Tag Archives: MAYOR

September 23, 2023 · 10:33 am

00400203

“Breakfast looks great, dear. I’m *starving*.”

“Did you hear something outside?”

—–

“Oh, I’m so *full* now. Thanks for cooking again. I swear, I’ll start to chip in on that department very very soon. It’s just that…”

“That what…?”

“I feel like if I pick up a spatula I’ll never put it down. Did you have that feeling? The first time you picked one up or made breakfast for the first time? It’s a strange feeling but one I feel is true.”

“Umm.”

“Never mind. I know it’s a silly thought. And me and you just getting to know each other better. You don’t need to know all this *weird* stuff about me. Just that I’m cute.”

“Adorable!” she said on the couch by his side, and even gave his nose a tweak to reinforce this. Starts right there — tip of the nose; front of the face. Where truth begins.

He decides to address the elephant in the room. Or at least the cow. “H-how long…?”

“Till I remember,” she said about the suit she had on, guessing what he was going to ask. It was inevitable.

—–

Despite the appearance, this is not Marsha “Pink” Krakow. This is the mayor’s daughter. The cow suit makes her forget not remember. She had forgotten that very core fact about its existence. Eddie saw to that. Along with the mayor of this here Meat City, the first woman elected to the office. So many men wanted to keep women down in this primary Omega continent burg, known for its straight city blocks and shady dealings, crooked in every other way. The mayor was going to change all that. And her daughter had to be out of the way for her to do so. Thus the apartment in Broadwater, thus the distraction of opening a strip mall in a neighboring sim the same week of the rental. “See?” she can tell the worriers, the doubters. “She was just on TV that week. She’s *fine*. She runs off now and then.” The cow suit was an heirloom from her mother’s father’s brother’s sister’s aunt-uncle, a cross-dresser of sorts. “Put it on and you’ll turn invisible,” he said to his niece back in 1905 when he revealed the thing for what it was. He didn’t say that the invisible part involved the mind and not the body. They’ll never find her here. As long as she doesn’t know who she is.

Back to the couch…

“Don’t worry, Ginger. No one is watching us. I have all the bases covered, like in a classic Cincinnati Reds game, a victory of course. I’ll keep you safe at home.”

“No sin in Cincinnati, I get it.” But she didn’t smile. There were eyes out there. Brown ones, she sensed.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0040, 0203, Ohio, Omega, Urbane Blue/Fishers Island

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September 22, 2023 · 10:25 am

Meat City blues

“I can’t get that girl out of my mind, Other Edward. It reminds me of that one up in, where was it, Broadchurch.”

“Broadwater?” corrected Other Edward, wishing the other Other Edward would chip in and at least dry the dishes he was washing. One f-ing plate at a time, since they dare not go to the store and buy a dishwasher. Might be spotted.

“Yeah, that’s it. Without the pigtails this time of course, but…”

“I saw it too,” admitted Other Edward, who was actually the only Edward here despite the name playing. He: Edward. Him: Eddie. And a change in the last name as well to help disguise. Edward Daigle and Eddie D’Aigle, then. Or “D’Aigle, Eddie” as he also jokingly liked to call himself now and then.

“Welll? Could it be?”

“Impossible,” waved off Edward at the sink. Tough stain on this one; he’ll have to cool it with the curry, he reminds himself. If it’s doing this to the dishes imagine what it’s doing to the inner piping. Bloody mess in there, he supposes, given all those kind of meals he’s woofed down over the years. “I saw her in the news just the other week,” he continued. “Mayor was opening a new strip mall in Kuradov.”

“I bet he was,” quipped Eddie, taking a sip of his coffee and contemplating what to say next. He’d gotten the sex wrong but he’d made his point. “We have to get an old photo somewhere — remove the pigtails; just to be sure.”

“We burned them all,” reminded Edward. “Evidence.”

“Right right.” Eddie hung his head. “I can’t even remember her name now, Edward. But you know I’m bad on names. That’s why, heh, I just call you Other Edward all the time.”

“I know you’re not,” replies his cousin who was now disguised as a lover, as in gay partner. They even had to kiss in public the other day for demonstration. His own cousin (!). And then that other time… but he doesn’t even like to think about it. “It’s Wanda.”

“Wanda, yeah. What kind of car did she drive?”

“I think she just took the mayor’s car most places. Of course, that’s what got us caught in the first place — why we’re on the lam *now*. Two gay lovers instead of two gay cousins. I mean, two *cousins*. No gay.”

