Tag Archives: CLAUDE^*~~~~~~^^~~~~~~

00280605

Afterwards, they went to Skysity and got milkshakes, a family tradition in this matter. “How’re you feeling, son?” he said, knowing Claude Jr. wasn’t really his son any more. Instead: hive mind.

“Pretty (*sip*) good. Hey dad?”

“Yes son.” Claude Sr. suddenly became sad. He was thinking back to the talk he had with his father, right on this very spot with the only difference being Jasper was out of vanilla that day. Had to settle for chocolate. This was better, this was more like it should be. Favorite for his favorite. He should have everything he wants this day. Because he’s lost so much.

“Are you going away again? To that place? Paper.”

“I have to, son. You know that. You’ll have to go too.”

“But I’m — *12*.”

“You’re not ready to go out into the world yet on your own son. Remember Uncle Peaches? Remember how he started too early? Got recruited for the war. Blew his head off in the end. Demolitions — it’s always demolitions for us; you remember that, son. You remember what’s happened to many of us. They — just don’t care.”

“Aw, *dad*.” Jr. was sorry he brought up the subject now. Sure he’d tag along with his old man a little longer. But not *too* long. He has plans — designs.

(to be continued)

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BoB

“I’m not dead!” he cried to all those sitting around the grave site looking down. “It’s *just* a ring.”

It all came together at the end for Mouse. Too late, of course.

—–

“So this is it,” Man About Time exclaimed mildly. As usual. “The thing that did him in.”

“LOVE, yeah,” answered Jeffrey Phillips, wondering how he himself could talk again. He died as well (!). “He… couldn’t pass through the O, got stuck in it. Spy Guy Benjamin tried to help, but…”

“… got stuck himself,” completed MAT for Jeffrey, having read the story up to this point too. What was the point? Just close the damn coffin lid why don’t you.

“He can’t die in Vain.”

“He didn’t,” answered MAT truthfully.

“Good for you, MAT,” said Jeffrey Phillips. “I didn’t think you would take this so swell.”

“It’s just a game. Endtime.”

“Yes, death will do that to you. Lure you in, like a fish. And when you land on the shore — it’s *only* when you land on the shore…”

“You see the water,” completed MAT again.

—–

Next door (sometime in the past):

They say the doctor before this new one, Jr. — he was married to an alien woman. Found her spaceship crashed up in the hills.”

“That’s — not — right,” the littler golden robot squeaked back.

“You’re right, Jr. It *wasn’t* right. He should have turned her *in*. And now he’s paid the price: banishment. *Now*, are you ready to go inside and let the new doctor, this Diper fellow, take a look at those gold plated tonsils?”

“Guess — so.”

“You guess so.” Claude Sr. blew out air from his mechanical lungs. “I had mine taken out about the same age as you are, in fact, the exact same age.”

“12 — I — know.”

“That’s right, Jr. 12. All mechanoids have to have their original tonsils taken out, then. Else: viruses.”

“I — read — the pamphlets.”

“Nice.” But Claude Sr. knew it wasn’t tonsils that were taken out. The pamphlets lied. He’d find out soon enough. Just like with Santa Claude.

They head inside for the operation.

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go fourth

The Paper Kings dropped a Big Baby behind enemy lines and Claude Sit-on got sat-on. His son Claude Jr. carried on the family name, obviously. In retaliation he tried to wire the school so that it would blow up at 4:20 o’clock on [pick any day], but the kids foresaw this and blew up Claude Jr. instead. With their minds of course, no primitive physics needed. End of mechanoid aspect of our story, but later the Claudes, jr. and sr. now conjoined and united as one Claude in the minds of people who couldn’t remember the originals, became martyrs to the cause. It was here that Dr. Mouse entered our story again. “He died for *our* sins,” the fanatic was telling him back in their secret basement lair underneath the mayor’s house, now run by Jim Turbine the plastic surgeon. He surged, he won. Former mayor Longnose went back to Yayaland where he came from and started wearing a different face (at times) and leading the resistance to his own cause, which eventually recruited Guy Benjamin from Kowloon who eventually was able to steal the little yellow fellow, the Rael McCoy, from the other 3 while they had their backs turned. And this is where Dr. Mouse enters our story once more (!), for he was asked to perform a special operation to straighten out the racist lad. *Not* remove the color this time, which should remain glinty gold or close, they insist, just like Claude down in Sittontown (Meatside renamed). “What, then?” demanded Mouse, afraid he would see a rat in such a remote place and eager to get outta here. “Turn him into an *I*,” they said, and left it with him.

