Tag Archives: Snowbob^*

zzz again

He finally figured out how to remove the giant acorn of a head. He was relieved to find his own head still within, or perhaps it just grew there, like a seed in a pod, ready to hatch forth at the right moment. He pulled and pulled and pulled and finally it was there. Fully formed, seemingly. But the bikini top and especially bottom with attached tail remained. That was part of the new body apparently, part of the assimilation. 2 Sandy’s in one now. One Piece Sandy again. He had (seemingly?) woken up, but not in a good way.

And to top it all off now,  he had big hands, like the greeter at the door of Bar FF. Odd name; he couldn’t think of what the initials could stand for. Probably something Japanese related, he realized. He couldn’t see the writing on the wall while staring down at monstrous appendages.

Sandy wasn’t alone at the bar. “I believe you know my father,” the 1/2 snow 1/2 sponge being spoke over.

—–

Snowbob’s *mother* Snowmanster exits the closet again, looks around. “Well *this* is different. Underwater, eh. And apparently I can breathe underwater, lucky me. Now to find Old Grey once… oh. There you are!”

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lighten up 03

Spongebub, through his new, lightened up picture, led me to this crosswalk in front of an apparently secret, or maybe not so secret, Illuminati center. After playing around, logically enough, with Illuminatus the God of Chaos and Destruction crossing the road in front of Annie Lee (hi Annie Lee!), I decided to go with Marty. He moved across this very same road back in photo-novel, um, 20, when I was still based in nearby Urqhart. To a bigger house — didn’t work out. It was simply too ugly for Marty to continue with his role in this location. The Urqhart (or thereabouts) version of Collagesity soon succumbed as well. Tower destroyed. So here’s the walking Marty version of the above picture.

Where’s he going? Is that still beer he’s drinking or has it turned to lemonade (in the meantime)? Is it yellow still? Looks kinda green to me, a green-ish tint anyway. Snowbob must be around. Maybe Snowmanster too.

No, there’s Snowmanster crossing the road instead of Marty. He’s going to visit his son, Snowbob. *Sorry*, *she’s* going to visit *her* son.

“It’s about time we brought her back,” I can hear Spongebub say over in Iris. So let’s turn the camera around a bit, follow Snowmanster inside, and see what we have…

And I think I’ll go with Marty instead of Snowmanster here after all. He may be meeting Harrison Jett instead of the latter meeting… well, let’s just have a look.

Turns out Marty is meeting Snowbob, jees. Wonder what *they’ll* have to talk about? Can we tune in? Maybe we need a translator.

“He SAID, he’s LYKEN it!!”

Must be talking about the picture Marty brought with him, hmm.

“Bring it in my OFFICE!! And we’ll see how it works THERE!!”

Okay, you can stop now.

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Hearts 02

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She was back at Cry I. but underwater now. Down to a putter: end of hole.

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This was the night she met Dr. Low with red and blue eyes. Splitsville.

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But first… some lemonade at the conveniently placed Joker’s Wild bar to her left. Old Grey awaits through the Red Door.

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—–

“Guess it’s time for that heart to heart, Old Mabel,” she starts. “Lemonade’s on me tonight. Karl!” she then yells, banging her cane on the bar counter. She waits just a second and bangs again. “Rhoda! Whoever!”

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“Oh it’s you. ‘Bout time. Well… a 24 oz can of Pabst Blue Ribbon for me and the little lady will have a lemonade. Start a tab.”

“I’m 113 years old, *Old* Grey,” the Martian proclaims defiantly. She then glared at Snowbob behind the counter. The last time she saw the hybrid being was in the mystery cabinet or closet or whatever. She didn’t really like what was happening there, but perhaps it was all a dream.

“Yellow is missing,” he said, staring back. “Replaced by green!”

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“He’s right this time, you know,” agreed Old Grey. The Martian now noticed the lemonade already in front of him.

Splitsville.

—–

Snowmanster exits the closet.

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Bogota 08?

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“It’s a shame about Snowbob’s mother. Surely he knows, along with the father.”

“They know that she’s on assignment in Corsica, Old Mabel, and something has happened. Mr. Owens just came from Corsica and the sim in question.”