“No, since we fell for the same gal and went to that place in Broadchurch [sic] and, right, she left the car outside and then the police chief drove by and then wondered why the mayor was in such a seedy spot in town, *seedier*, and went inside to check. Caught!”

“Like rats,” Edward at the sink reiterated. “The mayor’s daughter.” He scrubbed harder, as if trying to erase the memory from his brain. No go. He had a better one than Eddie. He recalled *everything*.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0040, 0202, Bellisaria, Omega, Sandfly, Urbane Blue/Fishers Island

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August 1, 2023 · 2:44 pm

mayor

He remembers that island, small in size but big in passion. Alysha. How did I measure up so short?

—–

“Thank you for the huge bowl of patriotic soup bowl, Herbert. It does cheer me up, warms my heart. Whatever was left of it after the Abyss Absorption.”

“AA,” said Herbert Glenn Gold to this. He remembers it more by the initials. He only learned the meaning of the initials at age 17, after all the really spooky visions of the event had faded along with his imagination. Spiders, spooks and goblins he dimly recalls through the Age of Newton that had taken control since. Hard to go back to Jasper once it’s done and you go through the secret, basically invisible door. To adulthood — manhood. And I mean that for everyone. Because of the whole Newton angle. The giving of the big bowl of soup was the equivalent of giving a teacher an apple for, hopefully, good favors ahead. A is for Apple after all, and an A++ is a really big one — full of steam, it seems. He had done good, he felt. He deserved what he wished for. Promotion. Alysha back. The works.

“I recall — you like the initials,” said Mid-Hazel, about ready for the big reveal. “Helps to cope with the reality. I wish I had that luxury.”

“I only wish you the best moving forward,” Herbert Glenn Gold said rather naively, rather transparently. Mid-Hazel, in her almost infinite wisdom thanks to, ahem, AA, could see through it pretty clearly, unlike the bottom of an opaque lake. She notes the (anti-)name as a good place to take a rest and maybe a picnic in the afterlife — nice ring to it; easy to remember. Sometimes she desires not to see bottoms. If man (everyone) was meant to view that man would have been born with eyes on his fanny (etc.).

“I’m… dying, Herbert. No no no: no pity.” Herbert fakes a gasp then stifles a yawn. He’d known about this for days, almost centuries he felt. The Big Reveal dragged on and on… and on. This was about the 100th, nay, 1000th time she’d said this to him. And still she keeps on keeping on: doesn’t change much in appearance when he returns. Why does she keep telling me this? he wonders.

But then he takes another gander. Big, goofy eyes this time. Sewed up mouth. He recalls way way back. Yes, this was an original form. He’d only seen it in pictures. Just after AA, he realized. Maybe the old hag was really dying; not crying wolf again.

Opaque Lake, Mid-Hazel thought, staring at the golden figurines before her. Pre-AA here I come!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0315, Black Ice, Jeogeot, NWES Island

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May 31, 2023 · 11:07 am

Constantynople

My newest virtual village, already finished in outline form, I feel. Center is 7 story high Falmouth Gallery this go around. The name Collagesity is kaput for now. Falmouth represents the only ground gallery of my work. No Red Umbrella, Boos. No Power Tower or Edwardston Station in any form. More on that soon. Temple of TILE is also a central building, parked in front of Falmouth as seen in the above photo. I want to work on my personal religion, see how far I can take it. This may mean the return of Man About Time, who is also all about TILE. How about the late great Jeffrie Phillips, his former boss, the previous mayor or sheriff or something of Collagesity? We’ll see.

Sunklands Instititute is still in town, just moved off to one side to fit in better with the high landscape masses to the east. Town even has an airport, although not of my design and merely “appropriated” for my use. All current private land is on the opposite side of the sim sized island, which is also convenient. All land immediately bordering Constantynople, to the east south west, is accessible. And to the north is linden water. Perfect, I feel. What should happen. Not a rebirth of Collagesity, like I said, but something more logical for the time and place. Not dominated by collage galleries but also not forgetting about them or shunting them totally aside. They are as much a part of me and my virtual life experience as anything.

More on this exciting new development soon!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0038, 0505, Blue Feather, Constantynople, Fal Mouth Moon, Kidd Tower, Nautilus, Rank & File, Temple of TILE, Wild West

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December 28, 2022 · 2:49 pm

alterations (Back’s story)

“Oh they’ve known about the armless giant who stands in the field quite a long time now. The most dreaded thing of all is when he turns his back on them, forgets who they are. Then he’s gone. That moment will arrive soon enough.”

