Tag Archives: Fisher^*

naming (it begins)

“You know, Bendy. I suppose it’s really time we talked about how we got here.”

“*Much* better than Mabel’s house, I’ll tell you that. Lots to do in this town. Bar around every corner if we ever tire of Bar Lemon. Which I haven’t.”

“I didn’t ask you how you liked it here… in comparison to New Island. I’m asking you about how we got here.”

“Dunno that part,” his robot companion returned. “Just woke up one day and here I was.”

“It can’t be that easy,” Fisher gruffed, shaking his head. “I personally think I remember something else — don’t think it was just a dream.”

“Well?” prompted Bendy. “Spill it.”

—–

“It started that day we went over to the park to play and then spotted Mr. Yellow in the distance: looking different. We went up to him and saw that weird-y combo thing, looking like it was pissing on the ground. Red liquid instead of the usual yellow, but not blood I don’t think.”

“Soda,” offered Bendy. “I tested it when you turned your back to the camera.” Fisher winced toward him, making Bendy shrug. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Anyway, I went back to Bar Lemon down the wall — that’s when you decided to visit the beach scene — but as soon as I sat down at the bar and started watching Molly warm up, things started happening. Mustered and Catchup were on break…”

“When *aren’t* they,” groused Bendy. “At least when Natsu Lemon isn’t around — the boss.”

“Which is becoming more frequent; that could be part of it as well.” He put his hands behind his head. “But it was something about the dance that… awoken me. Part of me that was, er, dormant before.”

“Sex?” Bendy joked. “You’ve never had any problem there.”

“‘Course not,” Fisher reinforced to his sometimes erotic pal — just every once in a while. “Something else. The dance told a story. The *music* told a tale. I believe the song was called ‘OTR.'”

“‘On the Run’? responds Bendy quickly. “Over the Rainbow’? I have both of them in my database. If you wish, I could even sing both at once.”

“No. No more wacky combos for a while.” But then Fisher realized Bendy was totally on to something in his prescient manner. It *was* a combo of those songs. *Another* wacky combo, two in one day. And perhaps intimately connected. Yes, it had to be so. He blew out a large puff of air. A chill also passed through his body.

“So anyway,” he began again after the reflective pause, “I started remembering stuff about the spaceship. About the regeneration. Dr. I.C. Yourinsides.”

“She prefers Dr. Ice Cream lately,” corrects Bendy. “But: spaceship?”

“Yes. We were taken away from New Island and then placed here. This *new* New Island.”

“That’s a horrible name. Why don’t you just name it after yourself.”

“Why don’t *you*?”

“OK,” acquiesced Bendy. “Lord Bendington the Third’s Island it is.”

Fisher shakes his head again. “No, let’s just use your original suggestion. Name it Fishers Island. Or maybe just Fisher Island. Either one… 1/2 and 1/2. Like a fisherman or several fishermen live here, or were seen here. Fishing or something, I suppose.”

Bendy splashes around water in his pool. “Alright.”

“Now about the spaceship…”

(to be continued)

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other side

“If you asked me, it’s a witch that did this, Fisher. The Wall… everything.”

“Where did you park the car again Bendy?”

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allover

“Yeah, you’re right Bendy. That *is* wrong. But what does it mean?”

“Something’s tampering with something, that’s what it means. I can feel it deep down in my metal bones.”

“2 realities combined into one?” Fisher offers. “Someone’s pissing on us?” he tries again, looking down at the red spill.

Bendy couldn’t help it. “What a mess,” he exclaims to the camera.

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merging sides

“Molly, Fisher says he’s drunk again and needs a ride.”

“Missus Lemon, boss, sweetie. I’m on break right now. That side of the room — active. This side: zero; nothing going on. I’d say, talk to the hand, but I can’t even be bothered to lift one.”

“Catchup and Mustered are back on the counter and working, and you should be too. 15 minutes break time here at my bar and that’s all, I’ll remind you.”

Still grumbling Molly Lustrous mentally prepares to rise up from her violet latex sofa and give Orange Boy Fisher yet another ride, pheh.

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keeping it real

Fisher stared at the red and yellow condiment containers of the Deep Fried fast food stand, understanding that he had seen them before — alive. Obviously in a dream, he thought at the time.

