Tag Archives: Grammy^^++++

July 17, 2025 · 9:09 pm

00470406 (3:19)

SHORTLY…

Hmm, another owl’s beak along with a whole, attached owl, or a rendition thereof, he thinks. I wonder if Madge lives here? Maybe that’s why I involuntarily walked here after leaving the pharmacy. Those owl beaks sure have power (!). Couldn’t *wait* to nibble on one.

—–

But there was only ruins within. Madge, nor anyone else, dwelled in this spot in Newtown in the sim of Newt on the continent of Jeogeot, also the location of Newt’s “other” home of Nawt Vaya, the one he doesn’t hang around as much lately. He’s on too many trails here. But this one: dead end. Better get to the park and meet Wheeler, he thinks while looking around at the barren stone walls surrounding barren stone and grassy floors. Where one trail ends….

At the same time in space, Alfred Hitcher leaving the downtown grocer with actual soda also suddenly has the urge to visit the park. We know the soda will be gone by the time he gets there. Perhaps he drank it along the way; might explain the subsequent hallucinations. Teaming up with no good lie-about Fisherman Jim to fight for the right to own an imaginary island, humph. In his wildest dream! But that’s what the fold out part did to them, additional drug enhancement present or not. Power enough on its own. Remarkable.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0406, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya, Newtown, NVFS

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July 17, 2025 · 8:51 pm

00470405

“What’s your name, handsome? I’m Madge.”

Was she talking to me? I thought she was looking at the pharmacist. But now the pharmacist is looking at me with raised eyebrows, triangle complete. She’s talking to you! he prompted. Because of course she’d already probably know the pharmacist’s name, both being residents of this here Newtown in all likelihood.

I thought quick. I didn’t want to say my name was Newt because that was the same as the sim, and then I’d have to go down that rabbit hole why they were the same and how I got my name from the sim, yada yada yada. So I made up one on the spot. Looking at the cash register in front of me, it all came together.

“Mark,” I said. “Mark, er, Pfennig.” Born January 1st, 1963 but I left that part out for her. The pharmacist eyed me suspiciously but said nothing. I think he might have even winked at me; yeah, let’s go with that.

“Mark. What a beautiful name,” she cooed, striking yet another provocative pose. The pharmacist rolled his eyes a bit here, let’s say.

“Madge is nice too,” I thought to reply back, not wanting to seem *too* rude. But of course I had no interest of that type in this woman. I have to be 5 years younger than you! (he thought vainly). And look 15 years younger (he kept going down that road).

“Why thank you, sweetie.” She then held out an arched hand palm down, apparently for me to either hold or maybe even kiss. Is this some kind of German custom I wasn’t aware of? I took the hand and shook it. Her face expressed disappointment, insult even. “Humph,” she uttered, her whole arm going limp, hand sliding out of my grasp.

Co-pharmacist or perhaps pharmacist assistant Gerald (Geralt?) comes to the counter with a prepared bag. Stephan (pharmacist at the counter) slid it toward Madge. “Here’s your, um, *soda*, dear.”

“Soda, yes,” she said, grabbing it with the same hand I tried to shake and then giving me a look that told me this wasn’t in any way soda. “Owl’s beaks,” she whispered to me while pivoting from the counter. “For the nighttimesss,” she hissed, then locked onto my eyes for a second while tilting her head before moving toward the door, old yet still effective hips in full swing. I couldn’t help marvel at the scene.

“So what can I do you for?” asked Stephan. “The same?”

“Yeah,” I admitted when finally turning around.

(to be continued)

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March 26, 2025 · 2:21 pm

00460210 (Boo!)

Sans Newt now, Wheeler was testing out more locals and taking more notes while also trying out new outfits, this one called Fern (dress) with kind of matching shoes I suppose.

“Excuse me, ma’am. The bathroom’s locked with no one inside. Do you have the key?”

“Bathroom’s *broke*,” exuded Gertrude Witherspoon from Grapeseed, a person dying on the vine.

“Well can you tell me where the nearest public restroom is? My husband and I were just passing through on the way to Chilbo (she lies).”

“Mmmmmmmmm. I *said*…. hmmmm…. let me…. think… ummmmm.”