“I did. I just got information that I may not be returning,” spoke the chef/detective. “The filly I was tailing got wind of my investigation and set sail in the middle of the night. I may be staying here a bit longer than I planned. But the new mystery has got its claws in me now. It’s that book.” He pulled the stained slip of paper out of his pocket and opened it in Baker Bloch’s direction. “Pill,” he repeated. Baker Bloch could clearly see the word. It was the third time he had shown it to him. Yes, his interest was certainly piqued. “In the wine,” he added. “Wine,” he emphasized.

“Yeah, we’ve known something odd was going on (in that direction) for a long, long time Mr. Owens — Kenny. I might as well start calling you Kenny since you may be staying with us a while. The main question for now is: why did the giant female show up in the middle of the sim in question and play a game of roshambo with the tiny Minoan who is now Old Mabel’s good friend? Then why did that somehow open up a door or window or something into the place beside the motel you were staying in and allow (us) a glimpse into the firey death of Snowbob’s poor mother caused by this Jerome fellow? Who is Jerome T. Newton? He’s obviously a killer. Then there’s the burnt-to-a-crisp cow across Robin Lane.”

“I’ll talk with the giant,” said Old Mabel, sitting on the floor between the two and still staring up at the newest Bogota collage, at its central Snowmanster and what might have been. Christmas. “She’s got a name, by the way: Brenda. Jiff — the tiny Minoan you speak of — and Brenda are friends.” More than friends she almost said, but decided not to reveal that whole story yet. So big and so small. How does that work? she asked herself yet again.

Kenny yawned and stretched his arms. “I guess I better head back over to Collagesity North and get some shut eye now; have to get up early for the interviews with Snowbob and his father. ‘Preciate you showing me around the galleries tonight. Weird I’m in them. I know more. I must digest.”

Goodnights all around after that, with Baker Bloch and Old Mabel remaining in front of the newly hung Bogota 08 as Kenny teleports downstairs.

“He knows too much,” said Baker to the Martian.

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What might have been.

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Red Read

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“Father, when will mother be joining us?” asked Snowbob the man-child.

“Corsica,” indicated the father. “Corsica, Corsica, Corsica!”

“She’s not going to be here anytime soon. Is she?” The father doesn’t answer this time. Both stare blankly into space.

Snowbob is beginning to theorized his family won’t be staying in Collagesity long. The house payment hasn’t gone through yet. Their furniture is still in storage. Even though he manged to get the main gate to the property open yesterday, there was still some kind of invisible barrier that he had to jump over to come inside — a sign. And his father’s skin had turned from yellow to green. A mysterious malady, because he seems perfectly normal. But Snowbob keeps recheckeding his father’s outfit list behind him. Always green skin instead of the previous yellow. Yellow is missing. Yellow is missing!

—–

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I’ve got to solve this case so I can get out of here! thought Owens, wearing the mantle of private detective now.

Tired of staring at roshambo images, he sat down at The Table and enjoyed more leftover wine from the diner. By this time he was drinking straight from the bottle. “Reading anything interesting?” he asked Curled Paper across from him, trying to start up a conversation once more. “‘Winesap’? Sounds intriguing.” But Curled Paper still said nothing (his light was off). Paper, he then thought. Curled Paper. Another clue?

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“I wonder where The Librarian went?” he tried again. “He always seems to be here, sitting.”

“Bathroom break, let’s say,” then uttered Tin S. Man in his low voice from the left. “It takes him a while.” Owens had forgotten the metal being was alive. Someone to talk to while he drinks. Nice!

“Well, er… what do I call you?” He squinted up at the giant’s kind face.

“Tin S., please. Like the game. Like the sport. It’s always love something for me. My ego and aggression are always zeroed out.”

“Well that’s fascinating, Tin S.,” Owens spoke while taking another sip of wine from his bottle. “So rude,” he then said of himself, lifting the bottle toward Tin S. Man. “Want any?”

“I cannot drink wine, only oil. Wine makes me tipsy. When I fall down, I cannot get up because of my massive weight. Only oil please. Do you have a bottle of oil?”

“Not on me, no. Maybe later. Listen, Tin. S., how did you get here? I mean, why are you at The Table along with the others? Old Mabel mentioned you were a famous musician inside that outer casing. Dave something. Davis?”

