Tag Archives: Stumpy^*~~~~~~

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I must get down the continent to confer with Jeffrey Phillips and partner Man About time concerning the future of Collagesity. But I already see the writing in the cards. It won’t last. Collagesity is a place laden with collages, of course, but isn’t a proper archive. It’s where Baker Bloch *made* the collages, or helped inspire them as he hung each one individually in its gallery upon creation. That way he could better see the evolution of the series. But (this kind of) buck stops with the newest series called Picturetown. This is a *different* Jasper, not Illinois but Iowa. And this leads us to (the) Nautilus (continent) as a whole. We have our centering. But this centering could occur *anywhere* on the continent now. It doesn’t have to be between the two roads 13 and 14. It could be here — at Rooster’s Peninsula. Certainly there’s more neighbors around to give me energy.

The dancer, he remembers. The fox on the run. Jasper itself. Must see if she’s still there. But that’s the siren’s call again. The dancer who is the world.

I suppose I should go see if those curtains are still there on the slopes of Roost Peak. Could it spell curtains for… me? It brings me back to confusion on what exactly is the body, the neck and the body and the head attached to it. Maybe Stumpy could help (again), since he was able to reattach his own some time back. But first: curtains.

—–

Not there now.

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third angle

Cory watched the flames licking out the top of the building, thinking it didn’t have to be this hard. Why I could have blown the place up with my mind easily enough, he thought from his position at the corner of the sandbox. All I need is a pretty good night’s sleep (for energy). Indeed, most of the kids attending Paper-Soap school, merged since ’71, were psychic to a high degree. They didn’t need primitive *physics* to destroy anything. Claude Jr. was behind the times, but he was a robot after all, mere mechanoid. The other kids tried not to make fun of his clunky, nay *dense* ways of thinking, but it was difficult, being kids too after all and not having the moral compass of a fully mature adult. One of their “sloooow” projects in class, as they called it, was the atrophying of the swamp down in the town’s southwest corner. In fact, Cory’s study group had brought up the swamp from lake to sea back down to swamp a good number of times now, and recorded the reactions of the residents living around it. The kids were experimenting on the adults. The kids were in charge. As a sea it flooded the sewer tunnels. Dinah’s bartender Stumpy wondered why he could never get rid of the black mold in the bathroom down there. He ended up just having to derezz the thing.

“Can you point me to the restrooms,” a somewhat tipsy customer asked him in tomorrow’s today. “Just go in the sewer outside like everyone else,” he commanded, wondering if he should bring the issue up to the town council, a council also controlled by kids of course. Their powers were ever-present.

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visitors

“What’s your name, stranger?” Stu (today) Umbriel was checking out the new bar in town, this *Dinah’s*, switched from Moe’s. Moe wasn’t around any longer.

“You can just call me… Windmill Man.”

Stu looked over again with this, noted the propeller beanie on his balding skull. “Hmmm,” he thought internally. “Cool,” he said externally. “My aunt lived in a windmill.”

“So do I,” the stranger shot back, and took a long hard drink of his jungle juice produced by bartender Stumpy (hi Stumpy!) just seconds before, emptying the 1/2 coconut. “Next!” he called over to him, clanking the hollow object on the counter loudly. He didn’t even have time to wash his hands.

—–

A mysterious fern floated into town, hoping to take over someone’s mind.

No, not that one, although that’s also a fern and also floated into town. Just chance (insert nervous laugh). We’re talking about Fern Stalin, who came in on a Messenger Featherfloater from over in Brilliant, one of the most interesting rim islands of Maebaleia along with its twin of sorts: Mistery, the name a combination of mystery and misery. And it was! We should return.

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state of mind and body

The penultimate song of Mabel Montana’s set had just ended. Time now for her theme song. But first…

“Well, *that* was interesting,” Stumpy spoke over to Gotham, both high on something tonight of course. “I guess we know what Dinah and Moe hum together.”

“Shhh,” spoke Gotham over to his head friend. “Montana’s starting.”

“Yeah, errr, I know. She’s started singing again.” Even though it was just a hum in the beginning, a purposeful carryover by the alien Martian girl clad to the hilt in lime green garb.

“*No*. Just listen. I *know* this song.” She starts in earnest.

I might be movin’ to Montana soon
Just to raise me up a crop of
Dental Floss
Raisin’ it up
Waxen it down
In a little white box
I can sell uptown

Baker Bloch spoke over the music. “She’s really quite good, you know. In a karaoke kind of way.”

“You’re lucky I’m even talking to you again, lover boy,” Hucka Doobie said back.