“Well, never mind,” said Wheeler. We’ll just do it in the grass beside the road.”

“That sounds best,” the woman said with no irony in her voice. Did she really think this was the best solution? Would *she* resort to that?

Wheeler was about to walk through the front door in a huff when…

“Oh wait, young person.” Young person! Wheeler thought. The old hag had just redeemed herself, ha. “Bert’s in his office today for a change. Bert has an extra set of keys. Just knock on the door — ’round the poster there.” As if she couldn’t be bothered, Wheeler thought, watching her continue to just stand there and pose in various ways. Provocatively? Could be if she were, say, 60 years younger, Wheeler thought, and then also thought that’s not a very nice thought. *She’s*… well, she always says she’s 25 working on 39. But those days had passed. Just call it a Jack Bennyism vanity.

Going past Gertrude again — bathroom’s broke *pheh* — she gently knocks on the door.

Bert, or who she presumes is Bert, calls back in a pleasant enough voice to come in. She goes in.

But not before noticing what appeared to be Gertrude prominently appearing in that poster. Queer! she thought.

Then the same poster inside along with another surprise.

“You!”

And just like that she was gone.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0046, 0210, Chilbo^, Jeogeot, Juho, Nawt Vaya

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February 2, 2025 · 8:50 am

00450606

“Such brazen display, such shocking nudity.”

“I know, Momma. But some claim the human body is the highest form of art.”

“Pffft,” said Momma Cassie to this. “The human form is made to be hidden in layers of clothing, bulges and curves smoothed over… or else camouflaged in ruffles and bagginess, hmph. I turn my back on it all.” She readjusts her position on the bench to reinforce the stance.

“Right, Momma.” Andie knew discussing the subject always led to a cul-de-sac. This kind of stuff was bad and that was the end of it.

“See? This person now entering the picture has the right idea I suppose. Just grow your hair all out and let that be the end of it instead. No shape atall remains. This might be the only nudity I would condone. Better than clothes in a way, hmmm. Who is under that hair? A hag of lowest aesthetic design? A beauty — could be a man, see — of incomparable heights of loveliness? Nobody knows. Sir, sir?!” she calls over as they start to pass by, curious to find out more. “Or ma’am?!” The sir or ma’am saunters over, takes off the hat along with the attached hair, making Cassie faint. Andie looks on pleased. Prince Julian of Droop!

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0045, 0606, Europe, Hana Lei^^, Holland, Yaya Land

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June 13, 2023 · 5:13 pm

00380610

They switched horns with each other, Ben with Jerry, becoming Benny and Jer again. Jer gets up after the transformation, says he has to check on his bars, even the Zero, even the Nine. Beyond the visible compendium. Larry would not be happy. Or Lawrence.

—–

The scene is set. The return of Thomasina Boyy.

—–

“You’re nervous aren’t you?” the old woman beside me on the waiting bench spoke. “Why don’t you feed the pigeons to take your mind off your worries. Steven will be back soon.”

I checked but no animation in the bench that would allow such. And laying on her lap, another one of the few options, seemed inappropriate, although I *was* sleepy. The end must be near. Yes, down there, unseen to me in the moment. Because she was me.

I thought of the visible compendium again, the 1 through 8. Jer, left horn in place again, becomes the owner of bars, Kedas and others. He wanted me to don the Crazy Blue and perform the cancan, old fashion style. How dare he (!). I’d slap him if he were here beside me instead of this old woman. I wanted to get a name. So I decided to bring up the lack of that animation she spoke about.

“You call me Grammy,” I finally got out of her. I recall her from the Newt pharmacy, striking provocative pose after provocative pose for the apothecary in an attempt to get SODA. Most likely why she’s here, and it turns out one in particular did the trick. Call it her cancan moment.

