Tag Archives: Jim A. Brown^*%%

fork

Little Oakley Annie and Big Wanda were foraging for fire kindling in the small forest when they heard the car roar by then suddenly screech to a halt. LOA threw down the sticks she was holding and moved over to the cliff on the edge of the woods. They had prepared for this moment. “The car,” she whispered to Big Wanda, now standing behind her and gazing too. “A *fast* car. We could use a replacement for that old red clunker we’re now using.”

“Which you stole off that farmer before you shot his head off,” whispered back Big Wanda.

“Well — he *sneezed* in front of me. How dare him.”

Despite wanting to protest again for the needlessness of the violence, Big Wanda remained silent. But, like Keith B. in front of her here, she too had a choice to make soon. Sooner than Keith, even.

Little Oakley Annie aimed her ever-present gun at Keith’s head. “I’ll make sure I get a clean hit so we won’t damage the Porsche. The other dude will then run and we can mow him down too. Like grasssss.” She pulled the…

Big Wanda karate chopped Little Oakley Annie’s arm down, making her almost shoot her own foot. “What the…!”, and then she turned toward her partner in crime, gun still in hand. The weapon pointed to the face, the mouth, the nose, while the holder glared. “I should have done this a looong time ago, ” she then threatens, moving toward Big Wanda while the latter retreats, now perched on the edge of the cliff. “You almost disappointed me at the Your Mama concert. 12 years in the future, 12 years in the future, 12 years in the future…”

“Hey up there!” Keith shouts from the road, quickly moving toward the cliff from the car. Jim A. Brown, however, remains frozen in place in the passenger seat. He would always remain frozen in place from now on. Because he was stuck in time.

And there was noone at the cliff any longer. Little Oakley Annie and Big Wanda’s journey through time had also ended, the Big Loop broken.

Keith looked back at the car and frozen Jim B., then back toward the empty cliff. “The Room,” he muttered. “The Room did this.” He dropped to the roads and gave thanks.

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Options 8 and 8A

“Why are we stopping here, Keith?” asked Jim, concerned with time as usual.

“I don’t know I don’t know,” answered his riding mate, his maths buddy. “I just feel… a choice needs to be made here. Juncture.” He indicates the map of Satori to their left.

“No,” returns Jim A. Brown emphatically. “We *need* to keep going up Route 8 to Golden City so that you can get back to your daughter in time for at least a late breakfast. It’s already almost light. Wasn’t my idea to go on this joy ride.” But it was totally his idea. His and the Unholy Trinity as a whole. The Scarlet Triangle — the A.Team. Keith B. needed to be thrown under a bus. But since none ran this route, a sports car would have to do. A cursed car.

Still Keith didn’t budge. “Listen,” urged Jim B., intuitively sensing some sort of outside energy influencing current affairs. “We’re about halfway there. Let me drive the rest of the way. You just take a rest. Think of some more maths while you’re relaxing.” Like the theorems connecting Golden City to Golden Sink, dufus, Jim B. thought to himself. We need your brains one last time!

“You don’t drive fast enough,” replies Keith. “Your hair won’t be all spiked up like mine if you bothered to take off your cap.”

We will notice here a similar thing happened to another character’s hair earlier in our story, and for the same reason : a screeching and spinning car. Perhaps a type of Porsche as well, but probably not the same one since the earlier vehicle was painted red. We’re talking about one Craighead Phillips, who just happens to be Keith’s future son-in-law. If he lives long enough to get any further into the future than this weekend. I’d give it 1/2 and 1/2 at this point. Jenny may not even have a father when she meets Craighead a number of years down the road and then elopes to Nautilus for a quickie wedding after an unplanned pregnancy. Preston Weston, the first of three children for her. Jenny becomes Your Mama for real. But we must get back to the Fork of Bill. For that is what it’ll be known as for future generations, whatever happens next.

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back in Cassandra City, then…

“Well here it is. Little Jimmy. The bastard.”

“Over here,” beckoned Keith B. “Wrong car again.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s take a spin!”

“Where to?”

“You know where.”

“The end,” Jim B. mutters to himself while walking toward it, resigned to his fate.

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The Donut Hole

“We’re nearing the end, Jim B., but we have no end. We’re doomed! I’m going to pray for one.”

“Not so fast my fellow B. There’s the car. Fast.”

The person in the back pondered whether to order another box of donuts.

Keith B. unfolded his hands and looked outside. “Little Jimmy? Bought on a whim?”

“No, the other Porsche. The throw-in.”

“Penny 1.01? That old clunker?”

“Maybe the first, then. Whassitsname again?”

“Jimmy.”

“Like the sausage?” which made Keith B. think about something else.

“Um… different than the sausage.”

“I wonder if they have sausage here?” asked sweets weary Jim B.

“Donuts, 12 more donuts!” the yellow man shouts from in back.

