Tag Archives: CIGAR
the present
—–
“I think this case is wrapped up, Pretty. *Petty*.” He turns red again. “Pretty much wrapped up,” he tried to cover himself.
“Thanks Officer Glammerpuss.”
The place will have to be quarantined for a week because of the moondust but the business should be able to reopen then.”
“Cathy will be pleased.”
“Yes.”
“Did you get all the rocks?”
“We think so. There’s one that looks like Neil Armstrong, then one like Buzz, then the other one — I assume it’s the 3rd.”
“Collins,” answered Petty to this, due to go on his other job in 2 hours and don a chef’s hat while ditching the inspector’s coat, no rest for this busybody. He reached into it to withdraw a match, ready to relight his current stogie, 8th of the night. At one point there was even 2 in his mouth at once. so excited he was about the news. Queen! Coming to Hardrock. So says Glammerpuss, the big, well, he just loves Queen. They both do! Ah heck, might as well try. Officer seems to be hinting around.
“Listen, Glammerpuss… Chuck.”
“Tim. You call me Tim.”
“Listen, Chuck. I was wondering…”
“Queen?” It just came out of his mouth automatically. Petty turned to stare into his eyes. Chief Wigwam walked up, interrupting the moment as he was suppose to. He gazed at the ribbon on the wrapped up door, symbolic of the case itself. He thought about procedure, getting ducks lined up in a row.
“Better start the paperwork on this Glammerpuss while the memories are fresh. Petty — aren’t you due to present me with a fresh dove omelet in, say (he checks his watch), 2 hours?”
“2 1/2,” states the chef-inspector to this. “Gotta warm up the oven first. Say, Wigwam, can you give us a moment. There’s just one wrinkle on the case we have to iron out.”
“It’s Collins,” spoke Wigwam. “The one they always forget the name of.”
A small smile breaks on Petty’s face. “No, not that, Chief. Something else. Just… give us a moment.”
“Oh alright. See you when the sun comes up. Glammerpuss — paperwork.” He walks away.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0407, Lower Austra^, Maebaleia/Satori, Nautilus
deeper South now…
“How much to see Arthur?” she said out of the side of her mouth while eating. Or at least pretending to eat.
Jerry sighs. He’s not even going to try to correct her again. “10,000,” he says not crisply, like before, but resigned. He doesn’t even look at her, which was customary before a sale to show he’s earnest about the deal.
“Roll me a three, Earnest,” he says over to the cigar toking taker across from him. “1000 on the 3.”
Roll…
“Okay, that’s the last one,” Earnest says, watching it come up again. 10 ones. What are the odds? “Closing up, Harry. Gotta get back to the ball and chain for a little ball breaking heh heh.”
“Jerry,” corrects the actor about the name. He looks offstage at the director, slumping over a bit. “Geez, Kurt. What is that, the 10th time?” He rolls his eyes for everyone around, not hiding his frustration — or was it amusement? — any longer.
“Just do it in the same take,” came the opinion in a steady, non-agitated voice from the side. “Start with the flubbed sentence.”
The actor playing Earnest clears his throat a bit, then: “Closing up, Jerry. That’ll be 10,000 dollars. Gotta get back to the balls and—” He starts laughing, snorting even, joined by some offstage. 11, he thinks while rolling the dice just for kicks this time, then laughs even more at the results.
—-
Meanwhile, nearby Jimmy watches the cubes keep coming as a pawn falls off the table.
Or was it Johnny?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0612, Little Hell, Omega^^, Southern
00310211
Mrs. Ordinary drank red wine at 3 PM in her kitchen, trying to numb her nerves and pondering how to get rid of her aunt who was suppose to stay through next Wednesday. She couldn’t take it any more. Tomorrow they would hike into the mountains of Yellowmoon and she would tell her. Get a room in town or leave. Sucking on teeth in the middle of the night, snoring, getting up early and staying up late watching cartoons on TV. Yosemite Sam, pheh. How did we come from the same gene pool? I need my 9 hours beauty rest and she needs like 5!