—–

His break over, Steven returned to playing the guitar across from us, entertainment and also a needed distraction. The policeman guarding the gate to the inner sanctum, Tank I believe, mysteriously clapped in slow motion to the beat, about 1 per every 4 to 5 measures, I reckoned. It’d been 1/2 an hour already, maybe, yes, 45 minutes (as I checked my watch). Ten till 2 now. At least the meeting didn’t take place in the cursed fairy blue light of middle late morning. Else I might be doomed, designated for Hell and Devil alike. Hellville. Joining the Hills, or at least Grant. But Mike is trying to save them by roping my parents into the story, of all people. “Lemon!” he said earlier, stuffing that one in Mama Wheeler’s mouth. “Lime!” he then said, doing the same with Daddy Newt (named for the sim and not visa versa). “Speak!!!” he then shrilled after telling his own tale, but the fruits were still in their mouths. He removed them, causing the cascade of words we talked about before which still didn’t satisfy him. Guess what he uttered next.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0038, 0610, Nautilus, NORTH, Oooo, Rank & File, Rim Isles

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May 1, 2023 · 11:27 am

00380201

Another ghostly Knight was showing them around. You can never completely escape the energy of The Father, the Dark Lord some call him. Red Devil in Xian terms. At his urging, they fed the function-o-meter in front of them with small copper coins — no change there — to watch TV. The ever-present ectoplasm did the work it was paid for.

“Very popular group in the 21st Century,” he rattled about the fuzzy figures on the non-machine, off by one century but only a fraction off the truth in present time, this 8008.

“Name?” tested Baker Bloch, moonburned from the larger space between the flowers. At 6’8″ he was taller than the trees. And even though bigger than birds, the bees offered minimal shade because of their speed. The present Knight again wrongly assumed he was embarrassed because of his lack of knowledge about, well, *everything*. He wasn’t embarrassed. He was just from the far far past. Like we talked about before. We apparently are still in Osse, motor dropped long ago. Like we’ve been driving around a car with no engine for forever.

Knight finally answered Beethoven, with Roll Over dropped early on from the name — even produced an early poster to prove his point. He should be the one to turn red, Baker thought.


early poster, according to Knight

Then while rolling back up the poster to put it away again, ghostly Knight, one of many in the clone hive, said he was joking and that their actual name was SODA. Another joke? Turns out: not. As Baker Bloch checked around, this SODA group seemed to manifest everything here, including the mica table (perhaps ground 00), the chairs around it, the Cavern itself, the *town* itself. Taking up the whole of a sim called Newt. Like the man, the father (of Shelley Struthers). This is, in effect, where he was born, or at least the name. And certainly the group name gives us an important clue about what happened to our society as a whole, the flip flopping of animals and plants and probably minerals as well (we’ll check the rounded mica table for more tips on that later). And the bearded and mustachioed Moon above it all. The Dark Lord. Without any possibility of escape via a satellite of its own, a Moon for a Moon. Bendy knows. He may be more than just a cameo figure in this here photo-novel, 38 in a series of a lot.

“We successfully,” continued Knight, “made the name illegal, *forbidden*, beyond any even seductive poser could get to. Even the pharmacists had the hoods pulled over their eyes, duck-like.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0038, 0201, Jeogeot, Michigan, Newtown

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April 30, 2023 · 3:30 pm

Duke

“No ma’am, we don’t have that in stock. We *can’t* have that in stock. Laws of the land.”

“Okay, but what if I do… *this*?”

“No ma’am. However many *seductive* poses you try it won’t get you that drug.”

“Okay, but how about *this*?” She remained undaunted. She had to have that soda!

—–

Mike (and, later, Pat) met with Newt and Wheeler on this very issue just across the road in a cavern. *The* Cavern, in fact; sitting around telltale mica. America was slowly but surely being poisoned. Mike had an idea for a new campaign.

“Just *shut* up and *listen*, Moms and Pops.”

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May 28, 2020 · 5:15 am

Corsican Collagesity 03

“I wanted to bring you here, Hucka Doobie, to show you where John and I use to meet to go to our various hangouts. Before he became — well, you know now.”

“Solid lime green,” responded Hucka, recalling the meeting. “Lemon”.

“Yeah, the whole *blurring* of the n’s. Like we can’t see properly. And we *can’t*. John is lost to me. But *here*. We could go back…”

“To go back is to die, Marty,” the resident Sunklands blog spirit offered to this.

“Yeah. I suppose.” Marty looked around. “Smells so fresh here after a pouring rain. This is where I also became the Fireman. In short: I want to help.” He stared straight at Hucka Doobie here.