“Will it?”

“Yes.”

“He’s the Ant?”

“Ant’s *replacement*.”

“Yes.”

—–

Both stared at Clyde for some reason. Instinct probably. He was hiding something behind those steely blue eyes of his. Perhaps he stole something. Perhaps he blew someone away. Maybe something between these extremes.

Some say he was rolling in dough when he had none before. No one knows where he got the money. Looks like steel it is. More precious than gold in these parts. Lots of bridges, lots of ships. Metal all used up; none to go around for other purposes. Easier to corner it on the marketplace.

Add in a corrupt mayor and you’ve got the makings of a scandal. But someone with a lot of money has to be behind it, at the center of everything, its pumping heart, supplying cash to keep the crinimal machine well oiled. Why do people do this kind of thing? A challenge, perhaps; notoriety that results. Too smart for their britches with no other proper outlet. If only they could take up painting, letters, dance, drama, poetry, reading. Stock marketplace is their only toilet fodder. How much is steel, how much *to* steal?

In the olden days such metal obsessed people might have turned to alchemy for creative release, done their souls some actual good instead of harm.

—–

“Easy as changing a 4 wheel car into a 6 wheel car.”

“Two problems,” returned W. “1st, there’s no such thing as a magnae.”

“Sure: plural of magnate. There was more than one Jay Gold. Says so in the name: Golds.”

“Highly unlikely,” opined W. “Then the extra letter in named, speaking of name.”

“Alternate spelling.”

—–

“All this is more believable than Goldsboro as a last name. Goldsboro is a *town* name.”

“True enough, I suppose. What will you do with the old sign, the sunny one?”

“Town dump; history successfully altered; 21 years of misery averted.”

“And… this will bring back the alchemy?”

“Might.”

“Better get to the people in the car.”

—–

“Dad-*dy*. How far til Uncle Roy’s? Huh, huh?” Junior held his crotch and did a small jig beside the added 5th or 6th wheel now, indicating he had to wee really bad. Mother Wanda Wannabee took him inside to the Tastee Freeze. “*Junior* gets to go inside,” continued Tommy with the complaining, watching them go through the front door of place. Last of the lunch crowd, as it turns out.

“Now now, Tommy. You know Uncle Roy’s cooked us up a nice meal of mashed potatoes and gravy jam and some other stuff. Steelton’s only 7 more miles. You can hold it in, I mean, hold out til then.”

“Ooohhhhhhh. Just… one… hot… dog.”

“This is not the place for that.”

Someone in the distance shot out one tire, then another and another and another and another… and… another. They were stuck here for a while. Tastee Freeze it is.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0301, Corsica, Kentucky, Northwest, Pennsylvania

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December 15, 2022 · 5:44 pm

00360117

“There it is again, Dixon 02! Shoot it this time with your bow and arrow! Quick!”

“*You’re* Dixon 02,” protested the one with the weapon. “*I’m* Dixon 01.”

“No time for that now! (POOF) Oh… darn! Look at what you’ve done brother of mine, *second* out of the womb.”

“*You’re* second out.”

“She’s gone.” Pause.

“Pretty boots, though.”

“*Darn* pretty boots.”

“And gloves.”

—–

“‘Nother dream this time about those Dixons, Grassy. Something about them poisoning the alcohol of this town.”

“Hmmm.”

“Wonder….”

“Yeah,” predicted Grassy to what Sassy was about to say, Nogin’s horrific tossing noises also etched in his memory. “Me too.”

“Should we warn somebody? Who’s the mayor of Hardrock Island?”

“Hardrada, actually. Remember, Hardrock I. contains the guitar with no strings. The pool here has strings. The one you like so much.” Maybe more than the bigger one I prefer, he thinks to himself. Differences: small, but they can add up.

Sassy contemplates heartstrings again, and how Grassy should make her sing but not quite getting there; differences again. But no strings might have its advantages as well, as in, no hands advantages. As in *recording* advantage. If you don’t play forwards, you can play backwards — that kind of advantage.

“Welll?”

“Based on a dream?” he protested about the earlier warning request.

“Dreams,” said Sassy to this. “Repeating dreams.”

“See what happens tonight in your dreams and then tomorrow we’ll go to the authorities if needed.”

“*No* alcohol in the meantime. Or only what you brought in.”

