Tag Archives: Dr. Mouse^*==$

another one?

“Why aren’t you guys sitting across from each other still? *Anyway*, we know the Anomaly is the same as this beanstalk being mentioned around this here town, Paper-Soap still, despite the attempts at division. It doesn’t jam our systems any longer — a situation we should toast to sometime (come to think of it) — but its presence is still around.” Goober gobble. “Reports now. Whatcha got Agent 47?” he speaks to the closest one. “Er, 23,” he adjusts, seeing a hair on the upper lip. Male this one is. The other: female, despite the baldness and otherwise seeming identicalness. More experiments of The Mouse.

“We’re monitoring situations of a bust,” he metered out crisply, almost like a robot but without the needed, metallic squeaking of the inner mechanics. Like with the Claudes. “A painter. Paper.” He glances over at Agent 47, noting the hairless lip and the current desire to kiss it. When did these feelings start for 23?? He guessed that birthday party. Where they summoned The Devil again, pheh.

“A ring,” continued 47 on the same case. “Within…” he looked back.

“… a ring,” completed 23 for him, contemplating whether to blow him (*a kiss*!).

“So you’re saying to me, people, that this bust involves a ring (*brinnng*). And not only that, another ring within that ring? (*brinnngg*). How deep are we?”

The phone rings for the third time at the far end of the table. It’s one of the Claudes, which is always bad news.

Jim walks in (*brinnng*). “I’ll get it.”

“NOOOOOO!!!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0513, Paper Soap, Soap

Paper… Soap

An expert at 4 was called in to help with the transition from whole to half: Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, last seen wheeling this dark baby around NWES City over on the Jeogeot continent one last time before putting it in storage. Stored no more; out and about again. Thanks to Zoidboro and the magically pronounced words.

Mr. Yellow glances in at the *plant* sitting beside him in the yellow chair, the cheese being also known as Marilyn but seldom seen in that guise except for the gifted of sight. She’d even given him back his attached rats to make him pure rabbit again, although he didn’t know it in the moment. He talks to his supervisor via phone. Dr. Mouse. Dr Mouse? Yes. Dr. Mouse.

“Good, good,” he says about the setup over at the new rental beside the old parsonage Zoidboro was kicked out of just yesterday’s today’s tomorrow. He knew now he was (also) fully back to life. He imagined he could throw a stone from his asylum and it would hit the roof, perhaps rolling down to knock his agent on the head. In fact, I think he went up to his own roof to gauge if this were actually possible. Let’s take a pic of it.

No: a bit too far still; trees kind of in the way. He can’t help but point with his cane at what irritates him presently, old habits dying hard.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0512, Paper, Paper Soap, Soap

00300314

Ah yes, much better match. Even if she did wear an ill fitting mask. He’d give her a lecture later on, after they knew each other a little better. Ah, heck. He’ll do it now. It’s the holiday season after all. She’s trying. She won’t be offended, he figures.

“Phyllis?” he starts.

“Berta, actually. Remember? Phyllis is my twin sister.”

Shoot. Wrong holiday girl after all. Back to the drawing board.

“It’s okay,” she says to the obviously downcast Chet. “We’re really clones, you know,” she confesses. “Basically one and the same. We just use the sister story to throw the police off the track of…” She hesitates. She doesn’t know him well enough to talk about Dr. Mouse yet. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0314, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Squared Root City

airport too

Hitgal, still manning her cornog stand at this same Half Moon Airport in Southwest Nautilus, watches a tulip plane coming in from out the front windows, 2 of ’em in fact. Lips are like one pink. She recalls a dream last night where she was floating in such, on a pool shaped like Vermont or New Hampshire, pick your camera angle. Two people sitting and talking at a table perched on the far side of the irregularly shaped cement pond. A mouse. A man. A cane between them, linking them together in the irresolved distance, as if by magic. Someone lost their cane. “Excuse me, miss,” he said after approaching, and then told her what was amiss. He walked with a limp but not badly. Hitgal pondered if the cane was more symbolic than necessary, a symbol of power, an emblem of a man who can point to what he wants before he takes it. She overheard whispers of a restaurant that would manufacture hot dogs out of pig lips. Hmmm, lips again. She speaks to him with her own.

“Over theres.” She points behind her to the left. “Mae Baelias.”

“Maebaleia?” he repeats, wanting to get it right.

