilson speculates.

Not really. Come to the map with me. “We can teleport through the pin.

—–

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“Not there,” states Keat Owens. “Let’s check Yvonnee.”

—–

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“Often right here, but it’s late in the night, almost dawn. To quote Billy Corgan: ‘They only come out at night.'”

“Close enough. Speaking of which,” says Wheeler. “I must begin preparing for the next Table meeting.”

“So you’re going with the forward Pumpkintwisters direction?” Wheeler nods. “Over the backwards Billfork direction?” Wheeler keeps nodding. Keat Owens reapplies one of his hands to his chin in a thoughtful manner. “There’s one more avatar we’re keeping an eye on, only known as Anton. I don’t have a direct landmark yet but he’s in Anson. Obviously another one named for their inhabiting sim. We’ll have to approximate (the landmark).”

—–

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Not what they were expecting.

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—–

Afterwards:

“Damn! Crashed again.”

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Just after that:

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Walls

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“Let’s see. What book did you say you were looking for Old Mabel? Hee hee.”

After walking around the walls and ceiling of the fairy house for a couple of minutes to demonstrate her powers, Urch then showed them another mystery out in the side yard.

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The picture of the flaming yellow haired cartoon was gone. One depicting brick walls took its place, a maze of walls, actually, that you could *move around in*. Urch described it as the vast grounds of Rooster Springs Backwoods Institute, where she claimed to have attended school back in the ’60s. “Psychedelic days,” she called them. “Secured my kaleidoscope eyes there.” Old Mabel gasped at this.

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As she navigated the seemingly endless maze while Old Mabel and Keat Owens looked on (a*mazed* — sorry), Urch revealed she’s been searching for something within for quite some time now. “Let’s call it a key to unlocking a man trapped in a Santa suit,” she explained. This made Old Mabel think of Jiff and the queer Santa demon he saw a couple weeks ago. While she was pondering this association, she realized Urch had stopped moving around the maze to turn and stare at her. “You know something.”

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More

He was at the table now, asking me to join him on his side. We were done with the Nautilus City map. He said we were waiting for someone but wouldn’t say who. He said we could play chess against the house in the meantime. I imagined both of us leaning against the outside of the fairy building, awkwardly holding a board between us. I told him this vision. He said, “No, against *the house*.” He waved his arms all around. A chessboard then appeared on the table before us, white pawn moved to King 4 in an opening move. “I’ve never able to beat her myself,” says this new Keat Owens. “But maybe with your help we can give her a run for her money. And she *is* expensive, my dear.” I told him I didn’t know how to play chess, and we do not have that game on Mars where I’m from. He said he’d do most of the work. It was over in 13 moves. The board disappeared. The new Keat Owens cussed a word I won’t repeat here. I didn’t learn a lot about the game except to note the power of the pieces and the general nature of their motions. I knew that the Queen was the most powerful and not to be f*cked with, to use the language of Owens. Then a person I had met once before came into the room, an ovoid portal appearing on his or her head chest.

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VW(X)

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“Yes come in. Quickly, quickly,” another Keat Owens implored from within the fairy house. “There’s mysteries to solve. No doddling dear — there’s been enough of that. Well, come in,” he said again. “Leave the golf club outside, yes.”

Old Mabel goes up the stairs and then leans the iron gently against the house just outside its railing. Taking one last glance over at Keat Owens Joker, she passes through the door she just opened.

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—–

“Yes, well…?” a similarly rushed Baker Bloch asks later at the Joker’s Wild Bar. Furry Karl was still under the weather. Rhoda remained the bartender for now.

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“We stared at the Nautilus City map for a while. The position of Doreena, Yvonne, and, um, this new person or entity we haven’t heard about before named Anton, were marked with red pins. Keat Owens Jack, as we’ll call him…”

“… because his suit is like Jack’s across the way…”

“Right, Baker Bloch. So this Keat Owens Jack then says Doreena has unexpectedly changed her name and appearance, and that this is more work of Mid Hazel the witch. Her “do’n’s” is how he put it. And Spider was in the corner of the small room beside us; forgot to mention that. He’s still spouting out or uttering or speaking those 4 numbers over and over, like you described before when he was with Carrcassonnee.”

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“Slightly before your time here in Collagesity, yes. Interesting. When did you wake up?”

“I was just staring at the pin representing Anton — more at my eye level — and a picture of what you call a Volkswagen Beatle at the bottom of the sea entered my mind. I stared at the completely algae covered car for quite some time. It was sad. Then I was jolted back to reality by the start of ‘Revolution No. 1’ on my player. That’s from the ‘White Album’. The more graceful ‘Long Long Long’ precedes it there. Then afterwards we have ‘Honey Pie’ and the horn laden ‘Savoy Truffle’.”

Old Mabel’s really getting into this Beetles research, Baker then thinks. Too absorbed? Well, she’s preparing for the next Table meeting, which is scheduled for tomorrow night if Wheeler can pry herself away from her new infatuation — her New Island. That seems to be a danger: Wheeler may be imprisoned by this new threat named Mid Hazel forever and ever on that island. Baker then noticed Old Mabel is staring at him.

“Thinking about other things?” she asks.

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