Tag Archives: Frank LynnGTAV^*++$

March 8, 2026 · 10:15 am

00490515

“This is where the Pee Pee starts, Biker friend of mine, perhaps a lover too.” Maybe she left the lover part out of that sentence. Hadn’t been decided. But they had travelled to Rodentia for a reason. Daisy was testing out the relationship fer sure.

“Fascinating,” he said but not with enthusiasm.

“Let’s move down this grassy diagonal side road. Keep in mind the beginning point.”

“Oh I will.”

—–

“And so this is where it ends, down at that pipe down there, about 200 yards below the source up next to Route 10. It *should* empty into the Baederwood Forest I just exposed by derendering that wall screen marking the limit of Arang. But it doesn’t. Another mystery, then, perhaps another misery as well.” But maybe she left that last part of that sentence out again. No need to bring misery into the relationship either which also often comes hand in hand with the love part.

“Hmmm… why are you showing all this to me again?”

She turns toward him on the bridge. “Because I want you to know where I come from, Biker. I want you to know *my* source. And my mouth.” She opens her mouth to him and points within. “The words coming out of my mouth. I want you to listen like I had to in the past.”

He looks away from her after she shuts her mouth back up. He opens his just a little, pops in another cigarette, lights it, puffs. Not what I signed up for, he thinks to himself while watching the smoke fill the air in front of him, concealing the stream again. Religious mumbo jumbo in a town devoted to anarchy against the powers that be. He’s not a radical, not even political at all, really. He just… likes Daisy. Why does she have to, erm, *muddy* the waters with this… complexity, pheh. And *what* kind of name is Pee Pee??

“Why?” he says aloud, smoke dissipated, allowing him to view again. “Why Pee Pee? It’s not yellow or anything.”

“No of course not, silly. It’s named for my home. In Nigeria. The one I tried to conceal behind a fancier name. This Second Lyfe offered me a change to reverse my youthful error, change my perspective on the world. I became a priestess here just like my mother was (up) in Real Life. I’ve told you all this before. The other day, when you were on your 3rd Non of the evening. I *know* you weren’t drunk, ha.” Should’ve remembered, she thinks.

Had she made a mistake in bringing him here? What if Frank Lynn finds out? But she had to know. Now she thinks she does. If only they could resolve that difference of opinion about AI. She’s *firm* about hers. What about him? Is he pliable to change? *She* isn’t. And of course therein lies the problem. Can she realize this in time?

—–

When she returned home, she was shocked to find her bar wasn’t there any more along the shores of Nawt Vaya. Hole in the Wall: simply vanished!! What happened, what happened? she panicked. Then she realized the culprit. The alcoholic sea monster! The Non she’d prepared just before leaving with Biker to visit Rodentia had turned out to be so good that the taste overrode his need for alcohol. Success! she understood about her personal brew. But she’d have to start over from scratch. Maybe rebuilt the bar elsewhere now that she had to make a fresh start anyway. It’s all up to Frank, he thinks. She needs to find him, and quick! TBC

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March 2, 2026 · 2:43 pm

00490506 (high no more)

On and on they played, well into the night, past 2, almost past 3. Bed called, but the drive for success trumped all, kept them going. “How much now, babydoll?” Philip asked about his losses across the card table to oft times girlfriend Nada New Year, soon to be downgraded to “some”, perhaps inevitably heading to “none”, even. He’d passed 10 long ago. Thirty… forty…

After Nada didn’t answer (weariness? disgust, even?), Frank laid down the last card in the Mille Bornes marathon as if in slow motion. Everyone, including worn out Daisy to make 4, exhaled their tired, collective breaths as 50 was determined to be a limit, SCREEEECHH! They can sleep well now.

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February 26, 2026 · 7:31 am

00490416 (a way out)

Climb climb climb. Climb climb climb. Climb climb climb. Climb climb climb. Climb climb climb.

Made it!

Now where is Rodentia from here?

The other way of course. Away from the world sea. But I still can’t see it. Bit too far away even with my fully extended draw distance.

Hold on, what’s this?

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February 25, 2026 · 3:33 pm

00490415

She poured the returned Biker his requested house beer, purposefully not warning him about the change in flavor. Would he, I don’t know, even notice? she thinks here. Men, pheh, she smoldered as she handed it to him, a picture of Frank Lynn’s idiotic face forming in her mind, with more nonsense about the benefits of AI spouting from it. Typical if so, she though about the taste test with Biker. MEN. She clunks the full beer down in front of him, even sloshing a bit on the counter which she quickly wipes up, apologizing.

After raising the glass so that Daisy can wipe underneath it, he takes a sip. He winces, just like she did. She’s *pleased*. “What *is* this?” he want to cry, but stifled himself. Didn’t want to insult the woman he, ahem, *might* love. If things at home didn’t work out. Instead: “Tastes a little different today, Daisy. Did you, erm, switch brands?”

