Tag Archives: Mamaduke/Dogg^*~~^^~~!$
“Interesting look. And what kind of dog is he? Or she?”
“We don’t exactly know. We just call him… Dogg.” The Mann was giving more information to the womann with this than he supposed she thought at the time. He was wondering how long it would take to move from this uncomfortable bench to that cozy picnic blanket over there.
But just then, Dogg split into his two component parts and The Mann knew that something big was up. Better get over to the passport office next door in Hammerhead Light… wait, he remembers. All boarded up. He’ll have to move away from Pickle 02 illegally.
He then propositions the womann in a different way. She accepts, knowing more than she’s letting on. Much more so.
“Come on boy! And… boy.”
“I can’t emphasize this enough, Wheeler. We are *here*. Elephant continent. Until the end.”
“I’ll give it a year and a half,” spoke up the part owner of newly relocated Collagesity, just like before. “And you, Peter Oesseo — like an opossum. Are you: *Baker* yet? You don’t appear to be Axis any longer. Not at the core.”
“Hucka Doobie is going to be *soo* mad.”
He stands up, alone in the office that could have been his given different circumstances. Santman was going to be born right over there, Peter Oesso, formerly TronAxis (etc.) lamented. And now he shall. I have escaped the machine. I will let another be absorbed, an alternate self.
I have made a decision which way the current flows.
The Storybrook garage will stay for now. Marsha “Pink” Krakow and new bestie Beige/Brown will return soon. I will tell them a joke about 2 elephants with conjoined trunks. Marsha will remember who I am, and also the aunt. Ant. She can leave, then.
“I couldn’t stay away from you forever, dear, you knew that.”
“I did,” he spoke over to his unfaithful but still forgiven wife. “Dogg would miss you too much!”
Certain Death was playing on the turntable below the “Big Open”, beckoning them forward, the white twin obscured. Blackness. The End. Starless.
Marsha “Pink” Krakow watched as the moving van gradually filled up with their possessions. “Drane Hill,” she said aloud, testing the name. A rather ugly one, she thought. Doesn’t roll off the tongue like Storybrook. Bad sign up front.
She’d looked it up. It was a mistake appellation. Drane *Lick* use to run through the area, and perhaps still does. That’s a stream — lick equals stream. But the small knob directly above the village wasn’t Drane Hill, at least originally. It was Pleasant Hill, a descriptive name. Somewhere along the line hill and stream had gotten mixed up. A confusion was created. But from where? she pondered as her father, The Man, waved her toward the now packed truck, black hair queerly flickering on and off from her present perspective, grey revealed in part.
“Time to leave, honey,” he said rather hoarsely, voice weary from commanding the movers all afternoon. “The ugly yellow living room couch your mother loves so much was the last item. Come on — get inside. We’re going for a drive.” He then beckoned The Dogg to jump in the back with rest of the furniture and boxes, now all locked down. Dogg perhaps strangely was reluctant to get up from the pavement. Another meaningful sign for Marsha “Pink” Krakow, if she was paying attention. Which she was.
She too could stand her ground and not allow the van to escape. She didn’t have speak down and say goodbye to the Big Inside, trading a closed hill for an open one and a known commodity for the unknown. There was still time to talk. She had an ace in the hole. She and SEAN had been watching her mother’s comings and goings for a while now.
“Daddy?” she said, not budging an inch. “Do — do you know that fellow Charlie Banana in town?”
“Bandana?” he queried back, getting hard of hearing with his advancing age.
“No — Ba*nan*a. Yellow. Um, like that ugly yellow couch you just loaded in the back.” And here comes the zinger…
“We’re going to have to leave, Rocky. Like the Hendersons before us. Perch — his mansion has been empty for a while, maybe 3 months. We’ll have to take Dogg of course. The Mann loves that animal.”
“I see,” the anthropomorphic raccoon says from his laying stump.
“I don’t know what we’ll do about a dog park in the new place, the new town. I’m sure we won’t have anything like this.”
“No.” Then Rocky Racco, who’d been living in Storybrook 3 months himself and had no desire to leave atall, asked this question which had been on his mind for awhile. “Do you believe in sea monsters, Mrs. Mann?”
