Tag Archives: Mary Tyler/Chuckles Greentop^^+!

December 5, 2017 · 4:55 am

Clemscott

Pitch Darkly teleports into the centre of Clemscott. As he knew from previous visits, the owner of the sim had marked the spot with a grassy, oval lozenge. This Clem fellow. Clem Scott maybe. Smart like a Fox.

Merlin’s Mound dead ahead, as Pitch has dubbed it. Grassy green like the central object he stands upon. Extension?

What, if anything, is buried within?

This is a grassy avenue just beyond that interests Pitch greatly for reasons I won’t go into just yet.

The avenue extends along the north side of… well I’m just going to let the pictures basically tell the story.

According to these signs adorning the surrounding square shaped wall in all 4 of its corners, the fenced-in region of approx. 1024 meters (32 x 32 meters) holds what are apparently experimental building projects, with apologies given for the involved dust. You can actually buy the wall and attached signs for 50 lindens. Pitch is tempted…


Walled region.


Viewing platform?


Banana and apple.

Once again, Pitch realizes he’s not going to be able to figure it out tonight. He must move on. But not before noting this 32 meters long “measuring rod” extending well below the surface here. 32 meters is also the length of each side of the walled compound.


Walled region and “Merlin’s Mound”.

Pitch decides to quench his parched throat at a neighboring bar before continuing. “Bucket of blood,” he requests to the familiar bartender. “No nails.”

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November 13, 2017 · 5:23 am

Gormanbozia

Understanding that Even Whiter Walt’s Mary is most likely not coming back to him, Pitch Darkly decides to visit her creator’s place over on the Gaeta continent to purchase another Mary. What’s his limit for a wife, though? 50 lindens? 100? 150 even?

“Mary?”

Turns out to be just some kind of faceless witch that has the same body type as his former lover.

Pitch rather quickly determined that Mary’s creator is kind of one crazy dude (or dudette). This would be Ponsonby Low, reminding the ancient vampire that his alt ego Baker Bloch originally served an alien named Mr. Low when first manifesting in this world (Second Life) way back in 2008. Any connection? he wondered. In checking, Pitch didn’t find much information about the current Mr. Low except that his user works in publishing in RL, and that he was also born in 2008 like the male Baker. Another older soul here.

Pitch doesn’t quite know what to make of this place. And so much more to look at! But he must remember his mission of finding another Mary.

Pitch gets tired from running around and sits a spell at a complexly designed fountain.

He found her! At least the angling version. “Mary?” he speaks. No answer. This one isn’t animated. At least yet. But the figure is not for sale and he moves on.

He can buy a pointing witch wife for 50 lindens who looks a lot like Mary, once more. But witches and vampires traditionally don’t get along.

40 lindens for this warrior who has Mary’s face. *Is* this Mary? He calls again. No answer. And he’s afraid of pointed objects.

“How ’bout you sweetie, hehe. Wanna go out with me?” Pitch pauses. “Okay, be that way.” He keeps moving.

Finally he spots the real Mary — both of them, in fact — at the end of another of those narrow, rainbow colored bridges that dot the place. He runs down.

“I’m *so* glad to see the two of you! It’s been so long.” But like all the other figures he’s met, the Marys remain silent. He checks the price. 60 lindens for the both of them. Quite reasonable. But for some reason a picture of Tronesisia forms in his mind. “Don’t do it,” she calls. “Wait for me. I’m coming.”

Pitch returns home to Collagesity and his Darkly Manor still without a Mary. He’s landmarked the place where they are. He can return at any time and make the purchase. But maybe, just maybe, he’s outgrown the desire for mere “dolls” for girlfriends and needs a real avatar lady this time. Someone like Tronesisia? But she’s with Peter SoSo, isn’t she? Robots and vampires — he hasn’t heard anything bad about that particular mixture of species.

He sits on the thought.

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October 30, 2017 · 7:40 am

It’s perch for God’s sake.

Mr. Babyface direly needs to find his nephew in Hana Lei and attempt to talk some sense into him, but he can’t seem to stop studying this Big E provided with the apartment.

“Ahh, what the heck,” he says, prying himself away from the object. “Time to take the plunge…”

—–

“Me Gods, what a mess. A Messiaen Mess.”

He turns around in his tracks, staring into the heart of infantile Hana Lei. “Where *are* the stoneheads?”

He walks down to take a closer look.

The band now known as Lamb were all gathered at Chunkies playing Guess That Fish when Paul heard him grumbling to himself on Swingset Knoll beyond the door. There could be no mistaking.