“Another… drink guys?” Wheeler now, tending the bar.

“Make it a double,” the other woman at the bar said, scooting an empty glass toward her. “No, a *triple*.” She glanced at Baker again, a smirk still on his face. She wished she could just wipe that expression off his dead mug like a state from a map. Montana’s second verse began…

I’m pluckin’ the ol’ dennil floss
That’s growin’ on the prairie
Pluckin’ the floss!
I plucked all day an’ all nite an’ all afternoon
I’m ridin’ a small tiny hoss
His name is…

Mabel stopped singing, lowered the microphone. The music continued on without her.

“Mighty Little!” offered Gotham from the back, thinking she had forgotten the lines. “The horse’s name is…”

“I can’t do this,” she interrupted Gotham, who was just trying to help. Okay, helping but also a little pissed off that his buzz was being killed. He was grooving! “I’m going home.”

Baker turned to Hucka Doobie and also Wheeler. “What just happened here?”

“Duh,” spoke Wheeler. “It’s her brother. Big Little. The song reminded her of…”

“It’s Little Big,” said Hucka Doobie in yet another interruption. “Or Big comma Little; but we get the point.”

“See ya, guys. Sorry. Thanks for coming.” She walked across the tiger head one more time as Montana before it all went away.

(to be continued)

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zircon encrusted tweezers

Perhaps the Kidd Tower never should have been eradicated from this cozy corner of NWES City, Man About Time thinks while flying above it all again. It’s another “what if…”, but the Kidd Tower remains in Collagesity, on the *Nautilus* continent. Not here, though, in its more natural position on the Jeogeot continent which NWES City acts as a crown jewel of — was *suppose* to act that way. Now its Black Ice is being depopulated, victim of urban overbuild. But I still have Moe’s in Apple’s Orchard, he thinks. And Charlene still has her coffee bar down in Black Ice, and Stumpy still lives with fellow head Gotham above the record store there. Gotham, he realizes. A black person in Black Ice: exactly what I need. He knows where he must head next.

—–

“You’re not suppose to smoke it in your *nose*, you silly person,” he exclaimed as they lounged around in his and Stumpy’s apartment and partaking a bit before heading out to… where? Not much left in Black Ice except Charlene’s coffee bar. Gotham tells Man About Time this.

“Then let’s (*cough*), go to Collagesity. Mabel will be singing (*cough cough*) at the Montana Bar tonight.”

“Really?” said Gotham, use to strange pot talk and the lies it can surface. Blue over red, as Stumpy might explain it. Or something — he can’t remember the exact phrase he uses right this moment. Also something about octaves. And doctors.

“Yeah (*cough*).” Man About Time can hardly breathe now. He had to get out of here. It was foolish for him to toke, even if only through the nose. He was still high enough to fly. He could go back over to Apple’s Orchard right now and probably see the Kidd Tower there in that cozy corner, like it never left. He remembers that Mabel wasn’t singing tonight, and that the Montana Bar hadn’t been built yet. But it will. If other things line up as planned — dominoes. “Let’s, er (*cough cough cough*), go to my place over there instead.”

“What place? You don’t live *here*?”

Man About Time didn’t have breath to explain. He could only manage: “I’ll (*wheeze*) send-you-a-link,” which meant a teleport invite. He knew his apartment was home base — easy reach — and that he hadn’t changed it to the Blue Feather yet. Why would he?; he wasn’t ruler of Collagesity *yet*. Mabel’s dad wasn’t Billy Ray Cyrus — *yet*. Charlene the Punk wasn’t Fern the super-witch…”

“Link to where?” Gotham interjected, making Man About Time remember to teleport himself. But he ended up just falling asleep on the couch afterwards, forgetting about Gotham until the morning. He phoned him up.

“I was waiting here — *all* *night*,” Gotham protested about the disappearance and the missing invite.

“I’ll make it up to you,” came the mild reply. “Montana, I mean, Mabel is singing next week as it turns out. Everything lined up.”

—–

That night at Moe’s Bar:

“Stumpy. Where’d you get that poster?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Why?”

“Was Dinah, Moe’s…*wife*?”

They’d both find out at Mabel’s Montana gig.

(to be continued)

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We began again the next day…

“It’s Plan 2, Stumpy,” spoke Man About Time within Moe’s Bar over at NWES City. He’s decided to leave this footprint in the town; keep paying rent on it. “Black Ice is kaput.”

“Yeah, I know,” replies Stumpy the formerly headless bartender, hired only after he promised to get one. “We’ll have to think of ‘what ifs’ on that one.”

