Tag Archives: Marsha “Pink” Krakow^^+++

November 8, 2023 · 2:55 pm

00400612 (holiday rotting away)

A homeless person in Millers Pond looks across the sim line and takes pictures of neighboring Millbank before it’s too late and all the Halloween oddity over there goes away for another 10 or 11 months or so. Specifically, he’s recording a supposed secret meeting between Dr. Mouse and Dr. Brown not far from the mortuary and mental asylum where we first saw them in this here photo-novel: 40, fast drawing to a close itself. Which will last longer might be a question to be asking, Millbank or this?

Two went in, one came out. Murder. Most foul.

—–

“Pretend you’re a woman of that type, Dr. Brown,” Dr. Mouse said within, “with alll these temptations just sitting there all around you. Would you stay on the grounds?”

“No red blooded man *or* woman could resist,” spoke Dr. Brown, knowing human psychology and physiology all too well. Convex and concave — attraction. Irresistible, especially in that overall climate. And he didn’t forget concave to concave; applies here too. The institution Dr. Mouse set up will not hold the girl, a true Venus.

“Serenity Lane, yes,” spoke Dr. Mouse about the fairer sex aspect of the situation, having studied the combined files thoroughly by now. “Drugged her, then drugged her over to the prison, the mother mayor’s magical cuffs in place. Serenity loved Marsha just as much as she loved ex-wife Shelley before; would keep her around at any cost. Shelley… Johnston — Johnston, right?”

“Yeah. Think so,” answered Brown.

“And the other?” Dr. Mouse tested.

“Brown,” answered Brown.

—–

Mouse couldn’t take a chance on the name synchronicity. He’d have to find another second hand to go along with his first in the aberrant bomb clock of time that is their story. Tick tick tick goes the sim of Millbank. Tick tick tick goes the text of photo-novel 40. Oh what the heck, let’s just start with this house to destroy the evidence.

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November 8, 2023 · 6:28 am

00400611

“I still have a home on Nautilus. It was a retirement gift — very pretty there. Lots of vegetation.”

Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, still dealing primarily with bodily fluids but hoping to graduate to full blown psychiatry soon, looked at his e-machine and gauged this was true. “Describe… gift,” he decided to say.

It was the end of 31 and it was the end, period. March 1 of last year, 12:01 AM we’ll say. Eddie D’Aigle, who sometimes preferred D’Aigle, Eddie, especially if he was traveling in the Orient, had just retired from the private sector of the records management business, having made his fortune archiving the files of rock stars Ozzie Osbourne, Ozmo Daredevils, and the like. His last blog article for the latter, the last he did overall, was about how the song “Jackie Blue” was changed from “Jackie Pink,” which drew the attention of Pink, Marsha, Krakow. He had the evidence before him as he wrote: the altered lyrics, everything. “It was suppose to be about a man who peddled drugs during the day while working nights as a bartender, a very Dada affair,” he reinforced to her in a reply email, then, seeing her avid interest, invited her up to [Blue Mountain] to look at the actual, revised lyrics herself. “Come with your driver’s license or a birth certificate,” he said, “and our staff will bring the whole box out to you; I’ll put it on reserve and not reshelve. You can look at one file at a time, and just mark what you want copied with green (START) and red (STOP) paper we’ll provide.” She ended up photocopying the whole box. New 3d scanner the office just purchased did the trick in a 10th the time it would have taken the old fashioned way. Marsha’s, in fact, was the first request accomplished using that method. Boxy Marsha, she went down in office legend as. Prototype. Especially since Eddie, on his last day of work, helped her tote the (wrong?) box to her still hot pink car, soon to change to yellow. Thanks to what was inside. In many ways, she became the box she requested, a black and white facsimile of herself.

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November 7, 2023 · 3:53 pm

00400610

“I try to meet our new, ahem, students at least once but I hope in our case we encounter each other again and again, Ms…”

“Krakow,” spoke Marsha to Dr. Paul Mouse, head of the organization and secretly working for Head, often known as Perch.

“Yes, Marsha Krakow, hmm. And with an additional name if I remember correctly. One only friends can say.”

“Correct, Dr. Paul… what was it?”

“Mouse,” said Paul Mouse.

“No. A middle name.” She smiled wryly.

“Oh yes — clever. I’ll give you mine and you’ll divulge yours. Well, mine is [delete name].”

“Never heard of that. Well mine is Pink, spelled like the color and not the cologne.”

“Not p-n-k, then. I remember from when my wife got me some a couple of Christmas’ ago. Still sitting on the shelf above the medicine cabinet, unused.”

“But other people swear by it. Man of your,” not age, she thought — *distinction*, “*distinction,*” she said aloud, “– might be handy is all I’m saying.”

“So you believe in its love potion powers. You are a true P-n-kie.”

“Look at me,” Marsha spoke about her appearance. “I use to sell it. I had a hot pink car before I traded it for a yellow. Got tired of seeing putrid yellow-green as an aftereffect all over the road on sunnier days.” So for the first time we understand the color.