Dr. Mouse went back to his basement lair, told the others what had happened. A plane crashed outside in front of the cave that sheltered Sheldon the Initiated, Fern Stalin in disguise once again — I believe this was 42 by this point. On the other side of Paper, Swamp Lake had been drained by the resistance *here* in an attempt to stifle the efforts of the kids. The Asylum was filled with those who weren’t really loonies but were deemed so nevertheless. And Dr. Mouse was the stamp-maker. He wore many hats, but there was only 1 he wanted to live under. Hatti’s.

“What do you think? First attempt, mind you.”

Greg Ogden was stymied. “Is that a… banana?”

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00280513

They had finished their burgers — vegetarian for the doctor; basically raw red meat for Wheeler, er, I mean, Wendy — and were sitting outside in what they called the kid’s area. Greg Ogden was riding a coin operated horsie across the way; no food for him, just play. The 2 “grown ups” took the opportunity to talk, core to core.  Mouse was asking a lot of questions, so Wendy plopped out her laptop for some quick google searches when needed. Or so she said.

“Claude,” he spat out. “Friend or foe?”

“Friend,” replied Wendy quickly. “But a mechanoid so basically useless. And he indirectly blew up our director so we’ll have to mark down for that.”

“Kids?”

Wendy stared at him. They weren’t suppose to talk about the children. He remembered that with her prompting and moved to the next.

“How about the swamp? How about the bars?”

“Bar None?”

“Um… not sure.”

“Both have black mold thanks to the you-know-who. Both lack bathrooms, hence Stu Umbriel in jail for the urination and such. But he just likes peeing in public, don’t get him wrong. He’d do it anyway. That’s just what his lawyers are going to say.”

“Kolya… seems to be missing.”

Wendy stared over at Greg Ogden still jiggling on his horsie. “Did you give him 2 quarters or 3? Because this could take a while.”

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third angle

Cory watched the flames licking out the top of the building, thinking it didn’t have to be this hard. Why I could have blown the place up with my mind easily enough, he thought from his position at the corner of the sandbox. All I need is a pretty good night’s sleep (for energy). Indeed, most of the kids attending Paper-Soap school, merged since ’71, were psychic to a high degree. They didn’t need primitive *physics* to destroy anything. Claude Jr. was behind the times, but he was a robot after all, mere mechanoid. The other kids tried not to make fun of his clunky, nay *dense* ways of thinking, but it was difficult, being kids too after all and not having the moral compass of a fully mature adult. One of their “sloooow” projects in class, as they called it, was the atrophying of the swamp down in the town’s southwest corner. In fact, Cory’s study group had brought up the swamp from lake to sea back down to swamp a good number of times now, and recorded the reactions of the residents living around it. The kids were experimenting on the adults. The kids were in charge. As a sea it flooded the sewer tunnels. Dinah’s bartender Stumpy wondered why he could never get rid of the black mold in the bathroom down there. He ended up just having to derezz the thing.

“Can you point me to the restrooms,” a somewhat tipsy customer asked him in tomorrow’s today. “Just go in the sewer outside like everyone else,” he commanded, wondering if he should bring the issue up to the town council, a council also controlled by kids of course. Their powers were ever-present.

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end of Violin

Sugar McDermitt should have seen it coming. In fact, he did. “Those *kids* are up to something over there,” he mutters to himself, standing outside the soon-to-be destroyed Lost Boys Bar and Grilling. “They keep glancing over here and snickering. Damn kids,” he cussed, sorry he had 11 of his own. He doesn’t even give them names any longer, just numbers, starting with Ten. “Ten come here and polish my boots; Ten come here and wash the dishes for your old man.” That kind of thing. He and the current missues (a number herself by now — five) told the prying neighbors who watched him toil and sweat away the day, unable to play with their own kids because of constant work, that he was named for an Aunt Tinny. But really it was just pure laziness and convenience. “Albert!” loudly insisted wife #4 before she ran away to join a circus for clowns. But then the 5th that soon followed on her heels didn’t care — preferred numbers for better tracking and convinced Sugar of the same. “Why don’t we just smack a bar code on their rears and keep up with them that way,” she suggested one day in early May after 2 breakfast daiquiris and 2 brunch tequilas. Prisoners, then, they really were. Number Eight (formerly Jack) would soon have his revenge. He had a robot friend whose father Claude Sit-on was an expert in building demolitions.