“Davies,” corrected Tin S. Man. “That is a true inner form, yes.” He paused.

“What’s the purpose of all this?”

Tin S. Man moved his joints slightly, then asked a question back: “What do you know of our user?”

“I know that Baker Bloch is the main channel for the user who goes by the same name.”

“Baker B., close enough,” said Tin S. Man.

“And… um, I guess The Table, as far as I understand, represents a gathering of variants, mainly musicians like yourself, who have, er, *donated* their work to a greater whole. This Table.” He then knocks on The Table to reinforce his answer.

“Are you staying in town long enough to attend the next Table meeting?” asked Tin S. Man.

“I *hope* not,” returned Owens. He needed to get back to the roshambo images. Something about that yellow hand. Paper. Switch. He pulled the little, wine stained slip of paper from his coat pocket and read it again. This is the one found in Baker Bloch’s own wine. “Pill” is all it said.

“Reading anything interesting?” The giant smiles.

—–

Meanwhile, over at the Red Umbrella…

That’s him alright. Owens.”

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“And over in Boos as well,” added Old Mabel.

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Paper.

It was night again. Jerome’s time. Seats were still cold and warm. Icy fire.

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“Let’s take you somewhere and put you to work, Mr. Author — Mr. Detective. How about Perch, hmm? Wait… that’s currently closed for ceiling repairs. Blue Feather it is!”

—–

(meal joined in progess)

“I can’t eat another single shrimp, Baker Bloch, despite it being on the house. I wonder if our waiter would enjoy taking it home with him. Oh, this must be the chef.”

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“I’m so sorry about the paper in your wine,” he began, hands wringing. “I hope you are enjoying the free extra food and drink. Anything else we can get you here at the Blue Feather? Anything at all.”

Baker Blinker looked him over from head to foot, noticing a small red stain on the right pocket of his rather rumpled coat. “We’re fine, Mr. — what’s your name again? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“I’m new,” he replied. “I’m Mr. Owens. Amateur chef by day, professional sleuth by night. Here’s my business card.” He reached into his right pocket, hesitated and perhaps turned slightly red (?), then switched hands to procure the promised paper from the left.

“Cool,” responded Baker Blinker, taking the card. “Interesting first name.”

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“It’s Irish. Call me Kenny. I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your dinner. Your waiter Andrew will return in just a moment to check on you. Have a nice remainder of the evening.”

“Thank you,” said Baker Blinker, nodding at him.

“Yes, thanks,” added Baker Bloch.

—–

15 minutes later…

“Did you make the switch?” asked a fidgety Newton back in Collagesity North again.

“Yeah,” responded the declared chef/detective. “Can I go home now?”

“Not quite.”

A cow suddenly burst into flames across Robin Lane.

(to be continued)

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Experiments in Soulcatching, 01

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Arnold and Betsy Layne.

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Rock?

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—-

“So this is the new spotlight.”

Baker Bloch exclaimed yes (!) to Baker Blinker.

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“Can you turn it off without deleting the prim?” she asked, becoming blinded.

“Make yourself headless,” requested Baker Bloch.

“What?”

“Just do it. For a moment.”

“Alright, weird-o. Hold on. Give me a moment to rummage through my inventory.”

“Hold on,” said Baker Bloch as well. “I’ll just give you mine.”

“Oh,” spoke Baker Blinker, observing the added inventory. She showed and wore.

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“Interesting. Not there yet.”

“Not where yet?” asked a confused Baker Blinker.

“The Neighbors. Spongebub and Snowmanster and their man-child. Spongemanster?”

“Snowbob?” corrected Baker Blinker. “The new guy at The Table?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Which we’re actually here to talk about.” She paused; restored herself. “You start.”

“No you,” he insisted.

“Together, then. 1,2,”

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Yellow Down?

“We are both sitting demons at The Table now,” stated Wheeler. “You can speak freely here fiend, er friend.”

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“M-my father’s perfectly yellow skin turned to green in an instant!” gasped Snowbob.

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“But… he’s still yellow,” Wheeler said, looking over.

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“I *know*.”

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