“Oh, sorry,” she feigned, putting away the cloth behind the bar. “That’s the last of the Corona — probably just the bottom of the barrel stuff. Supplier didn’t show up this week for some reason. Let’s see…” She pretends to look over other options on the tabs, knows there’s only one. “How about Michelob Zero? Got a cheap deal on it in Tonsiltown while I was down there for a writer’s retreat. On the house — both of ’em.”

He nods, and she pours his second beer, proud of her deceit. She’s gotten an honest opinion on the new, inferior taste of Corona Non, not so much from his talk as from his actions: the wincing. She recognized the gesture as more or less her own. They have become *in sync*. Unlike her and Frank lately. Hmm, she thinks, studying the rugged looks, the strong jaw line. Interesting.

Biker takes a sip of the new stuff. “Not bad — better than that Corona I just had admittedly.” Another sip. “Not quite as *good* as the, um, *top* of the barrel Corona Non. But still…” Another sip. “Not bad.” Sip. “It’s growing on me, Daisy.” Sip. “It really is.” Sip sip.

“Even lower calories for this one, which is good,” she offers. “Zero alcohol, as opposed to a *bit* in Corona. So also a benefit. A tad less flavor, true. All in all, it might balance out. And, of course, I’m still working on my own personal Non brew that’ll blow both of them completely out of the water. Like a sea monster!” She turns, takes a gander at the collage behind the counter with the dragon curving in and out of a small pool of water they both understood stands for the Nawt Vaya Sea whose shore lies just outside the bar — to the west. The fabled alcoholic monster roaming the inland sea, searching for the new perfect brew himself, some say. He could return. Like the rest of Our Second Lyfe in her big plans, maybe he’ll value taste over buzz in the end too. We’ll see. TBC

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February 24, 2026 · 8:06 am

00490414

—–

He was far up in his castle, on a higher level than where Philip Strevor and Dr. Mouse formerly known as House hung out. But he had no reason to be here now. Mouse was apparently gone for good this time — dead again. Philip was… in Juho he thought? Heck, he might be dead too for all he knows, the first time if so in his case and not the second like for Mouse. Philip’s off again on again girlfriend Nada New Year: not around either. His own girl Daisy had also left the scene, at least temporarily. Another argument about AI, PHEH.

“A rare, negative orisha does not apply here,” he insisted beside her on their last night together, sticking to the viewpoint of the father over the mother. “They shouldn’t have destroyed his big house and then also his small house. What were the villagers thinking of?”

“It’s wrong what they did, true,” she said back, “but, bigger picture, they’re thinking of the world beyond some petty, bogus houses, no matter how big, how small. Their actions speak words in the only way they perhaps knew. My daddy was wrong, plain wrong about the subject. He should have realized the moral dilemma involved. AI takes *energy*. It has to get it from somewhere. And that’s just the start; we haven’t even talked about world security issues, and just the blame thing taking control of, well, *everything*.” Her opinions had hardened as she studied up on the subject. AI is bad, and most likely should be banned. Until we, as a nation, as a world, come to some agreements on curbing the beast from hell and setting protective boundaries around it. Else it’s like trying to ineptly cover up 3 cracks with a 666 magazine and pretending like the even naughtier stuff doesn’t exist beneath it all. Daisy saw *right through* that, hmph. Bathroom — forgot to clean it before she came up. He thought she was over it, but he also thought she was over AI.

He rolls over from the spread out magazines, stares upward. I’m going to climb all the way to the top today, he thinks from his bed behind the castle’s eyes. Take in the air, decide whether I even want to keep this big ol’ castle in the skies moving forward. *Move*, he then thinks in a kind of eureka moment, rising up from the red. Maybe the old kook Dr. Mouse was right all along. The castle — yes — should become mobile! (TBC)

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February 7, 2026 · 8:01 am

00490313

It had happened again and this time Frank Lynn *did* have Daisy’s number since they’d been on, what, 5 dates now? 6? Anyway, they were kind of living together at this juncture, on a higher level to his castle than the one still occupied a bunch of the time by “interlopers” (ha) Philip Strevor and Dr. Paul Mouse, the level behind the mouth and that giant sticky outie tongue that Philip likes to take his wees off of. “Look out below!” he would often shout needlessly when the stream appeared, because there was no one else around in this isolated skybox, not down below nor anywhere else outside the castle itself. Both of these men were hanger oners; both had issues. Dr. Mouse was still dead for one. Philip was sort of on the edge of same with his indulgence in speed and the pinball game High Speed and daring to combine the two at times. That was the crux of his problem. He was still trying to beat Mouse’s score at the game at any cost. And that cost might involve dying. Mouse would always have the advantage there.

