Tag Archives: Mr. Babyface^*++++

The State of Collagesity

Baker Bloch stands before the vacated Collagesity apartment formerly occupied by Cyberpaperdoll and her then lover/boyfriend Roger Pine Ridge. As we have seen in the story so far, they’ve moved to Iris in the center of the Heterocera continent, not too awful far northeast of Collagesity actually — only about 4 sims away using a diagonal measurement, or about a kilometer and a half in distance. But now Cyberpaperdoll seems to have left Roger alone in that watery place for a more exciting and hipper man (Bandit Boy). Last we see of Pine Ridge, he’s debating whether to unburden his recent woes on fellow Iris resident Bill (Wheeler). We’ll see how that develops.

But Cyberpaperdoll and Roger are not the only ones to leave Collagesity recently. Rocky Racco’s duplicate dwelling place, also attached to the SoSo Mall, has essentially been cleaned out, save a picture of David Bowie and a meditation pillow. Where is the furry wordsmith, curious readers may ask? It could be that he went back to Olde Lapara Towne, perhaps staying with cousins Sport and Racket up in the mountains above that virtual burg, or maybe assuming his old job at the town’s hotel where we first picked up with his story. But at any rate, he’s gone from Collagesity, perhaps never to return.

And also the 2 apartments in the Kidd Tower, formerly occupied by Mr. Babyface and Greg Ogden, are now unfurnished and currently unavailable to rent. My guess for these two is that they simply transitioned over to Middletown on the Jeogeot continent when Billy Jean Kidd created a doppleganger tower there in “Collagesity 2017 Later”, or novel 6 of our Collagesity series. *That* became more the real Kidd Tower, since The Kidd lived inside it and not the one in Collagesity. Again: best guess. Like the rest — but especially Rocky Racco, I believe — they will be missed. Doesn’t mean that they can’t return of course, but they’ll be missed in the meantime. And this is another structure attached to the SoSo Mall.

So just utilizing these pieces of information alone, it might seem that Collagesity is in a bit of trouble, especially since this is the first time we’ve really talked about my town in any depth in the present work, which is now halfway completed. But actually I believe this isn’t the case. To explain my reasonings for this determination, let’s start with the recent land ownership changes for Our Second Lyfe premium members as copied from the company blog.

As of March 14, 2018, pricing for each mainland tier allotment has been reduced by 10%. Additionally, Premium subscribers now receive 1024m² of bonus land allotment, doubled from the previous 512m².

Baker Bloch formerly owned 8704 square meters of land in Collagesity, maxing out his 40 dollar tier allowance. But now with the bump up of bonus land allotment from 512 to 1024, coupled with the 10% price reduction on tier, he can now own 9216 square meters of land at *35* dollars a month. And that’s exactly what I’ve chosen to have him do and be responsible for. Now let’s turn to the other town owner Baker Blinker, or, I should now say, *former* owner. For just after the price changes were announced, I decided that Wheeler Wilson should take over Baker Blinker’s land, since she has assumed the lion’s share of female roles in the blog, including Mabel — that’s the most important new addition in my eyes. And Baker Blinker herself, as a core avatar, hasn’t played a major factor in Collagesity novels since “Collagesity 2016 Later”, which is *5 1/2* Collagesity novels back as of this writing. True, she does play Karl in the present novel (congrats B. Blinker again!), but that doesn’t offset Wheeler’s Annie/Mabel/Bill power trio in my estimation. It was simply time to do this. But while Baker Blinker owned 1536 square meters to Baker Bloch’s 8704, her successor Wheeler only owns 1024 meters, which means she pays *0* dollars in tier each month under the new rules (as opposed to Baker Blinker’s 8 dollars a month tier payment for the 1536). Overall, I’m saving 13 dollars a month for the exact same amount of land (combined, in each case: 10,240). Doesn’t sound like a lot, but it really is long term. And justification enough from that alone to continue Collagesity into the forseeable future. The novels are still going strong — why not?