“The Table.”

“Yes!”

—–

“I suppose it makes sense,” replied Baker Bloch later to Hucka Doobie sitting at the same. “He *does* live here after all. He’s just a skip and a beat away. Lemon can’t come, though.”

“Oh no,” states Hucka Doobie. “He has a, well, he has a hole in the middle that can’t be filled. Property of a *witch*.”

“Now Hucka, you know we can’t say that here.”

“*We* — just did.”

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July 16, 2019 · 6:07 am

more new

“Look at that green squirrel over there, honey.”

“No time for trivialities tonight, love. I’m worried.”

“When aren’t you?” returned her husband of 3 years. The original Space Ghost (!).

“We’ve lost our son Oliver. We’ve lost our daughter Eva.”

“Ona,” Old Space Ghost corrected. “Our daughter’s name is Ona.”

“Whatever.” Grammy sighs. “They’re gone. Along with the original homestead. A place called, called…” The name escaped her.

“Something about owls,” spoke Old Space Ghost, also pondering the appellation. “Something about the way they hoot.” He kept racking his brain. “Hootyville!” he exclaimed in a Eureka type moment, then shook it off. “Nah, that’s not it. Darn brain.” He knocks against it lightly with the head of his cane. “If only I were younger.” With this, he looked over at his wife Grammy expectantly.

She glanced at his stare, then back. “No. We’ll not go down that path again. Stick to the road. That’s the plan. She looked ahead at the golden dirt road curving around the fenced-in cornfield they sat in front of. “This is all that’s left of the old place. The only spot we have to hang our memories on. If we move — I’m afraid we’ll lose them forever.”

A trap, thought Old Space Ghost, looking at the golden track as well. A jail of sorts, even. Locked into this old body. Locked into this old, basically circular dirt road. Should have been paved a long time ago, pheh. That would have set time straight. Space too. Along with… something else.

Baker Bloch approached from the east. “Father;” he nodded toward Space Ghost. “Step-mother;” he nodded toward the woman known most commonly as Grammy. “It’s time if you’re still up for it.” He stared steadily at Grammy.

“Don’t do it woman,” sputtered Space Ghost, changing his mind. “You don’t know what the whale can do for you. Drive you *nuts* with that whirling and twirling and — *jiggering*.”

“Can’t I — just come in by default?” she pleaded. “Because I’m, you know, married to your father?”

Not the way it works, step-mother. You have to ride the Wild Whale (like everyone else). All Hail the Wild White Whale,” he recited automatically, but they didn’t return the exaltation. But he then pushed them and they grudgingly acquiesced.

—–

The vortex started about 3 seconds in, her secret superpower revealed.

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July 13, 2019 · 6:15 am

warm

“Unlike with the chickens just outside, my creator plays fair instead of fowl. Fairmount fair.”

“As opposed to Fowlerton fowl, I get it.” Even though they might be considered rivals, Grown Up Kate McCoy, another avatar auditioning for a part in our newly blossoming Collagesity novel, was truly amused by this big orange cat she currently shared the Red Devil “Hot Spot” Sofa with, not feeling the least bit competitive with him. Didn’t hurt that he hates dogs too. We can both enter the game, she muses, perhaps as a team. Another Dynamic Duo. The Fair Party. Down with Fowl, so on. Could be a nice angle.

“You know they’re from the same hometown, Jimmy and my creator,” the large feline continues. But male as hell.

“I didn’t know that,” she replies, hand cupped under chin in a rapt listening position. “Do tell more.”

—–

“Hatfield!” Baker Bloch shouts from beside the missile across the room, so fiery upon its return. “You’re up.” He points up.

“Looks like my turn on The Moon.” The orange cat prepares to rise from the red sofa.

“Break a leg up there,” Kate encouraged before he left her side. “And put in a good word for me. Fair words instead of fowl, ha.”

He pats her diminutive hand with his giant paw. “I will.” He saw where this was going too. A team — a ticket, even. Like Jim A. Garfield and Chester A. Arthur before them. Question is: which is which? He’d have to be top dog no doubt, then pardoned himself for the expression.

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