Tag Archives: Parasol^^+%%

May 21, 2020 · 8:15 am

elephants once more

“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!”

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May 16, 2020 · 9:37 am

further

“I want to be a Bonham or a *Moon*, but not necessarily a *Star(r)*. What did Uncle Axis say, exactly?”

“You better ask your mother about all that. It was *her* brother.”

“Okay. I will.” Then she put down her fork only to pick it up again. “As soon as I finish eating this superbly delicious meal Ross C. prepared for us.”

“Thank you, child,” robot maid Ross C. cooed from just around the corner, humming with pleasure.

—–

“I’m *sure* SEAN “Green” Penn won’t mind me borrowing his row row row boat while he’s gone to New Orleans again. Maybe I should have gone with him. Gotten away from thinking about the Big Inside — too much time on my hands without him, etc.” She looks straight ahead and aims the boat accordingly. “Sure hope mom and Charlie aren’t at it again, like the last time I dropped in. How embarrassing!”

—–

“Yes, that sounds like Uncle Axis,” responded Marsha “Pink” Krakow’s mother Parasol (Krakow?). “By the way, I forgive you for telling your father about us.” She looked back at Charlie Banana, eating yet another of his kind. “Sure, sure,” he mumbles with mouth full of yellow. “Tell your (swallow), dad, that its the best thing that happened to us. The sex is truly *amazing* now with all the guilt going on.” He stared at Parasol again. “Not that it wasn’t *amazing* before, um.”

Now white Parasol turns to her daughter again. “Just go back and tell your father that you’re okay, I’m okay, we’re all okay. The Big Inside is just a dream. You were dreaming, dear. Dr. Baumbeer has been dead in his grave oh, about, 5 months now. 1/2 bat (and here Parasol laughs) — I don’t *believe* in monsters, sea *or* sky.”

“I saw one,” spoke over Charlie Banana again while peeling one more. “I’ve lived on the water, this houseboat, all my adult life. “I’ve seen ’em.” *bite*

“Oh stop it.”

—–

And with this Marsha “Pink” Krakow returned to her “Good Side” of Storybrook mansion, convinced the session with the resurrected Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer was all in her head. Wrongly, of course.

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May 1, 2020 · 9:47 am

packing/unpacking

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…

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April 29, 2020 · 5:57 am

manimals

“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.”

“Mrs. 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.

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April 24, 2020 · 7:11 am

Afterwards…

… Pink had a frank (Frankie?) talk about the red book with her parents, so secret that I wasn’t involved (sorry). We must move on from Storybrook again…

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April 9, 2020 · 7:49 am

observers

“The Man(n) is not coming tonight, Charlie. Still — I’ll keep an eye on SEAN’s Southside Bay residence for signs of change.

Change, thinks Charlie Banana behind her, just finished with one. She’s *white* now and she talks of signs.

—–

“He’s got a boat, Charlie. A row boat.”

“And he’s heading right toward us!”

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March 19, 2020 · 8:21 am

on five fire

Fate and resonance had moved them very quickly further into the elephant’s ear. Paired off they were still, Parasol here with Irish Lass Phyllis Klondike, formerly Phyllis Phox. Then in the background: Kate McCoy, all grown *down* for some reason now, with Audrey [last name deleted — *not* Phillips — I don’t think]. Now all they needed was a DJ to play some appropriate tunes, perhaps for dancing even. Because we have new couples beyond the old. And drumstick makes 5, whatever that f-ing means. I’m having trouble typing tonight I’m so f-ing excited, it seems. For tonight is the time of a Big Reveal, schweet. So first to the picture of the two couples…

Oh, I think I see. Since we’re so close to Denshore here, obviously related to the Danshire sim mentioned toward the beginning of this here photo-novel, then I believe it’s time to introduce another villain into our work called Batty Casey, even though I’m not sure still that this is the Big Reveal of tonight. As Denshore is a one vowel advancement over Danshire in a doubled way (hmmm… just saw Vowel somewhere, probably in the Oracle) so Batty Casey represents a logical step up from Casey One Hole seen there, baseball bat replacing golf club. Play ball! In fact, let’s play two. Ernie Banks.