Meanwhile at the playground:

“By the time I get to the bottom of this slide,” spoke the friend Claude Jr., golden hued like the playground equipment he perched at the top of, set to go, “something will happen. Ready? One, two, and sliiiiiiiiddde”. BOOOMM!!

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personal assistant

He next decides to catch up with Hidi; show off his discoveries on the new continents of Bellisseria to her as well. He watches the glossy, shiny wave of Treeowatoor roll in while she speaks.

“How’s Alysha, Kolya? Have you caught up with her too?” Hidi knew he did. The two girls, *ladies*, keep in touch with each other as well. Both waiting. And waiting.

“Yes. I showed her some holes.”

“Ohh?”

“Yes. Glory Holes.”

“Realllly.”

“Yes, they’re down at the stilts continent, another new landmass made by the Lindens our overlords.”

“Not *my* overlords. But *do* go on.”

“3 bodies.”

“Yess?”

“Of water.”

“Oh.” Pause as the wave crashes both figuratively and literally.  “I guess you know, then, she’s on a spaceship. She’s a controller. She’s *the* controller.”

“Spaceship?”

“Yes, Kolya. What did you guys talk about on your visit? Just holes? Watery ones?”

“Basically,” he said, seeing nothing wrong in what he did. But: spaceship. That kind of intrigued him. He wished he’d asked about it now.

“She *may* have a boyfriend. Does *that* interest you Kolya?”

He looked over at her, wry smile on her cartoon-ish lips. But he knew she wasn’t a cartoon and this was Wendy before him, wife of Jeffrey Phillips, one he couldn’t have and couldn’t hold. Except in dreams. The dreams still came.

—–

“More paperwork for you ma’am. This comes from, let’s see, Merk over in Records. Quite a bit here, in fact.”

“Just put it with the rest,” commands Alysha, tired of working for the day. She starts to dream. She starts to envision herself in the square again. In space.

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98 to 48 is 50

“Oh he was one Black Hole of a guy, sucking everything in in his way,” he spoke despairingly later about his much more famous sibling of sorts. Some say they are the same — he begs to differ, this *Kelly*. History changes and the Whites don’t like it. Buildy Bob assumes a cone position atop the truck again, showing his true colors. He cusses like a mo fo and doesn’t turn red, because there was only black and white for him. And he smelled a skunk. And he could read the newspaper headlines in front of his crude face with his rude mouth. “Dewey (F-cking) Wins”. It was all a big fat (circular) lie — yellow journalism. We better get back to Paper Soap. But first…

“Hey, watch the f-ck out!”

—–

“We meet again Yoyo or Dada. Better let me speak with Claude or Claudette. We’re getting kind of near the end, need to start wrapping things up here so we can move on to the 28th. Some months — well, February — only have such. We’re becoming a whole damn month Yoyo-dada. Better move aside, let me talk to the golden cow.”

“Assure you here he not is,” rasped YD. Dr. Mouse hit him with his own cane to sweep him away, clear path ahead.

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00270413

“So as you can see, Billie, we’ve had a bit of excitement in town since you’ve been gone. But it’s all cleaned up now. Your tower scrubbed up nicely. The only thing damaged was a couple of house plants which were dying or dead anyway. And, oh yeah, this is where Kolya had his head damaged.”

“I was wondering where that happened,” she replied in her child’s voice from the chair, this youth that was not young atall. “The encounter with God.”

“We should have never erected that giant golden *cow* in the middle of town, Billie, and you know it. We have been frowned upon.”

“Claudette is there for a reason.”

“*This* reason?” Mr. Babyface questioned, wondering if the idolatry had come to this. Fire.

“God must show himself,” she reckoned. “Or else…”

“… all be damned, yeah I get it.” Mr. Babyface didn’t get it but he didn’t want to seem stupid (again!) in front of the precocious child. So prescient. I’m sure she saw all this coming and that’s why she was away at the time. And she probably also spared me, he rationalized, by organizing that rant rave by my nephew that afternoon. It was all in the book, all in the pattern. The Oracle book and/or pattern.

“How was your comedy show, by the by?” he decided to deviate.

“How was yours?” She knew it wouldn’t be as good. She had chosen the freshest act and left him with the leftovers.

“You know,” he said. “A nephew is a nephew and needs support.”

“Nepotism, yes. I enjoy a Skippy Bittman too but only as an act of an act, a step beyond; meta–.”