She awakes at 8:25, a bit before the 9 she usually does. Elvira of course was already in the living room watching the boob tube. The sound of an especially loud cartoon explosion stirred her. Seems like Bugs pulled out the atomics in a desperate attempt to win the mayoral race from Sam this morning. He planned to get rid of all insects when elected, and Bugs had no choice but to try to stop him. Atomic cigars — that should do the trick. But, no, here comes Sam again, all blackened and without hair or clothes but still quite alive, ready for yet another battle in the war that will only end at the ballot box.
“Elvira, could you please put on some clothes, hmph. And what’s that all over your face, dear? You look like a golden statue.”
“Avocado mask. For the man who is suppose to enter my life today. My horoscope predicted (!). Here.” She picks up the Daily Toilet and rustles it in front of her naked body, then offers it over to her, which Liza (Mrs. Ordinary) reluctantly takes as the TV explodes again. “There… take a look at Scorpio. You’re Taurus… you may not understand, being from the Earth and more grounded with your own life in general. Scorpios need relationships. Scorpios need…”
“Don’t say it, Aunt. Not after last Friday when you brought that town bum Otis back and kept him all night on the couch with you. I know what you need.” Doctored watermelon this time, but of course Sam emerged okay.
Hiking today. How could she possibly meet a man way up there in the grey nothingness where no one hardly lives? But she did. Another Ant, but not the human kind. It’s like they both fell into the TV set after putting on their walking shoes and came out in Looneytoonville with Bugs and Sam and the rest. And perhaps they did.
She took one last look at the TV before switching it off. The cartoon had changed. She hesitated, then sat back down on the couch with her aunt, the paper still opened up to the horoscope section between them. Expect a tall, spindly stranger to enter your life today, it said. She studied the small orange castle on the screen, noted the pixelated cartoon man pulling the cartoon woman toward him with an impossibly long and wavy lasso, then entering the castle gates with her, the assumption being they got “married.” Over and over this happened. It did not get boring.
“What’s the name of this one, Elvira?” The show predicted the future inside the past. Then they were *there*.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0211, Corsica, Northwest^
00310204 (Boy Wonder)
I wanted to stay in Dennis but the (Tisbury) cat lured me down the sidewalk, down and away from where I was suppose to be. “Psst, over here,” he or she seemed to say (in retrospect).
“Here, come here. Come closer. There. You’re here.” Indeed, I seemed welcomed.
Hmm, left the outside faucet running but it didn’t set off any alarms in my head. I’m soo blind without Hucka (!).
“No thanks, I already have one,” I said to the greeter in the front hall, a nice enough bloak. Too bad about the facial wounds for the fellow; maybe holds him back in life and keeps him here. As a servant at the door. “A smoke, I mean. Here. In my hand.” He presents his spliff possessed appendage for the cigar offering greeter as an explanation.
He’s back to old habits. Front and center with his back to us. Ahh, the old Baker. Azure Island days. Let’s get him in a comfy place to think about what’s he’s done and where he’s heading.
Ahh, this is the life, he ruminates. Smoking a spliff while relaxing in a stranger’s home. What could go wrong?
He looks around remotely.
Oldbie, hmm. ‘Nother one. And a prisoner: 031302. So close! This is 00310204. But: point made (?).
Let’s look around some more…
I wonder what could be coming up in post 00310302?
And that was more cats. Holding green and yellow balls. I wonder what would happen if you switched them around?
I think that’s it, the primary message for tonight. I’m officially an Oldbie. I wonder if I’ve been initiated into some kind of club?
—–
Ahh, been there done that.
I feel like someone should be there. In that bed beside the books and drugs and under the stars. Someone just as high as me. Someone just as *old* as me. Hucka, I realized. She never left.
Stand.
