Tag Archives: Laverne Glam^^


He decided to confront Eraserhead Man when the latter seemed almost passed out from his 4th 4 shot latte of the evening. EM had been wrangling, wrangling, wrangling with the roles of both Smithy and Doris Drone, going back and forth on each one with the different, involved actors. At this very moment, the famed director was even casting about in his mind recasting someone else as Hebert Dune besides Sandy Beech to better fit the mood. Not the best timing for an approach by his antsy production star, then.

“Is that the latest version?” the towering Sandy questioned about the rust colored book on the table. He had a weird notion just to snatch it and run off right here and now. The director didn’t answer immediately, didn’t even look up to acknowledge his presence. *Meditation*, Sandy then realized. EM was in really deep with this one. To startle him might even induce some kind of heart malfunction, he further contemplated. Best to walk away, his better senses commanded. Confront EM another time. But: no. His worse senses shoved their way to the fore again, fortified by insecurity, greed, envy. He slammed his hand down *hard* on the book he knew was the production script.

Eraserhead Man came out of it by shouting “ice cream anyone!!” at the top of his lungs, then slowly, gradually managed to free himself from the self induced trance. He looked around, blinked his eyes. He looked up at Sandy. “Sandy! I was just thinking about you! What a surreptitious interruption of my nirvana state. *You’re* *fired*!!”

Eraserhead Man stared at him blankly, watching Sandy Beech squirm like a fish in front of him. “I’m just kidding!” he then uttered after a pretty long interval. “Sit down!” Eraserhead Man then realized there was not another seat at this table. “Oh, let’s just move to the porch. Give me a bit to further compose myself! You go ahead! Any seat will do! Just give me a moment please!”

A shaken, humbled Sandy Beech dutifully took a seat on the porch behind EM and waited on him, but after about 15 minutes the director simply got up out of his chair and walked in the direction of his bungalow down the street, not turning around. The next day he acted like the event never happened; work relationship back to normal. And maybe, Sandy pondered then, it never did. He was a little high on those wacko pills Laverne Glam had sold him, after all. He remembered Eraserhead Man even glowing a bit in hindsight. *Never* do drugs around EM again, he told himself. Ever.

But: Lavern Glam? How did *she* get here?

Wait. I think it was Franklin Bowers who sold him the pills. Yes. Lives in the zircon encrusted RV out on self named Bowers Beach just outside Urbane Blue. We might visit him next. Not for pills, but just for another shoot.

“Frank Bowers!!” Eraserhead Man shouts upon waking up in the middle of the night.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0010, 0211, Urbane Blue/Fishers Island^


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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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0009, 0615, New Island^

Spliff Village

Shirley Boot returned to Yd Bay on Wednesday, ostensibly to sail her FB Lollygagger Raft 2.0 around the northern shore of New Island again. Secretly she was hoping to see the nice nude man again which caused such a different kind of itch in her the week before. But to her amazement, little Yd Isle out in the bay where the man had been standing was on fire today!

Shirley pondered calling the island’s fire department but then decided against it. Yd Isle was surrounded by water, of course — the fire would not spread beyond. And the 3 linden palms, the only things growing upon it as far as she knew, were obviously already goners. So she just sat on the shore and watched, but the flames never seemed to die down. Eventually she became bored and went back to her house on the other side of Mt. Sondra. She didn’t mention the spectacle to her parents for fear of getting in hot water trouble.

Today Shirley scanned the morning edition of the “New Island Gazette” for any news of the fire. Nothing. Did anyone even *notice*? she wondered, sipping on Earl Grey tea and taking another bite of one of those fresh cheddar biscuits brought down by nice neighbor Ms. Frame last night. She read the paper more carefully, front to back and then back to front. Still nada on the fire, but the blurb about New Island Studios she kept running across then began to strike her as kind of queer in itself. 3 palms again  — did these stoner guys Marty and Jay get the inspiration for their blurb’s isle from Yd Isle itself? Maybe *they* would be upset that the trees had burned down.

So on a whim, Shirley Boot decided to give fledgling New Island Studios a ring, since the number was right in front of her. 709-576-8220. Leaving off the area code since the call was local (in fact, all of New Island belonged to 709) she pecked the number into her smart phone.

“Hello, ‘New Island Gazette’,” a friendly female voice on the other side of the line spoke. Shirley hung up. “Stupid stoners,” she muttered. “Gave the number of the paper in their blurb and not their own business.” She decided to make a hike of it this morning and go directly to their office, since she knew the physical location. Behind Bumpy’s Ice Cream Village, near the center of the island; not more than a 15 minute walk from here. That way she could pick up more pot spliffs from that Corsican gal Laverne Glam who should be working at the Village today, and also thinking a, um, business warming gift, ha ha, might be appropriate for the likes of two self professed stoners. Then Shirley considered:  Maybe it was just the pot the day before making the bay isle burn, hmm. But she was pretty sure it wasn’t. Pretty sure…

… until she revisited Yd Bay on her way over. The 3 palms still stand! It’s as if nothing had happened, nothing at all. And perhaps, she decided, it hadn’t.

Still, a visit to Bumpy’s Ice Cream Village and then New Island Studios seemed to be in order since she was already about halfway there.  And Shirley needed Laverne’s spliffs more than ever now!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0009, 0309, New Island^