Skippy Bittman? “*Anyway*, I suppose you know Marion Star Harding was here as well.”

“I had a feeling.” She didn’t see this! Time was changing again, infinite becoming finite as inflammable separated from flammable. She could see the edge of the plane but not beyond. And the beyond was becoming here, plain and simple. Marion Star Harding. Not since Rose Heaven, for him and Phillip Strevor both. Maybe Phillip is around as well, she rationalized, perhaps down at the church cemetery trying to cover himself up with dirt. It would fit.

(to be continued?)

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show i can all

Old Reading Man and Little Reading Light were the first to arrive, and, big surprise, each whipped out a book from their deep pockets and began reading.

What LRL was scanning had more to tell. St. Croix’s Diamond Keturah, but the Keturah was missing. A seismic activity earlier in the day had temporarily erased it from the island’s map. But the name would return soon enough. Such things always do.

Later, Biker Jones and Ranger Johns guarded the entrance to the meeting room, keeping out riff raff like the “reading twins” as they jokingly called them. “This is an *action* room,” they said to Old Reading Man and Little Reading Light after arriving themselves, telling the the two to remain sitting in their seats and just keeping on doing what they’re doing and stay out of it.

Meeting room. Action galore. Tronesisia led the charge, but many more straggled in between 7:47 and 8:01, with Carrcassonnee the last to arrive, saying she’ll just, “squeeze her big butt in against the wall over here,” as she put it. So: Carrcassonnee lives!

Others present, going counterclockwise from Tronesisia: (floating) Wyn Galbraithe from Lapara, Cardboard Derek Jones (no relation to doorman Biker Jones that I know of), Redbot, Old Man Baby…

…. and then, continuing to circle around, Carrcassonnee, whom we’ve spoken about, then, er, I guess that’s Doogie Martin (?), then Grey Seal who just wallowed out of the nearby sea to join in, then Furry Karl (another resurrection?!), and then a figure most commonly called Pietmond Boy in the blog, I believe.

Let’s pause here before continuing the character introductions to gander at two art pieces on the wall, the first hung directly behind the seated Pietmond Boy. It might be familiar to regular blog readers, being, at the base, the same as the famous painting “My First Sermon” by John Everett Millais, mentioned in Martin Gardner’s “The Annotated Alice” as probable direct inspiration for Tenniel’s illustration of Alice riding in a train in chapter 3 of “Through the Looking Glass”.

But there’s some twists here. Parts of what appears to be *another* picture bleed through around the edges in mysterious, blobby patches. We see the image of several ducks — or at least their heads — just behind or beyond the seated girl, for instance.

And then on the opposite side of the door from this, a now sideways Bunneh 02 and his egg and candle holding cushion cover up what appears to be another figure, perhaps from a bathing beauty poster, say, like in a mechanic’s garage.

Then continuing our introductions, we have Ben Thar (Mr. Bean cutout, actually) beside the Bunneh 02 art, then Bluebot (counterpart to Redbot across the room), then Second Lyfe founder Philip Linden standing behind Tronesisia in the corner, and lastly Ross C., another robot who may be a servant or some equivalent to the central Tronesisia.

Out in the hallway, yet another robot, named Claude — a golden hued gezzer made in ’25 — attempted to do the unspeakable to same just before the meeting (about 7:47). To excuse him *just* a bit, he *does* remember Tronesisia from Bennington when she was a mere pleasurebot and not the important and distinguished Collagesity novel character she’s known as today. But at any rate — and very justly of course — he was then promptly banned from the Meeting Room by Tronesisa who obviously spurned his advances. Get to reading the Collagesity graphic novels, Claude! Tronesisia has come a long long way from where she use to be back in those dark days.

Claude was only there because his perpetually smoking and toking brother Punky was acting as receptionist for the gathering out on the front porch. Claude had to drive his sibling around since he lost his feet in that rabbit tossing accident in ’92.

Punky was also known for his womanizing ways, and, similar to his brother, made little to no attempts at hiding it. Many times they had fought over the same “floozy dame”, as they sometimes labelled them.

In yet another room of the house, Original Eve (still macabrely clutching her dead child Oliver), Pigpen from the Grateful Dead, and couch sitting Norris/Harry waited for their chance to join in. It never came.

Nor did it for the 3d Venuses who just showed up at 8:15 with *way* too many friends and were barred from these kind of meetings for life.

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