“Cough syrup,” complains Grassy. “Stuck with cough syrup.”

“And mouthwash,” chips in Sassy. First time she’s glad about having a mild case of chronic halitosis. Wouldn’t be the last.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0117, Nautilus, NORTH

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July 27, 2022 · 4:41 am

00340110

“What did you do to him Jerry?”

“What did *you* do to him… Gerry?”

Pause. “Well whoever did whatever I’ve got to go on patrol. You can stay here and bare the stares — figure it out.”

“We could just go talk to him.” Both laugh. Jack would have no useful information to give the pair of security guards: what he’s apparently pissed off about with one of them or perhaps both of them, or anything about Ontario in general. He’s a bad ass, in a bad way. He does the bidding of the Big Boss and that’s it, period. Doesn’t share anything with no one except for the highest level, the Mayor, the King, perhaps merged now as the Mayor-King. Hafta check; hafta think about that. New angle. Maybe Mexico-Canada related.

“He’s got that gun shop, you know,” states Gerry before he goes to punch keys on his rounds. “He could be toting one right now, ready to go on a killing spree.”

“Nah,” offers seated Jerry. “Wouldn’t come to that. He’s a company man. Doesn’t want to ruin his standings in the hierarchy.” Jerry leans in closer to Gerry. “There’s a potential slot opening for no. 3, you know. The guy in the middle.”

“Not North not South — I’ve heard,” he says back not far above a whisper as well. Mayor-King it is.

Meanwhile, a duck-man on a neighboring rooftop had more useful information, but no one knew how to reach him, least of all Jem, who could use it the most right now. 3 more days and ticking.

Even John had forgotten and he invented the anthropomorphic fellow — let the SOB loose unto the world at large. Repeated cloning comes with a price, but I can’t remember what it is right now (wonder why).

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0034, 0110, Canada, Mexico, Wendy-Ontario-

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July 26, 2022 · 1:21 am

Every Man’s Land

“You again (!).”

“Yeah? What’ll it be?”

“What’ll what be?”

“Red or blue, bud. Good or evil I suppose. Dunno, don’t care. But you gotta choose to play,” he insisted.

“No,” said Newt. “You don’t understand. I’m just here to talk about Squared Root City with someone. Why this place — Ontario — and that place don’t get along, see.”

The fellow I’ve already seen several times in Ontario, including the groundside gun store where Arthur Kill was killed with a bullet to the heart by grown up Tessa at the end of the last photo-novel, just scratches his head. “Dunno anything about that. You might have to see the Mayor. Or even higher.”

“Mayor?” Newt parroted. “Higher?”

“Yeah, the King of course. I don’t know anything about this Root Squared City,” he insisted.

“Squared Root City,” Newt quickly corrected, but then thought about it. 3.16 x 3.16 is essentially 10, which is perfection (to us Pythagorean related TILERs). But then 3.16 is also pretty close to the circumference of a circle with a diameter of 1, and, in the case of City Park, County Park, Country Park, even closer. 3.14 to 3.15, maybe even 3.16 again. They are coded as All Ears because if Mickey Mouse’s face was turned into a matching circular ear it would exactly fit between all 3, copyright issues forever solved.

“I know this is space,” he continued, seeing the thoughtful look on Newt’s face, “but you can’t space out here. You gotta play or you gotta go. Orders.”

“Of who?”

“Dunno. Just came with the instructions.”

“Who do you work for?” The gun shop employee now space game arcade employee scratches his head again. “You gotta leave,” he insisted, and pointed to the lightsaber sign.

“I know I know,” said Newt, preparing to explore the rest of this space station. But first he had to ask permission to look out the window for a moment at all those glorious stars, perhaps some galaxies mixed in.

“Sure I suppose. 5 minutes. But then…”

“Gotta go, I get it.”

He walked toward the nearest window, stared out. Many of the illuminated dots were moving. Could these be spaceships? Newt pondered. And the colors (!). Not just white, but pink blue yellow. He could stare at it for days but he only had minutes, seconds now.

“Time’s up, bud,” he says oh too soon. But surely there will be other windows around the station with just as good a view, maybe better.

“Can I ask your name?” he said before leaving.

“Jack,” came the answer back. “Now… please.” He indicated the door.

“Goodbye Jack,” Newt said while walking out, knowing there was something to that name. Because, in some circles, perhaps the ones we just talked about, Jack was code for clone.

(to be continued)

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