“Uncle… *Babyface*??”

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September 27, 2017 · 7:02 am

sixes and sevens

Rocky Racco was in the middle of rehearing his piano solo in Story Room’s “Fire Ants” legacy single when Baker Bloch rezzed a chair beside him and broke the news.

“You’re leaving?” he uttered while still tinkering with the solo a bit. Baker answers affirmatively. “How many are you taking?”

“We can take *you* if you wish. But, otherwise, Wheeler Wilson I assume. Maybe Buster, maybe others. Unsure still.”

“And who is already in Collagesity?” queries the anthropomorphic raccoon.

“Well, Pitch Darkly is there, kind of a new alter-ego I suppose you could call it. He comes from VHC City. Also: Woody Woodmanson, formerly of Snowlands. Now see, this is a trick — *our* Mary use to be engaged to Pitch, and maybe still is. Somehow realities have split apart by us — me — being here. If Mary goes back to Collagesity with Wheeler and the others, say, she may not even remember her life with Paul here, both black and white versions of him.”

“You have more stories to tell (in this town),” countered Rocky. “How about my cousin Tealie from the underground?”

“Tealie can show up in another book, another place,” answered Baker Bloch, standing by his resolution.

“Just because your last two — graphic novels is it?” Baker Bloch nods here. “… these graphic novels of yours end in 6 sections doesn’t mean that the situation can’t change now. You can extend to 7. Think how much more story could be told in another 20 or so posts? My story, for instance. Who made me? Do you even know who made me? I was merely an ordinary raccoon at one time far in the past.”

“My guess would be Paul, if Paul resonates with Paul McCartney strongly enough.”

“Oh. Well, you knew that, then.”

“But you could be a nuclear mutation caused by that explosion which was winnowed down just to your mushroom house thanks to the quick actions of All Nancy’s.”

“Could be that too.” Rocky looks directly into Baker Bloch’s eyes. “Please stay. I don’t want you to go. I want to…”

“Live?” Baker offered. “Then come with me… us.”

Rocky abruptly slammed down the lid to the grand piano’s keyboard. Chef/Inspector Petty turned around from interviewing Mary and Paul in another part of the theatre room.

Rocky gets up and brushes by Baker on the way to the teleporter. They soon find him in Audrey’s below, drinking and talking with his new best bud Terry.

“They want to end me. They want to end *us*,” he says, trying to ignore their presence.

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September 26, 2017 · 7:01 am

Burster

“Next month??” Paul was incredulous. Peter SoSo and Tronesisia had paused their dart game to listen in. Mary Tyler began sobbing a bit.

“Yup,” states Terry the fire-ickle bartender. “The blue dude — Improvio I think — came in himself and booked the upstairs for October, same deal they have at Clownski’s. Levi wouldn’t give ’em any more than that at one time over there. But you can bet the bang on my belt there’s more deals to come. Mr. R. — Rocky — likes ’em, likes their music. Bang bang bang bang. More bang for the bucks, he said. Oops. I guess that’s a little insensitive.” But Terry was at least sensitive enough not to repeat the exact sentiment Rocky issued about their group, which was, “f-ck folk.”

“We… have nowhere to go,” Mary exclaimed. “We’ll have to leave Olde Lapara Towne! And I was really beginning to like it here. They’re forcing our hand.”

“Lamb must live,” agreed Peter SoSo. “There’s no killing it now, no going back to where we came from as Peter, Paul and Mary, separate and alone.” Tronesisia tried to nod in agreement but ended up just having a belly laugh. She excused herself by saying her gestures module needs rebooting.

“I think I might have an answer,” Terry said slyly. “Jacob… you know the groovy lawnmower…”

“Of course,” states Peter SoSo. “He’s what keeps us high as the sky.”

“Well… he found a portal right underneath this bar. It’s those sand dunes… sand castle. They lead to a cool and hip and far out place. Said it was called Melancholy Island. I tried it out myself. I think we — or you’s guys anyway — can help them with their problem.”

“What do you mean?” asks a sniffing Mary. Paul offered her his handkerchief.

“You have grass, right? Lots of it, thanks to those magical seeds you bought from New Lynne, Paul.” Mary blew her nose long and loud.

“Correct,” replies Paul, taking a fully loaded handerchief back from Mary.

“Well,” continues Terry, “turns out they *need* grass. They have the stubby version, the stuff that doesn’t really need to be mowed, but you people have the real deal, the weedy grass. The high version.”