“That’s right. Just over theres.” She points again. There could be no mistake. But of course a bigger mistake hid behind this lesser one avoided. Dr. Mouse would spend the rest of the year and then 3 or 4 months of the next searching for his cane on the Satori continent, which airline reservation agent and sometimes lost and found negotiator Mae Baleia directed him toward. The tickets were free and so was the pain. He needed a vacation anyway, but it was not what he expected. Chickens — always the clucking and pecking around, the incessant pecking and clucking. But Dr. Mouse found his cane upon return. Hitgal kept it safe below the cornog roaster at her stand, awaiting the closing of the loop. Tulips are like one pink, she knew, and the plane he took to Maebaleia/Satori would be arriving at the same time he departed. There would be no gap.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0702, Nautilus, Southwestern

two wor(l)ds

Axis-Windmill watches Lester and Custer cross the road to the motel grounds. He looks up after they disappear behind its sign from his perspective, ready to erase another “S” to appease the new or soon-to-be new King of the sim. Paper fully separated from Soap; (fantasy) party over. So it will happen (!). That could explain the presence of the motel here, which Axis-Windmill recalls blew up just last month. This Thanksgiving becomes last Thanksgiving, a time burp as some put it.

Axis-Windmill turns from south to west toward another missing letter, this time a “G” down at the train tunnel, missing from “Missing Mile” (thus: “Missin Mile”). Gaining another perspective remotely he ponders the possibility of a Miss Square. Back to square one? He decides to ask the homeless person sitting in the street down from him.

“Miss Square?” he utters, causing the man to become aggressive.

A 5 minute rant about the sorry shape of the town follows.

And I suppose Dr. Mouse is back at well, killed in the motel explosion that didn’t happen now. Perhaps he’s next up for a visit.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0610, Paper Soap, Soap

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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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0603, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Paper Soap, Soap

scenes from a hat

He woke up in a fetal position on top of yet another fox. She spoke without turning from the even redder couch, wearing an even redder dress.

“How dare you think you can come to the White Palace in the skies and not alert *me*.”

He was groggy. He couldn’t make out exactly what was said. He raised up off of the plush fox, so soft. Like a blanket. He wanted to sleep forever, he realized. But… he must remain alert. Danger! He recalls: danger.

“You can leave Sepisexton,” she spoke over to the robot guard more in the background. “I want to talk to the *boy* alone.”

——

“It was always destiny that I come to this Misty MO and find love, Hucka.”

“Hucka?” He wakes.

“Charlene.”

Groggily; just waking up as well: “Yes?”

—–

“Okay you must tell me what you did with Jeffrey Phillips, shirt-less boy. *Now*.”

The green door opened. A presence was there.

—–

Trying to ignore rats, Dr. Mouse stands before the green door. The green phone on the front desk rings. It’s Claude.

—–

Geez I think my ears are ruptured.

There. It’s fixed.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0602, MISTY MO^^, Paper Soap, Soap, Teepot^^, White Palace

no rats

Yeah, in staring at the sign again, Dr. Mouse realizes he’s never been on this Paper-Soap property. Wonder why.

He’s a bit drunk tonight but still resists the urge to explore the offerings of the Lucky Motel, because he knows it is really not that atall (*hiccup*). Plus he’s kind of got a relationship with the ex Wheeler/Wendy again. Moving on…

—–

Let’s go back to the big Nautilus continent map and see where we are. We started in Center (01) with the visiting of the Ur-parent’s graves, and worked our way up to the Aviary (02) where both Alysha and Hidi testified against Kolya as it were, almost eliminating him from our story, then quickly followed by Rooster’s Peninsula (03) where a nifty castle was established that may well replace Collagesity itself in our continuing Second Lyfe adventures. As you can see, these three basically equidistant locations form a line essentially running directly north, right to edge of the map and thus the continent.

But in the second half of the present photo-novel (XVIII), we have focused away from Nautilus to other, mostly non-mainland locations, like Paper-Soap. It’s as if the establishment of the castle provided us with a new anchor and then we moved on. So the question is: Is the more southern Collagesity now *toast*, at least for a while?

We haven’t even seen Collagesity leader Jeffrey Phillips in the current story yet. Perhaps that should change; he should have a say in all this.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0516, Collagesity Fordham, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, North, Paper Soap, Perch-Mistletoe, Rooster's Peninsula, Soap, Upper Austra^

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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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0515, Kowloon^^, Paper Soap, Soap, Yaya Land

bloched

“*Well*. Did you enjoy your frozen banana young man, ha?”

“Sure did!”

“Okay, well you come back real soon. Reaalll soon.”

“Oh you can *count* on it.” He finally moved away, not even needing his cane to locomote in the present, the moment.

—-

But Paper-Soap had much bigger issues to deal with than these 2 stepper outers. Wars: Paper vs. Soap. Because many wanted the amalgamation to end, and all the psychic rigamarole with it. We’ll see.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0514, Paper Soap, Soap