Where is she/he? she thought from her Waiting Bench.
Tag Archives: FERN STALIN^^~~~~~~
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?”
Hatti the witch disappeared from the cell block. Across the aisle, fellow prisoner Patrick McDonnelhany’s head turned into a pen. Or pencil — hard to tell from this distance, Stu Umbriel thought. He turned around as well, tried to look beyond the frame by facing it squarely. No luck. He remained panicked and in character. Fern Stalin spoke.
“We are at 42, Stu. The Answer. Are you ready?”
Was he? He looked to the right. He looked to the left. No escape. He was as ready as he’d ever be. Which was never.
“The director is dead,” she deadpanned to Chef-inspector Petty upstairs. “Killed in the Biker Bar and Grilling explosion day before Sunday of week before last month’s Tuesday. Do you recall?”
Or course he recalled, he thinks. He was first on the scene, picking at the bones and flesh of the unfortunate victims. Like Hank Graphite and his gorilla bodyguard; like Ted 02 the half android cyclops; like family challenged Sugar McDermit and bar owner Biker Mann. And then: Biker Chick, also known as Chuck Cheese also known as Heidi, formerly Penn Mann. The director of this here photo-novel, 28 in a series of infinity apparently (ha). We’ve been without direction, then, since, let’s see, post 0280110. Quite near the beginning, then. Fern says all of this to Chef-inspector Petty, omniscient narrator in the moment. Could have been before she went downstairs to the cell block, could’ve been afterwards. Doesn’t matter in the moment.
(to be continued?)
“Public urination, Umbriel, tsk tsk tsk.” She wags an evil finger disapprovingly. “You should keep that yellow stuff private, just like this post.” Till it’s finished she furthered, glancing over at me. This witch could see out, beyond the frame of the location of the story. For she knew the secret of the cake.
“I want to show you something,” she then said, revealing what was mentioned just before.
“You’re a man!” Stu exclaimed while reeling backwards, stunned at the sight, deflated even. He had designs on her, true. He’d watched from afar while she sold her papers. He’d forgotten about Wheeler at the frozen banana stand. She had been replaced, blue hair instead of red. The cake is a lie. But now — all that *dashed*.
Fern Stalin enters the cell block, putting perspective on the scene.
(to be continued)
There’s always a give and take to things. Misty MO will always be connected to Yaya Land: Misty MO > Yaya Land. The former may have created the latter, if that makes any sense. The religious nuts might know. If I could find one.
Here I am, on the new edge of the world, staring at Neptune (seen) and Pluto (unseen) jointly. Fern would like it here. If she weren’t blocked by Uranus. I’ll have to talk to the main part of her core, this Wendy Wheeler Wilson. Or maybe Ruby Alien, 1/2 and 1/2. Who will it be tonight? Alysha even? Do I know her yet? So many questions.
“I’m here. Sorry I’m late. I was deciding what outfit to wear for the occasion and just went with the simple one. Hope you still like it.”
“Bluebird.” He’d forgotten about his main girl, his little chickadee.
She sits down beside him and starts talking about how she’s going to really change this time and put the Boos away. We’ll see.
“I don’t belong here,” he said to friend Horace later on down at the docks in a kind of goodbye. “I’m not who I seem.” The wheels in his head kept spinning ’round and ’round.
We go one outfit up for the next section: Harrison Ford Jett. We return to Collagesity and its Boos Gallery with Fern and him.
“So the taijitu ball was rolled over, giving the Mouse another head to replace the one just crushed like a…”
“… goose egg,” finished Harrison. Fern stared at him, wondering how much he knew about McCoy.
“The meteor, yes. Impach. Let’s move over to the Power Tower now — want to show you another baker b. work.” Things were different now, she realized. De ja boom and paths change. She’s glad, because she misses Harrison. And those apples.
But for Harrison Ford Jett, Fern never made it over to the Power Tower. Alone, he stares into the eyes of hate.
Where is he (*panic*)?? Oh: there.
“Maybe there are good Boos and bad Boos,” offered up Harrison Ford Jett, still learning about and absorbing the impach. His precious Bluebird!
“Maybe,” said back brilliant Fern Stalin, his counterpart, his mentor for tonight. But she kept thinking of Mistery Island and how to get back there. “You better get back to her; she’ll be waiting. And you better cook up a pretty good explanation why you suddenly had to leave her side. And don’t mention Boos!”