But the recombination of lands also gave Baker Bloch a considerably larger amount of free prims to work with — 504 as of this writing. The drawback is that Wheeler has very few prims left over from her 1024, even with the empty or near empty apartments surrounding SoSo Mall we talked about earlier. Again, it may not sound like much of a change, but it actually is. Baker Bloch has more power to enact his overall vision within Collagesity now, and with a more consolidated land base. Mabel (Wheeler) will continue to argue for the movement of her prim heavy Heartsdale Victorian style house to Collagesity. But Baker, I feel, has other plans…


The 2 owners of Collagesity staring at each other across a shared property line.

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the evolution of the couch

“So we’re at the couch now, Mr. Babyface. Do you know who the ring is yet? 450,000 lindens worth of the ultimate 500,000 remain to be paid out. Do you want to be a wealthy man or a poor man, Mr. Face?

What’s this precocious child’s end game? he wondered while puffing rapidly on his pipe. Red Dragon, mmm. So soothing. But, Collagesity to Middletown — it really happened! She really did it. “Wealthy, I suppose,” he then answers.

“Then find Leona and her village full of mechanoid people at the hilltop lakes with the lone star shaped swimming pool and ask for Flo. And also: go *with* the flow. Synchronicity.”

“All right.” He was trying to keep up with her pace, or at least pretend to.

“(And) take Greg Ogden with you. That’s her husband after all. Good cover for you as well.”

“Didn’t know that fact. But: will do. I’ll take Red Boy.”

In fact, Mr. Babyface and Greg Ogden had become quite close during their stay in the Kidd Tower. A common heating system can sometimes bring people together.

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transference

Mr. Babyface had fallen asleep again studying the Big E on the top floor of his Collagesity apartment. Awoken by a large thud, he quickly turned over while remaining in his sprawled position and peered into the higher stories of the Kidd Tower — the same view he was looking at when he dozed off.

Everything as before, pheh, he thinks. Depictions of the Jeogeot Gulf sims representing the letters A-L on the east side and O-Z to the west remained intact. The missing M and N at the top: MaN. What it all spelled out, he realized, was another boring day in Collagesity for The Face (himself). But what about the thud?

Then in sitting up and turning around from the table, Mr. Babyface saw something totally unexpected. He jumped out of his chair. A familiar Middletown skyscraper loomed just beyond his window!

“Holy Jesus!” he exclaimed, toking rapidly on his still lit pipe. “The Kidd really did it this time. The tower is truly and fully *there*. But there is here!” And he knew this meant the The Kidd would in all likelihood be sitting in her beige chair on the floor below his apartment, in what use to be Greg Ogden’s spot. But maybe Greg has returned too. He better get down there posthaste.

—–

200 feet above all this, Tronesisia heads to the top-of-the-line Italian refrigerator to retrieve another of those strong German beers (Brewmeister’s Quarterly).

But in glancing outside the window to her right, she saw the tower too! All the old, repressed memories came flooding back with the sight: Pitch and Buster’s killing shack across the tracks; Bendy heading to Muff-Bermingham in the Collagesity rocket Karoz built and her attempts to follow him; Mary’s pregnancy with George. And she’d been wasting all her time wallowing in the idiotic glories of war! Axis and Allies, phmph. There never was a war, she realized. She had been sleepwalking all along.

Fully awake now, she locates the red phone hidden behind the bed that would connect her directly with Baker Bloch. She remembered that piece of the puzzle too. “Call me when the transference happens,” he said while handing it to her over 2 months back. “You won’t remember me again until then. Nor I you. Good luck!”

—–

The phone rings in Baker Bloch’s back pocket. “Excuse me, everyone,” he says, turning slightly red. He never seems to get calls any more and simply forgot to turn it off before The Table meeting. “I’ll just take this over to Perch…”

Tin S. Man smiles broadly as Baker walks past, and Wheeler catches it. “What are you up to giant?” she queries, scrutinizing him. “Besides the 20 foot mark, I mean. Why hasn’t Hucka Doobie shown up yet?”

In thinking how the sentence “Why hasn’t Hucka Doobie shown up yet?” translates to German, Wheeler then realizes who must be on the phone.