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the land of gno smiles

—–

Jim A. pushed for the Gno Kingdom to take the second strike. The others protested that there was no sinkhole about, so no past-to-future matching existed. The Gno Kingdom had never taken a direct or indirect hit and never would. So says the rules of Special Sinkology. Then I’ll lure him to Pipersville myself, schemed revenge motivated Jim A. Brown, his heart ripped from his body and projected onto a demon. Maybe that soul stealer Ben Bolt as well. Oh they’ll write a song about them, he dreams. But it won’t have a happy ending.

https://www.bdtonline.com/more-history-comes-to-light-about-ben-bolt-its-author/article_232dc10e-20cc-5f1c-99ae-6e7d5254ec33.html

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The B.’s

Buster Damm dared to take off a tiny bit of time from studying and scouting to bring our old friend Duncan Avocado into the picture. They sat in the same VHC City diner, at the same table even where the original agreement was made. Duncan still wore the Pot-D heart-within-skeleton-hands pendant. Buster still knew where he was at any moment. “Sooo. Here we are, Duncan.”

“We are,” spoke Duncan plainly. He didn’t hesitate this time; he’d been around the cell block too many times in the meantime. “Whatever it is: yes.”

“Great!” Buster immediately spat in his hand and leaned forwards across the table. 5 minutes till sunrise…

—–

Duncan A. awoke in a captive position, but then stood up. No chains this time. Relief! He wipes his forehead of perspiration and looks around. Pipes. This must be Pipersville Buster talked about. He moves to the table on the far side of the room.

African-American nudie pic, he ruminates. Jim A.’s heartthrob, he understands, the thing that held *him* captive. What happened to her? he wonders, then turns. One way to find out. He ascends the stairs out of there and tries the door: unlocked. Still not a captive.

He opens the door. Music.

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Bunkie

“We could use the rocket for good instead of evil,” Cindy A. spoke over to Jim A. after straightening her hair. She had recently been influenced by a book she’d been reading. A famous trip to the Moon.

Jim A. laughed at this. Todd A. joined him. Yoko, having done the deed and brought them all together as a sealed, signed triangle, had slithered away again into the web of time with no rosy prognostication in sight.

“2 rockets will do it — we all agree?” It was Todd A. this time, manager of the project.

“We can send the 1st and see what happens,” offered Jim A. “Gauge the reaction before moving forward with the second.”

Cindy A. was getting sick to her stomach. What had she set in motion?

But they had trained for this. It was always going to be. Forward in time, and then backwards in time to the original point. Cassandra City. Home. But the hitherto thought of home  — Pipersville, at least in its original form as Chip Shot: doomed. Worse than doomed.

“How far to be accurate? Would we, say, have to go all the way north to Regaltown to effect the launch?” Todd A. again. “What say you mathematician of the group?”

Indicated Jim A. spoke up. “As close to the Neutral Zone as we dare get.”

“How about Golden City?” Cindy A. reluctantly chipped in. The others readily agreed to the future hole. “They had remembered Chip Shot but not their own, retaliatory fate. Much worse it will be for them in the afterlife.

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Trinity

Yoko sometimes had this daydream of a vast underground behind the red doors across the street. She wondered where it all came from.

—–

She met with Cindy A., Jim A., and Todd A. in a secret Cassandra City niche on Wednesday. The A.Team they’d dubbed themselves, the seed of the surname erasures. “You sure you guys want to go through with this?” Yoko asked after the niceties had run their course. All nodded in tacit agreement. No one dare speak the deed aloud at this point.

Jim A. had worked and worked at the maths, making sure everything checked out. Now all they needed was a test. But where? Jim thought again of the forbidden sinks, particularly the 13th on this day, the so-called Super Bowl. Could it be possible — no — but: what if… what if… in ancient times…

—–

It was a combination of abilities. Jim A. had the maths, the brain, Todd A. was the genius in project management, and Cindy A. provided the technical expertise. Planes to rockets — not a big leap in her evolution. Professor Suckaluck should have seen it all those years back (“Maebaleia, pheh. *Satori*”); reported it to the Northern authorities. Because the A.Team — Cindy A., Jim A., Todd A. — were never really from the Pipersville area. They’d rehearsed the accents for years before the move.

Cassandra City, Queen jewel of the Deep South. They were home again.

—–

All looked around the table before leaving, realizing they had a Keith problem. Keith knew too much. Keith was in the middle, which, as we all know now, is unfortunately in the way. They had lured him (and themselves!) down here through trickery. Now the trick was to throw him under the bus. A Magic Bus.

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perspective 01

Cassandra City was certainly big enough. Difficult to take a long range picture of, though. Too much of the infrastructure not rezzing in properly with that draw.

Jenny attempts to draw parallels with ancient Crabwoo. “2 sims, not 1,” she utters to escort Todd A. another night, because their act had been so successful that they were extended for 2 more weeks. 2 weeks! Jenny would have plenty of time now to explore the burg. “Crabwoo was larger spacially,” she continued. “But perhaps not psychically.”