But how does he get over there?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0204, Bay City/Nova Albion^, Sansara
lost childhood
Todd A. was next. We center the picture in the middle of the triangles sort of framing his head. He is like an infinite game of roshambo, hand on top of hand on top of hand. Pact with the Devil. Atomic Suicide. Todd A. was smart, management being his specific, chief skill, to add to the others’ two. Todd A. knew a lot about triangles and how they fit together. He went over to Billie Jean Kidd down the bar, recognizing talent when he saw it.
“That’s some kind of balancing act you got going on there.”
“Thank you. I also do cards.”
“Well…” He rubbed her head playfully, like an adult to a kid. Which she isn’t of course. She let the gesture go, knowing that Todd A. was old fashioned in that way. Because she knew who he was, even if he didn’t know her. She could see into the past present future. She knew this guy with his infinite seeing mind was trouble in a bottle, troubled water without a bridge, just blub blub blub. He later turned into an alcoholic to match his drowning mind. 1/8th of the brain cells gone, then 1/6th. Soon he would not be able to manage a diverse collection of bugs drawn together through a common plant.
“… aren’t you the clever one,” he finished, and sat down beside her, relighting his cigar. Billie Jean Kidd was use to cigars, being a stogie toking man in the assignment before last before last, the first without Philip and Marion. She had to admit to the new partner, a chain toting robot dominatrix, that she kind of missed them. “They were like… totally inept dads.” “Gay?” the mechanoid questioned back. “Hard to tell,” came the answer. “Extremely close *pals* at the least.” If only they didn’t bring out the worst in each other, all 3 of them together, she then bemoaned. It could have worked, perhaps. If only their promised Clyde was real.
—–
“We better get you out of here, child,” spoke Todd A., seeing the warm up act appear on stage and knowing Certain Death was not far behind.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0406, Lower Austra^, Nautilus
boss visit
“At least he seems to have gotten rid of some of the bugs,” spoke Fairy Ruby, anxious to get this over. Those red curtains…
“Is there any other way?” Axis looked at his nails, also nervous.
“No. It has to go through him. Prearranged condition.”
—–
“Marriage!?” Cigar smoking Philip Strevor was incredulous.
“It’s just a seasonal thing. It’s either get married or be buried.” Fairy Ruby leaned foward. “Please, Philip. You’ll be rewarded later on. I promise you. Anything you like. Just don’t let me be… killed again.”
She leans back and thinks of the consequences just exposed.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0011, 0210, Iris^^==, The Straight^
colored
Usually puffing on one of his favorite cigars, Hoss liked walking the streets of town after dark when no one much was around. Killing two birds with one stone, as he called it: thinking and walking/exercise. Tonight he was dwelling on the confusion he and his boss Teebestia (playfully: “Hoss Boss”) had over the Malone book found in the law library. Teeb thought he was talking about Malone Central in the bowels of this city’s underground. But no, the book was about a Malone, New York, very much above ground like Olde Lapara Towne and indeed with a most famous resident called Wheeler. But certainly not the Wheeler Wilson temporarily holed up with Paul, Mary and the rest in Malone Central. No, this was William Almon Wheeler, the 19th Vice President of our US of A under Rutherford B. Hayes from 1877 to 1881. “Booger” Hayes. Although, curiously, upon further digging Hoss had uncovered that the vice president *previous* to Wheeler was called Wilson — Henry in that case. But his birth surname was Colbath; he had it legally changed upon turning 21. Curiouser and curiouser, as they say.
Then he spotted the red shoes in the tall yellow grass underneath the train ramp. Hoss catches his breath. Dare he take a look?
Thinking about racial profiling again, he decides to go back to Rocky’s market and phone up Teebestia. “Wait there and we’ll check it out together,” his boss advised. 15 minutes later she and Hoss find out who the victim was. The most famous clown Renaldo O’Donnell. Yellow like the grass around him and red like the blood oozing out of his several stab wounds.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0005, 0511, Heterocera, Lapara^
Sunklands 