“Okay.” They split after that, not leaving any firm plans for a future rendezvous. It’s possible, Fern realized, that she’d seen the last of Harrison. Or at least those apples. Decision paths lie just ahead…
“Don’t be a stranger,” she cryptically ended and was gone.
“It probably started here,” stated Fern, showing the origin of the Boos. “In, let’s see, collage #13 — unlucky 13 in this case — of the Boos series. Boos came from Boos — Illinois that is.”
“That’s next to Indiana and its famous Dunes,” chipped in Harrison Ford Jett, eager for knowledge tonight.
“Correct. Anyway, the Boos come from the planet Mars. There was a failure — in Tungaske as we’ll keep calling it — to create a working, proper *sphere* by several of its artists, a joint effort. Sphere of Space if you will. An abnormality set in; in ways these are the two moons of Mars, Phobos and Deimos, terror and dread, explaining the faces. Rust probably represents Ida B. Wells from Rust College, who was a champion of freedom: diagonal (echoing some former talk they had concerning Bellisaria). The Boos ate the freedom, took it away from them. The Boos are the elitists, also explaining the white-wash color. They proceed horizontally beyond the edge and into the world itself. Evil has been let loose — again.”
“Who is the man in the water?” queried Harrison. He was a band member on the run, trying to get as far away from Bluebird as possible tonight, an ironically named character it seems. Bluebird of misery instead, misery and mystery in one. Mistery. So said Fern.
“Man on the fringe; man watching fringe, man *from* Fringe. Peter I believe. Watching the Boos do their evil doings, the Rust girl perched precariously on the rust colored cliffs — gone. He sticks, lets see, he (as the Spaceman) sticks his hand in a hole and it is gone — just below where the girl *use* to be. The missing hand symbolizes the missing girl, hmm. And missing pieces of Mars, moons.”
Harrison glances sideways. He’s eager to get to the next collage in the Boos series and be done with it. Boos attack! But… well, let’s just let Fern talk for herself.
“And here we are.” They spread out from each other, just as the Boos, black and white, spread out in the sky above Tungaske, (numbered buildings) ready for conquest.
(to be continued)
Tonight was the night former Rolling Joint Harrison Ford Jett learned that his precious Bluebird was a witch and that she controlled the nefarious Boos who destroyed that poor little Canadian prairie town — Tungaske or something another — around 6 years back now. He decided to text Fern about it, get her opinion. Should he *run*? Should he act nonchalant, make small conversation about it, *joke* about it? What is the correct path forward? This was totally out of the blue, he he. He decided that joke would probably work with Bluebird too.
“This was totally out of the blue, er, Bluebird.”
“Tee hee” (insert finger in dimple of cheek to be cute).
The message came back. “RUN”.
My dearest Fern. Thank you for the recent email. It was so nice to hear from you again. Yes, I’m still stuck with the apples (bleh!), but the chafing has gone down thanks to Dr. Lice (he’s so nice). And Dr. Maggot has helped out as well; reduced the mass. But enough of me; how are you?? You said you were in this place called Paper-Soap now. Is that 2 sims rolled up into one? Resurrection of the dead, eh? Sounds like you have your hands full analying the place. Good that Dr. Mouse gave you a room at the asylum from which you can better study the incoming patients. They all must have fascinating stories, what with being recently dead. Lots of memories to rehash and recall while there’s still time, as you put it.
I miss you so much. You are a part of me! My white VW Beetle (white as my skin!) is still running swell, thanks to Dr. Armadillo over in Beat-town. All my doctors are so swell! CC is a wonderful place to hang out. I just discovered a Bellisseria Welcome Center here. Of all places! My art is going great — trying not to use swell again in a sentence. You warned me about repeating my words; shows symptoms of lowering IQ, and that as we get older we lose brain mass. If only I could apply that naturally to the body (apples) as well! That would be swell, haha.
Well, better end. I’ll write again soon, I promise. Good luck in Paper-Soap! Send me an im when you’re settled in and we’ll catch up in person.
Harrison Jett checks spelling and a bit of grammar then hits SEND. Done. Back and forth contact fully established with the person who means the most to him in his life so far. That is, before he met Bluebird.
(to be continued)