“Please. Call me Parasol. We’ve been talking together on this bench and stump for a while now, *Mr.* Racco. I call you Rocky, see. You call me Parasol.”
“*Parasol,” interjected Parasol Mann. “Just: Parasol. The light skinned one,” she added. “Not the dark one. Things are different here in Storybrook. You have to adapt to the time, to the place. A story in a brook. Current.”
“Right…” But he couldn’t say her name aloud yet. He was overly formal like that.
An odor was in the air. The Dogg must have dumped a big one over there with The Mann, Parasol thinks, watching the end of it. Great Danes are like that. Then she remembered she hadn’t answered Rocky’s question from a while back. “Oh. To the sea monster thing: no.”
“Why not?” Rocky returned hurriedly, almost urgently. “Say, green ones. Wearing pink tutus with seaweed for hair. How about something like that?”
Not wanting to answer Rocky twice about the same subject she was firm about, The Mann approached her with The Dogg. “We’re all done.”
“I would hope,” Parasol answered, looking at the happy animal in front of her and still sniffing a bit.
“Did you have a good chat with your old pal Rocky while I was walking Dogg?” It was here that Parasol realized she hadn’t talked to Rocky about the most important thing. Her infidelity to The Mann. Her affair with Charlie Banana on those islands out in Southside Bay (Southside?). The breaking of her heart by same. Charlie Banana definitely had a way with yellow but red and blue were beyond his scope to comprehend, she’d learned. It was wrong.
But it would happen again. She got up to leave. “Goodbye Rocky. I’ll see you around.”
“Goodbye.” He still couldn’t do it, despite the circumstances.
“Ro rong,” Dogg said in parting, knowing this might be the last time he’d see his park buddy.
She had come to see the band but they were away. Well, Jim A. was *permanently* away, replaced by this mysterious Jim B. who was 20 years younger. And what about herself? Also 20 years displaced. It was 20 years ago today (etc.).
The Band; a make-believe one inside a real one. But the make-believe one had come to overshadow the real, like a Virtual Reality within Reality Reality begins to take over and work its powers outside in as well as inside out. Glove.
“This Lena Horned is good, admittedly.” Older Keith B. looks over at the singer currently crooning “The Ballad of Stormy Daniel.” He then leans closer to Kate McCoy sitting beside him. “But she’s not as good as my little girl.”
A noncommittal Kate turns toward the dance floor. “Well… Zach and The Mann seem to be enjoying it enough.”
“And The Dogg too,” Keith B. laughingly adds.
“I wish they wouldn’t emphasize that rocket so much here. Makes me cold inside, brrr.”
“Well,” jested older Keith B. a bit. “It was a big deal in the days. Put Golden City on the map.”
“Put it *on* the map by taking it *off*, brrr. Nothing left but a big hole.” She glances sideways at The Man, who was scanning pictures on the wall at the back of the stage, focusing on one in particular. “Speaking of which… he needs to get back over here and finish his story.”
“True,” agreed Keith B. “He can’t just leave us hanging in mid air about that whale.”
“Hey!” Kate McCoy called over to The Man. “We gotta keep moving down the road, to the fork. Else…”
“I know,” The Man replied in his cool, bass voice while still studying, still looking. “All of this will be in vain. But I believe — this man — is wearing — lipstick.” He touches Jimmy’s gray lips with his finger, as if he could swipe them and then check for color.
“The white whale escaped, of course. The famous Moby Prick of the Deep South. But the blue whale didn’t fare as well. Caught in the Blue Feather Sea. Some say she *became* the sea, one equals the other. Do you understand, older Keith B.?”
“Absolutely not, Kate McCoy.”
“Good to admit, thank you. The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale.”
“Maybe we just better unfreeze or unthaw The Man and go. Let him explain it all. After all: he was there.”
“Indeed. Let’s go get him.” They enter the “aquarium”. Dog joined them there.
“The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale,” Kate McCoy pronounces clearly in the direction of The Man. He begins to stir inside his plastic cocoon.