“Interesting. But do you *really* believe–”

“That is for me to know and you to find out.” Could she wield her considerable powers over *him*? This is what her mother feared, why she was put into that totally colorless black and white cow costume and forced to forget. Venus power. All this, she thought, all this organization must be about her.

He realized he was staring at her uncomfortably. He pretended to organize his files about her before him, shuffled Pink on top again from the bottom. This was no time to bring up the 3-n-1 and the presence of Shelley Johnston Struthers (I was right!) and Frankie Brown Beige (or Beige Brown!) within as well. Pink on the surface; Pink she is. If only Marsha to him still, not counting as a friend. Yet.

(to be continued)

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November 6, 2023 · 3:27 pm

00400609 (Perch)

The slideshow they had prepared was *bore-ing*, but at least she wasn’t in Rockaway Beach Municipal Prison any longer, thanks to her mother. But it was thanks to her mother, she reminded herself, that she was in there in the *first* place. What did she do wrong except be adorable, she couldn’t help laughing at herself.

She looked out the window, at the large, altered American flag flying out there. At least they also like Obama, she thought about the face superimposed atop the stars part. But maybe this is just an older parcel and he was still the president when all this was formed, this *reform* camp. Land description does say the owner is not that involved in Our Second Lyfe any longer. Would explain why the mug of Trump isn’t around, because it sounds like the guy, from a glance at his other interests (suggested open gun carrying in Our Second Lyfe? say whaaaat?), might be a follower of *that* cult. Cults attract cults after all, refuge for the causers.

And what’s all this stuff about worshiping Venus?

This is what you get for following a Head without a Body.

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November 5, 2023 · 7:27 am

00400608 (Dr. Mouse)

“I know files are your department, Dr. Phile, but I had to make sure this was done correct. See? Come over and look.

“I’ve created 3 files on your computer system, you’ll notice, one for Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow — that should remain the top one — then one for Shelley Johnston Struthers — think it’s Johnston instead of Johnson… I’ll let you check on that — then a 3rd one for Frankie Beige Brown… or Frankie Brown Beige, whatever. She’s not the important one, or at least the one on top or even in the middle. Put her at the back — we probably won’t be referencing her much except to determine if she’s only *in* there for the gestures or a bit more, perhaps some kind of conscience. And — here’s the trick — we’re going to take those 3 files, front to back as I’ve specified, and then combine them into one overarching file called, I don’t know, let’s say ‘Unknown’ for now. Or maybe file it under ‘Miscellaneous’. Filing is your department and I’ll leave you with the overall labeling on this *3n1*. Yes, I said it. It’s the rarest of rare type of file, you see Dr. Phile. 3 in 1’s don’t come along but, say, every once in 3 years. Or maybe that’s 3 centuries. I’ll let you work it out again. You’re the file doctor,” he deferred for the 3rd time trying not to step on the younger doctor’s toes.

But in pivoting his chair to make a point somewhere, he realizes he’s done just that.

“Oh. *Sorry*.”

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November 4, 2023 · 3:48 pm

warden

Some of the orange trees had leaves over there and some did not, but she didn’t have time to figure all that out. Pace rapid, she was on a mission. To find X at his Rockaway Beach mansion and tell him to release her daughter or pseudo-daughter and that she had learned her lesson well enough. She was the mayor after all. Surely he would listen to her, despite being one of those uppity upper men she so detested. Golden Goddess had taught her a valuable lesson yesterday. Surface appearances are often deceiving.

She’d heard he was tall but she couldn’t have guessed *how* tall. A true Slenderman he was during the Halloween season. Duncan Avocado was sitting with him when she entered. She thought Duncan was dead, oh well. That’s the way of characters in these here photo-novels, she realized, staring at his familiar red skeleheart necklace and red hands, as if ripe from a kill. They disappear, they reappear just as quickly sometimes. But sometimes it takes a while too. Like with Avocado. She thought back to kissing the orange on the navel — or the naval on the Orange. Navelencia, the act of.

Which one to approach first? It was as if X was expecting her and had sent for Duncan. Yes, that must be it. Maybe Golden Goddess even warned him of her visit. Or maybe Golden as Roy Coy, not remembering again what she did. One way to find out. She chooses left over right, familiar over strange.

“Duncan *Avocado*,” she cried, and even was tempted to hug the black man as he rose from the ottoman. And so she did.

(to be continued)

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November 4, 2023 · 2:22 am

00400605

“The good, God fearing people of Utah will never allow a merger with such a degraded place as the Omega continent, my dear human, Wheeler (ha). You have paid for my services for nothing except sound advice.”

“25 right,” spoke Wheeler about the cost from atop a nearby game. “I can’t believe you tricked me like that — making me believe there was such a person as Roy Coy.”

“Well the ridiculous name coupled with a ridiculous form should have been a tip off. Along with the golden color. Like me!”

“So what next?… *psychic*. Halloween is over. We’re back in Meat City for round 06.”