But no. It was reality. The *stand* was a dream.

—-

“Looks like Orange Boy is finally coming around.”

“Oh goody. More fun!”

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Fishers Island

“I *had* a girl, Missus Lemon,” proclaims the drunken Fisher, leaning against the bar counter. “And I let her go.” He takes another gulp of his golden beer and then looks down. “Yellow,” he explained. Natsu Lemon made a face and moved away. “No, no, no. *Cartoon* yellow.”

Note to self, he thought, watching her back from afar: Stop calling Lisa the Vegetarian by her true color ’round these parts, *orange* boy.

Natali Woodhull decided it was time to reveal herself.

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centerpoint

Young Ruby looked far and wide for her missing friend Shirley Boot, starting with Yd Bay on the far side of New Island, hoping to hell she didn’t find another bobbing head there like she did before with Trashy the Clown’s (she didn’t).

Another place to visit was Faux Aunt Annie and Karl’s Gloomy Gus on the west coast. Now the last couple of times we checked in — well, actually throughout this *whole* novel, looking back — it seems that Annie was in a heap of trouble with all these pills and incessant dancing and, um, the other thing. And she was! But the death of Trashy the Clown, although extremely difficult to get over at first, was a blessing in disguise. She cleaned up, with aid from loving beau Karl — locked up in the Gloomy Gus for going on two weeks. She emerged exhausted and dehydrated and still a little nauseous, but ready to move forward into the future without drugs and the other, attached things. Karl was her focus now, her beacon of light. So we have a happy ending to that part of our story, and an important one it is. But no luck for Ruby this day — no sign of Shirley there.

Mrs. Fogg and Ms. Frame, now moved in together for mutual protection, food, and liberty, hadn’t seen her either. That basically took care of the whole northwest section of the island, so active these two women were with their sailing and beach running and frequent picnics to the top of Mt. Sondra where they had a commanding view of that part of New Island.

Blue Jay Wade was dead, and his former chum turned complete psychopath Big Red Butler remained incarcerated at the Gaston-Berry jail, at least for this week. But neighbor Zettie Lamont the zebra-ass, similar to Fogg and Frame, had a pretty good view of the lower western part of the island from his perch atop Pimushe Isle. He relayed to the disappointed Ruby that he hadn’t seen the young girl either.

How about one of the houseboats or yachts at the Diamond Sailing Club? Possibility, but since Lisa the Vegetarian Smipson left for Corsica, she has no contacts there.

No one lived at Artist Point in the southeast section of the island. The east was dominated by Mid Hazel’s compound of buildings. Ruby felt that if Shirley had somehow gotten stuck over there she was doomed anyway. Lost to a powerful witch.

Which left center: Mabel’s house (Mabel and roommates Fisher and Bendy had seen nothing), Eraserhead Man and his Rabbit Hole house (nada again), and Robot Derak Jones (who said, check with Eraserhead Man, which she’d just done). Hmm, she thought, standing in the middle of central Route 9 dividing the island almost cleanly in two. She looked down at the buildings: Elephant Club, Axis’ Castle, Flossie’s, a new place beside Bumpy’s Ice Cream Village. “*Wait*,” she suddenly exclaimed. “The Village! I could ask Lavern Glam. She has eyes everywhere.”

So we head back to the ice cream truck, the sole component of this so-called village. Use to be bigger in the day, as they say. But Mr. Glam sold part of his original land to the Elephant Club, who turned it into their western parking lot, and then part to Oranga Black who built the Arcade in back. He downsized from a double wide trailer with indoor seating to the small truck we’ve already seen in that last post, whose cab also doubled as his daughter’s bedroom for a while. She didn’t mind: she felt she remained in the center of it all that way.

Ruby approached the truck. “You’re not Lavern Glam.”

“Yet *you* remain oh-so-red Ruby Roo,” spoke the alien behind the counter. “Exactly 15 1/2 today, this minute, this, um, second actually. Your anti-birthday.”

The island blew up around them. To those on the outside, those who survived, they describe the sound it made as close if not the same as middle C on a piano. Queer, huh? Too queer? We’ll see…

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