Daisy was working down at the bar installing the new house non beer Michelob Zero to replace the Corona Non that had failed recent taste tests to her exasperation. Bad batch? she thought upon initially discovering the issue, her face wincing at the surprising lack of flavor and overemphasis on fizz. But then she purchased another batch and another batch — same problem. She’d had to abort the product, at least until the Mexican based company got their act together again. She was sure she’d found the ultimate house beer, at least before putting the finishing touches on her own special non brew. Then she planned to rule all of Our Second Lyfe with the delicious concoction, he he he. Ho ho. So she was busy with that and didn’t have time to go up and sit with Frank until Mouse’s epileptic seizure was over and told him, like still unavailable Lexi before, just to wait the fit out and that it shouldn’t take more than 5 to 7 minutes, a seizure once again caused by Mouse’s indulgence in studying often strobing Youtube poop videos, especially interested in what lies at their center. Like this from one of the latest tests. Pure red. Pure demon.

But Frank Lynn had a worse feeling this time around. 5-7 minutes of shaking, then 10, then… NONE. Just laying there, not recovering, not springing up from the floor seemingly as good as new like before. He checked Mouse’s pulse. “Uh oh,” he said. Heart pumps now: “*1* Mississippi, *2* Mississippi, **3** Mississippi,” he counted in desperation while pressing the chest in and out, in and out, in and out. “Come on come on come *on*. You can’t die *again*, Dr. Mouse. You just *can’t*.” But the pulse never moved from zero. He was floating down the mighty river toward the Gulf of America that had once been good old reliable Mexico. TBC

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February 4, 2026 · 9:14 pm

00490307

“There! There’s where we have to head next, me and the boys.”

“OK, Dr., I’m going to have to stop you there, draw a line. That’s a private residence. Nothing to do with the Missouri Mystery Motel or any other anomaly tied to that Show-Me state.”

“You are denying the power of the CENTER?”

“In this case, yeah.”

“So you’re admitting it *is* a case.”

“Um, no. Not what I meant.”

“You already said it. Can’t take back.”

“Just… leave those poor people alone. They’ve had enough trouble with the rabid fans of ADC never mind your small band of kookies. Who’s left among them? The Ogle brothers?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. But they’re loyal. And they’re cheap. Work for free, actually. I can’t do *everything*.”

“You pay them with snapshots.”

“Like I said: free.” TBC?

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February 2, 2026 · 7:33 am

00490303

Where did it all go wrong for us, Daisy?

But I remember. When I went South is where. Sato knows. If he is the same as Okama Majo which he is. St. Dennis was always South to him, just across the line from his home in the North, in K-Town (Kangarootown). He wondered why we would even contemplate flying to the place.

Flying? I can hear her question me in my mind.

Later on, after I’d gathered more information about our split through some strategically placed indigo lamps, she started weeping again. On and on it went. Couldn’t be consoled. Ring Woman.

Couldn’t be trusted was the bottom line, I thought to end things. Had to be eliminated.

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January 27, 2026 · 2:37 pm

00490216 (machinery)

Tom went through the door to the left. It was the door into his office. But something was different. The light in his room was a different color, and his computer screen was blue, with the text, ‘Press any key to begin.’ Tom pressed a key on the computer screen and a weird face appeared on it.

“Michael,” Tom managed to whisper between the words of The Machine. But *how*? “Morning, Tom,” he imagined the glowing face whispering back behind raised fingers. Imagined??

Then Tom remembered one important thing. That he was playing a game. Not just any game but he was playing the Indigo Parallel, so of course a weird face would appear on his computer screen. Tom also realized that if he is playing a game, then his actions have no Real World consequences. Tom can do what he wants, without any repercussions, because this is a simulation after all. After a heated conversation with Daisy, Tom picked up a knife…

Newt quickly shuts down the game. No more Indigo Parallel for a while! Or LSD…

… LSD Dream Emulator that is, a direct influence for IP and perhaps an even weirder game despite being almost 30 years old now. What faces would he see in that one after this shocker?? Simulation indeed!

Maybe just remove the 2nd computer from the attic altogether. Perhaps the whole place is cursed. TBC

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January 27, 2026 · 2:37 pm

00490215

“Tom.”

—–

“That’s the name you said in my dream.. right before or *when* I woke up just then. I heard it in my dream but also in reality. Both in one.”

“Tom,” she repeated to Frank Lynn after a pause, her lover now and maybe soon, sometime soon, to be more. She feared pregnancy yesterday but that too was just a dream.

“Yes,” he reaffirmed. “Not Frank.”

“Hmm.”

He rolled over toward her. He stared into her face, noted the hair. Always the hair. Would she ever change from her flattop style? But of course he loved her despite this. Perhaps even *because* of this, something deeper he couldn’t see logically but felt. Or visa versa I suppose. Something else came into his mind (no, not *that*… again).

“I want to talk to you about something, Daisy. That thing we had an argument over the other day. I’ve had some thoughts about it in the meantime.”

“Oh.” She knew the topic but didn’t say it out loud. She wanted him to bring it up and keep going.

“Yes. Artificial intelligence. The *Machine*.” TBC

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