“Hallo?”

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Battle?

Peter Ladd didn’t know whether to take Billy Jean Kidd totally serious or not about a winner-take-all tennis match for Collagesity, but he decided he better practice up anyway. He finds a passable court at TT-Sports. Unfortunately his chosen playing partner Uncle Babyface could even hit the ball back to him most of the time. Not a lot of practice accomplished this day.

Ooff! Another wiff by the uncle.

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downstairs 02

She was looking at the blog again. She always seemed to be doing this. Mr. Babyface wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“I see you’ve been dreaming about lava once more,” The Kidd began. “Do you know who I am yet? Northeast and southwest. Around the building. I’ll pull up another picture to show you. Give me a moment.”

While waiting for The Kidd to change the page, Mr. Babyface looked around the corner to check if his toilet was still gone. It was. “Have to use the sand again,” he complained softly.

“Done,” she then called. “Come in here and look and I’ll interpret. This Mr. Hucka Bumblebee did a good job before but he left some material out. Can you guess? You try first.”

Mr. Babyface stared at the picture which he knew to be a baker b. collage. He’d seen it in the small gallery above the Bodega Marketplace. Ointment, he thinks again. Must — remember.

“Go ahead,” she urged. “The title is ‘Duncanfollower.'”

“Yes, I can see that,” he said, slightly annoyed. He felt she could be condescending at times. I suppose she can’t help it, he then retracts. She’s not really all that human. Hu-man.

“Try,” she repeats.

Mr. Babyface plunged in. “Let’s see, there’s Woody Allen in the middle…”

“Oh for Pete’s sake. That’s not Woody Allen. Let me go ahead and do it. It’s *Woody*, then *Allen*. Raziel — Rael — is standing behind… purple robe. Purple rose. All this is positive, exposed — third eye stuff; fourth wall. Northwest. But *behind* the square building, and it’s a perfectly square building, is what The Bee called the Malefic. That’s me as well. Positive and negative. They’re in everybody that way. You included, Uncle Babyface.”

Why does she call me uncle? he ponders again. He sees a safe avenue. “I like the way that Duncan fellow is wearing the same black outfit as Woody… Woody *and* Allen.”

“Good,” The Kidd emboldens.

“Same reverse numbers,” he observes. “Well, not the same numbers but reversed nonetheless.”

“Nonetheless,” repeats The Kidd. “I would have used notwithstanding there.”

Whatever, Mr. Babyface thinks, getting slightly irritated again. He falls silent for a bit, hoping she’ll pick up the thread now. He knows she’d have trouble seeing the details of the collage. And she can’t get up from her chair, else all of this would cease to exist.

She leans forward. “This building is me and that’s all I can say about it today. Tomorrow may be different. You should explore the small city now. Leave me to my musings. Another visitor awaits this morning. And Greg Ogden is already down at the docks starting another painting of Treasure Hill. They found a diamond there, you know. Olden days. Largest diamond ever discovered on the continent. Peter knows.”

“Who’s Peter?” queries Mr. Babyface.

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upstairs 02

Mr. Babyface was having that dream again about being submerged in lava. He wakes up.

Upside down again, he thinks. Better get some coffee on.

He pauses on his way to the tiny kitchen to reflect again on lava.

“Ichelus,” he mutters, and moves on.

—–

Ahh. Better, he thinks, downing a fresh brew. His nipples hurt this morning for some reason. He’ll buy some of that ointment at the store later on his aunt recommended. She had the same kind of problem, but in a larger way.

He stares out the mostly transparent wall at the many windowed building just beyond. Definitely not Collagesity this morning, he ruminates. The Kidd will be there. Can’t get too caffeined up before chatting with the precocious child. Third eye she has, he remembers. All seeing most likely, like the one that use to be in Collagesity. Mr. Babyface can’t quite recall the name of the broken deity, a mere idol these days at best. Kazzkark he thinks incorrectly, but for a reason.

Nothing upstairs now. He’ll make some beans later on. Will The Kidd fulfill her promise and bring the rest of her tower to what he knows now is truly Middletown? He thinks that would be cool.