Golden Goddess’ Ms. Pac-Man ate a power pellet, making the ghost chasing her turn blue and be chased instead. “There’s always the library. While it’s there. Might as well use it to your advantage. Male dominated literature within, obviously, but some hidden gem could appear. Say, a book about a certain mountain (she foresees)?” The last blue ghost was overtaken and eaten, end of game.

And as well, there was the further *careful* exploration of Meat City itself. Wheeler knew not to change into her daughter or pseudo-daughter for all that.

In a newly constructed theatre across the street from the arcade, she waits alone in a guest-of-honor golden chair for a show that may never start.

Back to the library. “Aah, this must be it (!)”

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November 3, 2023 · 10:42 am

00400602

“I predict, Eddie, her Edward, that right in this seat Mr. Coy will appear soon and make a deal. I saw it–”

“Yeah yeah yeah, in your cards. Which apparently *I’ll* never see again.”

“*Unless…” Golden Goddess Nas pitched. 2nd date. More karma to pay but it might be worth it. Eddie looks down at lovely Marsha “Pink” Krakow, still singing away on the lime green karaoke stage inside. “Crazy Train” now, another crowd favorite since Osbourne is a local hero. Then just afterwards, her signature song. “Jackie Pink,” fully changed back to the original by this point. Her prison sentence is over. Golden Goddess speaks again as if for her.

“Are we on? Are we good to go?” “Crazy Train” was over. The belt comes off.

(to be continued)

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November 1, 2023 · 1:35 am

00400601

“A partnership?! That’s, frankly, something I didn’t expect from this meeting (!). Say Golden Goddess has already signed on to all this?”

“Yeah. Said she foresaw it in her cards.”

“Nas too?”

“Right. Start of a chain. Gang, I suppose.” Marsha “Pink” Krakow, the originator of all, slightly smiles, harking back to prison days and years. Doesn’t want to go back there. Thus: this.

“They’ll try to crack down on us,” professional dancer Bun Bun warns. “The men of this town. ‘How *dare* the women try to organize,’ and so on.”

“My mother can handle that,” came the reply. “She’s still the mayor of this here meat town after all.” Marsha knew she was negotiating a deal with Utah as they speak. Revisionist historian named Roy Coy who has a big brain about his head. He’ll need it!

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October 30, 2023 · 1:52 am

00400512

He had returned but he found himself more and more excluded from Ozma’s inner circle after a lukewarm reentry. “It’s *temporary*, dear,” she kept repeating to him. “I brought you back after all. You’re *here*; back in Oz, back to patrolling the Yellow Brick Road. And boy dear howdy that took some smooth talking to the inner council to get done,” she often reminded him. “So be *grateful*. You’re not out *there*.”

But it’s been months again, maybe years. When would his so called probation end here in the cornfield far away from a central power he was use to? Contemplation like this naturally led him to check the clock that always beats the times in his chest. 7:15 in Quadlingland, 3:15 in Munchkinland. And in the center, the middle, well: heartbreak.

He watched her slip away in the stalks, reminding him of that old Oklahoma song about a quirky little alien who comes to Earth and can’t get enough of corn, all types. He involuntarily begins to sing it in his head.

I like cornflakes, corndogs
I like corn bread and cornstarch
I like the band Korn and popcorn, I like all kinds of corn
ALL KINDS OF CORN!

He can’t recall the rest and, anyway, Ozma had already disappeared down the rows. Their meetings were almost as brief as in the Lost Forest when he was truly exiled. Now it’s still a false exile, an ostracizing by the rest. Scarecrow barely talked to him, feigning being constantly tied up with businesses of the mind. Lion similarly excused himself when encountering the famed metal being, saying he had to face down or have a tangle with this or that adversary who still lived some distance from wherever they were standing at the time. And Dorothy… he doesn’t even like to think of Dorothy.

—–

“I thought we were going to replace Dorothy with *me*,” spoke up the precious precocious child listening in on Marsha “Pink” Krakow’s latest version of her novel with a working title of “Lost Path of Oz,” changed from the earlier “Forgotten Road of Oz.” “After all, L. Frank Baum’s greatest goal was to please a child. And what better way to carry on that tradition than to cast me, a child as child can be, in the leading role of your book. Similarly, Vain and Artery Boyy replaces Lion, and Rock” — she looks over at him, dumbly counting the fingers on both hands over and over to make sure they’re the same on each — “well, we’ll work on him,” she admitted, sharing a smile with Pink about the irony.

“Maybe,” gleaned Pink, “maybe *you* should replace the Scarecrow, Toddles. And Rock can play Dorothy — you know what I mean.”

Toddles as the brains of the operation. She instantly likes! She automatically sees it is the right change to affect.

“No one is going to play ANYTHING until I get some ANSWERS!” Toddle’s grandma Alice Farrowheart had shown up at the reading in the so called Center Hole of Big Sandy. With a loaded shotgun.

Marsha quickly checked to see if this was in the book as well.

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