Peter has a belly laugh with this as well. He quickly clears his throat and says, “catching,” while looking at Tronesisia. Paul couldn’t help sharing a small smile with Mary in the moment, each thinking that those two, forward looking robot and backward peering merman, were simply made for each other. Just like they were. Paul and Mary held hands.

“Alright, we’ll check it out,” Paul said. Everyone had forgotten about the secret weapon Buster set up, but were quickly reminded when Chef/Inspector Petty (not Pety — he’s different) burst into the bar through the red door and instantly began grilling.

“What all this about Renaldo O’Donnell springing back to life and then dying again??”

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September 25, 2017 · 7:08 am

Clown at Clownski’s

“Performance artist??” exclaims Paul.

“And he says he’s been doing this a long time,” interjects Buster.

“Yes,” answers the famous clown. “And I can help *you*”… he pauses and turns toward Buster. “Er, what did you say their name was again?”

“The Lambs,” replies Buster.

“No,” states Mary firmly. “Just Lamb.”

“Well then, I can help *you* Just Lamb.”

Mary sighs. This little bloodsucker’s plan better work, she thinks.

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September 18, 2017 · 7:34 am

pass the vegetables

Also the next day, a fully returned Mary made an announcement to the citizens of Lapara’s Malone Central gathered around the boob tube. “From now on,” she declared, “my name is Mary Tyler and our group will no longer be called Peter, Paul and Mary but Lamb. No argument.”

Everyone nodded their heads, just glad that Mary had put down her fishing rod and joined the living once more.

The great sim battle begins.

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September 14, 2017 · 6:09 am

losing

Paul had returned from Rocky’s market with another load of supplies. Wheeler was waiting.

“You’re not a clown,” he observed after walking up.

“No, I have periods of reprieve.”

“Where’s the wife?”

“Fishing,” Wheeler responds. “Over there on the edge.” She points in the appropriate direction. “Chasm Deep. Fo fo fo, hehe. She’s trying to regain her memories. Thought angling would help.”

“Clownfish are hard to catch,” offers Paul, looking over at Mary. “Small and wirey. Not good eating either.”

“Jamie said she saw a shark down there once. I didn’t know whether to believe her.”

“We don’t talk about Jamie,” Paul reproved.

“Oh right.” Wheeler changed the subject. “How’s Aboveland? I’ll go back sometime. But not this month.”

“Above’s okay. Rocky says hello.” Paul then saw something else. “Hey, where’d you get the ring?”

Wheeler quickly puts her hands behind her head. “Oh I found it. Beyond the chasm. What do you call that place? Owls Head.” Paul nods here. “Just laying there on the white surface.”

But the green jewel of the ring had no owl signet on it. Just a “plain” emerald. Astarte had lost some ground on Lapara. Time to up the stakes.

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September 9, 2017 · 6:46 am

Tabula rasa

“Alderaan?” exclaims Paul. “Where the heck is Alderaan, Wheeler?”

No answer.

—–

“Sure are a lot of clowns on this tv.”

“Clowns are everywhere,” she says. “Everywhere,” she reinforces.

—–

—–

“We’re going to have to look for Mary again sometime, Wheeler. You can’t just have this doll substitute sitting beside you forever here.”

Wheeler begins to sob. Paul joins her a bit.

—–

Peter SoSo returns from The Above. “What are you guys looking at?”

“What else?” answers Paul, sniffing.

“Well,” Peter says, staring at the doll and exhaling, “I think I know what must… be done. We can all chip in.”

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September 6, 2017 · 6:46 am

group photo 02

“Lambs,” states Paul. “As far as you could see.” He reconsiders. “Well, that’s an exaggeration. How many would you say there was, Mary?”

“20, 25. Then whittled down to 16, then 8, then 4, then 2, then only one. My precious Little One.”

“Little One yeah,” Paul says, thinking back. “That was before the VHC City days.”

“Yes,” Mary answers with a lump now in her throat.

“VHC City?” Peter questions.

“Oh let’s not go back to that right now. Let’s stick to the far past. See, Peter, this is why we should rename our group The Lambs.”

“Or Lamb,” Paul adds.

“That way dazed and confused fans won’t be calling out for that dreaded ‘Huff the Magic Dragon'”.

“Huff, Puff, whatever,” chimes in Paul.

Peter taps his cane on Grassland’s barren ground, producing a hollow sound. If it wasn’t tinted green it might as well be a sandy dune. “And the darters did all this?” he asks. Tacit agreement through silence here. Mary keeps holding back a big cry.

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