The sun is beginning to come up. Better move to dialog…

“I *will* revenge my husband Phillip’s death at the hands of that killer Arthur Kill,” spoke Audrey harshly at the front table now to little Katy Kidd, who didn’t really understand what was going on — yet. But she knew the name of Audrey’s husband and it wasn’t Phillip. She makes a note of this while still tapping her little foot to the beat layed down by skillful Casey. Through the empty holes of the Connect Four game situated between them, she saw that Audrey was doing the same with her hand. So infectious. Was this the Big Reveal tonight? That the beat was so infectious to both hand and foot? Moving on…

Parasol knew that Big Black Smoke, the same as Big Black Skome but in a reverse way (again), simply had to be killed at the end of that Dead End Steert (Street) because he was a Mouse, i.e., Rat. 3 eggs, all laid in a row. Infectious. “I want that Gwar,” she demanded to Irish Lass Phyllis Klondike across from her. “I don’t need it, I want it. Give it to me. It is *green*, I mean, *gray*, I mean, RED.”

“Yes it is all those,” spoke Phyllis calmly back. “The green, the gray, the red.” She looked in the direction of Batty Casey and the baseball bat thumping a different tune now, one having to do with a tug of war and a fall into a deep hole to Hell itself and the Devil inside. Is the bat a drumstick? But perhaps that should be Audrey speaking here instead.

“Is the bat a drumstick?” she asked Katy Kidd across the way. Batty Casey kept on thumping, like she was hitting homer after homer after homer.

(to be continued?)

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March 18, 2020 · 11:53 am

big… mammoth even

“I believe, let’s see, *this* one is mine, Parasol. ‘Olive *Green* Pink.'”

“Good to know.” Parasol had finished with her chicken and was starting with the eggs. Three of ’em. Knik — Big Black Skome.

She still couldn’t see the Ants for the Eleph in the room.

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March 18, 2020 · 10:28 am

Henrietta

“We’ll have to call this Widow’s Peak after this,” offered still all grown up Kate McCoy (the Real McCoy) to the others sitting around this 4 chair table. Still grieving the death of spouse Jack Snow all the way back at the end of section 1 of this here photo-novel, 18th in the series.

Irish Lass Phyllis Klondike across from her, surname reverted to her maiden one after the death of hubbie Ben Wolf in that newest Bena coup in 2 — *supposed* death — turned around in her seat to look at it. Audrey, the most recent of the widows (husband = just shot Jeffrie Phillips back in Urqhart), followed her gaze. Parasol (wife of The Mann, killed at the end of section 3), didn’t want to look but just pulled a drumstick out of her pocket and began to munch. “Grey matter,” she garbled to the now staring others. “So good.”

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March 4, 2020 · 7:58 am

penultimate?

When I stared over at White Elvis, I realized I had his hair and got rid of it. The older doo, not the younger one (pictured) here. But still — a reminder.

I am now more The Man(n) than ever.

I turned to red, white and blue Cpt. Americus downing yet another piece of yellow chicken from his magical, chicken piece producing bucket and ask him where it went all wrong.

He mentioned something about Wheeler f-ing things up. I didn’t know who Wheeler was. He said she was the ideal woman, the Venus Da Milo. I said, “*de* Milo.” He said, “whatever,” and chose a breast to eat next with his free hand.

I thought back to the story of lusty Jack the Mallard on Fruity Islands for some reason. Probably because I was looking for the same there. I must go back sometime. Eden…

As he kept vociferously munching and crunching, I considered I was dealing with a Southerner here. Hence the chicken. Hence the White Elvis; black nowhere to be found in this recording studio. No Lena Horned, for instance. No “Ballad of Stormy Daniels.” I then realized this could be the studio of Your Mama. This was *the* room. I decided to ask.

“Who’re you recording today, Cpt.?” I didn’t say the full name on purpose. I was testing how far I could go without falling back.

Cpt. Americus glanced into the studio, as if someone was there. “Oh, the usual. Local gal.”

“White, I assume,” The Man(n) wanted to say, but instead said, “good that you’re developing the local talent.” And then more information spouted from the Cpt.’s masticating mouth full of chicken. Disgusting. But – must – keep — digging. Further tonight.

“Yup,” he spoke. Then the girl returned from her break, beautiful in a black gown.

—–

I decided to go back tonight. The place (with the beach chairs) Da Womann and I sat and chatted and some other stuff was gone. Maybe it was all a dream? But the statues were still there. Adam and his Eve.

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