Todd A. was getting the sinking feeling that developing Cassandra City was just Pipersville heated over. Where’s the equivalent to the room? he wondered. Where’s the missing laundromat, record store, bakery? It all seemed overly ambitious. And, as we all know, Our Second Lyfe has definite limitations. Lag is always an issue in such crowded spots. And it’s just going to get worse as the city fills out more. Perhaps smaller Pipersville had it right, Todd thinks another time. Build around a lagless, forbidden void (Sink X). Crabwoo too in a way, since the 6 protected sims of the Blue Feather Sea laid just to the northeast. Waterless sink vs. filled sink: which was better? It was a debate that underpinned all life, all activity on the continent, really. This is where TILE comes from.

Jim A., of course, scrutinized the large Seraph nightclub at some length. Soon Pipersville’s Jim Club would be no more. He knew he couldn’t compete. And his house band was leaving soon — he could feel it in his bones. “Might as well rent the building out when I return,” he spoke to Keith B. after another successful gig here. Sweat was pouring off his body. What fun! The circle within the circle certainly did the trick. Keith commended daughter Jenny on the idea again and again. Until the end.

And Jim and Keith were doing maths together. Keep that in mind as we continue our story.

What about the others? Tillie and Tealy had finally arrived in town after circumnavigating the big lake just to the east of Cassandra City. In fact, that’s what most of the local yokels called it, simply enough: Big Lake. One of the problems with that appellation is that Northerners applied the same to their Blue Feather Sea sometimes.

Which brings us to another issue I wanted to talk about: the division between North and South on the continent, how it all got started. We turn back to the handy “Second Life Tourist Blog” entry on Satori/Maebaleia:

http://thesecondlifetourist.blogspot.com/2016/09/know-mainland-satori.html

To get an historical perspective: In 2007, when this continent was constructed, the media was full of articles about Second Life. It was less than a year since Ansche Chung’s picture had been on the cover of Business Week, and there were many residents wanting land. According to the old forums, the Lindens were auctioning off multiple sims at a time, and some went for very high sums….

It was not until late in the next year that the roads in Satori (Route 8, 8A, 8B, 8C, and the Old Wagon Road) were completed. Because some of the sims that were in the right-of-ways had been sold, many roads have dead ends and are connected by false tunnels with teleports, or billboards with teleports. The map kiosks along the road are a big help.

Bottom line: Roads were split between North and South on the continent because of bad planning. You can see the gaps on this continent map I provided before: Route 8b (blue) was suppose to connect to Route 8c (yellow), and so on.

Only the eastern part of Route 8 ran the entire length of the continent north to south. Not by accident, the most heavily bombed highway of the brief yet intense Maebaleia/Satori Civil War. They couldn’t even agree on a continental name. And, I think, this is where Real Life Bluefield also comes into play…

(to be continued)

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more

“We made it Brother Amos,” spoke Gabby, who had barely stopped talking during their whole trip down from Toppsity. “*Twin* brother Amos,” he declared. “Fellow Gemini; no doubting of that. Now all we have to do is find non-twin and non-Gemini Brother Keith B. and save him from The Shallows.”

“Where he’ll be murdered,” clarifies Brother Amos from his own bike.

“Killed at the very least,” supplied Gabby Truth, who always tells. “Hills. Of Bill. Keep him out.”

“Keep him out,” echoes Amos, almost as excited as Gabby about finally arriving in half empty or half full (take your pick) Cassandra City. It was not the destination they had planned for their escape. Not atall. Golden Sink… or even further north, had always been tops on the list. Maybe the Lake District. But something told them to turn left (south) instead of right (north) when leaving their cursed home village via Route 8.

“The 4 colored clown and her monochromatic opposum must be here,” Gabby spoke, half in a scrying trance; not unusual. “Soon at the very least.”

“Okay.”

The brothers got off their bikes and locked them up with the rest already on the rack. Jim’s and Todd’s. Jenny and Keith had come by bus. Tillie and Tealy were walking. Cindy A., perhaps the last to arrive but also perhaps the first, came or comes by plane. Wealthier than the rest she is. Later: the poorest of them all, sometimes not even being able to afford to walk. One or perhaps even two more by boat. Identity or identities yet to be determined. Maybe the Bishop and his center-no-more King. Let’s see, who else? Craighead Phillips seems trapped walking around another half empty, half full (again, take your pick) Bluefield city in West Virginia, Real Life, USA, so he may not be a candidate. Besides, he may not even be born yet, since we’re in the past, before Jenny became Your Mama (for example). Tracy Austin appears similarly stuck around the Blue Feather Sea, another BLUEF (since the variant name is Bluefeather, pronounced BLU-fe-ter by some). But, again, it perhaps doesn’t matter since she may also not be born. Think that about covers it. Oh, I guess I should explain more about the Man About Time/Marcus Fox Smart/Professor Suckaluck triangle. But I might not have time tonight. Have to get to Tillie and Tealy!

—–

“What are you doing?” Tillie questioned her fellow, colorful travel mate.

“Calisthenics. What does it look like?”

Tillie faces the yawning gap again. “Yes,” she agreed, pondering doing some stretches herself. “Looks like we have a longer journey than anticipated.”

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