He sets his coffee cup down on the table beside Big E and heads downstairs.

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kill

Mr. Babyface wasn’t much of a swimmer, much less a diver. But he figured he had to give it a go since the board was here in — wherever this is. Little Chicago? Middletown even? Or a remnant thereof.

The beach of the city was small but cozy. Mr. Babyface could sometimes spy passing warships in the distance. Because, yes, there was a war going on. Apparently the Axis and Allied powers of WWII never really made peace, but just moved their battles to computer games and virtual realities. He may get involved in the fray as well soon, but he has to choose a side. His grandmother was a full blown German, but his old dog Pogo he loved so much came from Kansas, USA. Mr. Babyface himself hailed from deepest Africa; neutral territory in the Great War. His half aunt on his father’s side was Japanese. Could go either way.

The Shamon Palace, he thought while looking across the water and cleaning nacho fragments from between his teeth with his tongue. He’ll go there tomorrow. Someone to meet in the bowels of the island, he’s been told. Caucasian Tommy Brade has been sent back to the woods to be with pals Satan Santa, Cookie the Crumbler, and the rest. Someone new again. Billie Jean Kidd had told him this.

Billie Jean Kidd seemed to know everything about everything.

Deep in thought, he almost misses a passing ship. “Ahh, there’s one,” he says, spotting its motion as it glides beyond the island from his perspective. “Looks like the Rising Sun.”

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golden boy

Mr. Babyface used the sandcastle portal again to reach Zebrasil and the nice beach he liked. This time he brought a guest.

“Better lather up for the sun,” he suggests to Caucasian Tommy Brade while applying yet another layer of suntan lotion himself. “Ozone hole’s not getting any smaller, ya know.”

But Tommy just sat awkwardly in his own beach cot and stared at his throwing hand. “I remember bees,” he finally managed.

“Good,” said Mr. Babyface. “You’re progressing, Tommy. Slowly but surely. Soon the big picture will fill in for ya. The impossible Super Bowl win that year, the role my nephew had in it. Everything.”

Caucasian Tommy Brade then stared directly into the sun for a full 5 minutes, but it didn’t hurt. He was the sun.

—–

Moving to the other side of the island to get away from the heat, Mr. Babyface realizes that Tommy Brade may be no good for him now. He has to hatch a second plan, perhaps even a third. He thinks back to his conversation day before yesterday with Tronesisia. The Boss. “A certain building added,” she said several times. Gazing toward mainland, Mr. Babyface wonders again what it might mean.

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mice

Cyberpaperdoll returned to her home of 5 1/2 years across the Atoll Sea and pondered if Biker Mann and she had any kind of real future together.

Oh. Speaking of swings and futures…

—–

“Tommy Brade was always your mother’s favorite, Paul. But you’re not Paul. You’re Even Whiter Walt. Whiter than Caucasian Tommy Brade. You burn in moonlight. You dance to Guy Lombardo. If you were any whiter, you’d turn into a pillar of salt. Believe me, boy, Mary is not the boy for you. She’s not even a boy.”

“I love her,” counters fellow swinger and estranged nephew Paul. “She’s kind to animals. She sings like a butterfly. I’m hanging my future on her. I’m not going back (to the woods).”

“Sure you are. You’re already there. *They* have spies all around. The Invisibles.”

“I don’t know who those people are, Uncle Babyface,” his nephew reiterates. “All I know is that I’m happy here in Be Happy.”

“Hana Lei,” clarifies Mr. Babyface.

“Sure,” states Paul. “There’s *so* much pot here, uncle. Did I show you the biggest one? Just behind us.” He points to his back right.

Indeed it was a big pot. Three stoned little Story Room wannabes staggered around in a bit of snow in front of the whopper. They could be there for months. Years!

So it is with Peter, Paul and Mary in Hana Lei, Mr. Babyface realizes. Months. Years. He returns to Collagesity and drinks with a broken heart at Audrey’s until the clock strikes one and there is no sun.

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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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