“What if…” MAT starts, “… I was recognized for being a world renowned artist.”

“What if…” Stumpy chips in, getting into the game himself, “… I remained headless and could still balance red wine and blue pot correctly.”

“What if…” MAT’s turn again. “All of this is a dream.”

“What if… I were actually dead instead of alive.”

“What if… Charlene were actually my girl instead of Jeffrey Phillips’.” MAT pauses here; Stumpy takes a good gander at him. “Because, you know, he’s dead and all.”

“Maybe *we’re* dead,” Stumpy doubles down. Were they still playing the game? “Do you, er, fancy her, Man About Time? You can tell me. I’m your no. 1 bartender after all. Remember, you hired me after I promised to get a head.”

“Ahead in life, yes. Which the job would give you. So: case closed; loop completed. You are here. You have a head.”

“Back to Charlene…”

—–

He sits for a while on the subway before he remembers it was never finished. He’ll have to walk. Another “what if,” then. What if… the subway system of town was finished and residents could more easily move from one sim to another. But to Black Ice and continue his pitches which are All Pitch. Maybe he should buy Barry DeBoy’s red baseball cap. Put it on backwards so he can tell the two apart. “I’m here,” he imagines saying to forward cap wearing Barry across from him on the train. “And you’re there.” But he was facing (transposed) the other way and couldn’t even see him. Reminds me of a certain Tiger we’ve viewed recently. Barry, I mean, MAT sits alone again. Then gets up. Because of the whole nonfunctioning part of the subway. He’ll have to walk to Black Ice. Surely he remembers how to walk — yes, one foot then another then another. Feets get moving!

(to be continued)

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Pro-PORCI Club

“Moe! I thought you were retired.”

“Nah, just decided to go back to my homeland,” he gruffed. “Us cartoons should stick together. Right Sandy?”

“It’s Willy (*hiccup* BURRRRRP!).”

“Right. Never can remember that.”

“How about me, big boy,” spoke Teacher Felicia Mae Appletree on the other side, ready for more action if needed. She hadn’t seen a banana (or lemon) she didn’t like yet. The blinking neon head of Homer loomed above it all. HOMR. Jeffrey Phillips decides to ask.

“Gus?”

“Moe,” Moe corrected.

“Right, Moe?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you mean Homeland? Or *Homer*land?”

Pause. “Why don’t you go see for yourself,” then came the answer. On cue, the music started next door, a Residents piece this time (“Walter Westinghouse”).

Homer was about to eat 12 boxes of 12 donuts live before a TV audience and then spray paint a pig and some other stupid stuff, so Moe said. “The kids eat it up,” he explains while Homer quickly downs his first, second, third…

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fuzzy navels

“What’s up, boss. I’m back, as you see.” Stumpy wanted MAT (Man About Time) to comment on his return, ask him what he’s been up to. Man About Time didn’t even know the formerly headless man went missing.

“Where’s Karl?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, hoss. He’s gone. So is Moe. I’m *back*.”

MAT tried to recall the bartender’s name. “You were… missing something.”

“My *head* is all. You almost didn’t hire me for the job because of it. Then Gotham came along and I became a head, almost the opposite. But then it all balanced out, thanks to the red, the wine. Red and blue coordinated. I’m back.”

“That… doesn’t make any sense.” Mild but to the point.

Stumpy began to wax philosophically, inspired by the pot dreams. “Life is a 3d movie, both red and blue. Stereoscop-ic. The trick is to see them *together*, make everything real around you. It’s tricky, yeah, but it’s worth it in the end. I’m 3d, you’re 3d. The bar is 3d. The new trailer park just over the street edge in front of the store is 3d…”

“Ahh yes, thanks. That’s what I came in for. I wanted to ask about renting a trailer, er, Stimpy. From Jim K. Polk.” The Man About Time then remembered he had already rented the trailer, already paid the last month’s rent, already cleaned out the premises and came here to find Stumpy back on the job. It’s like the Karl/Moe intermediate period never existed. He looked around the room. Another head should be here besides Stumpy’s and my own, he thought. But it was hit out of the ballpark, bruised and battered somewhere far over a left field fence.

Man About Time was worried about flipping around time because he was now the logical candidate to replace Baker Bloch once the blog protagonist moved on to the White Palace, which already might have occurred. Now that fellow candidate Jeffrie Phillips has left town with that cryptozoologist who hangs out down at Spunky’s. Where was Spunky anyway? I recall 2 people of that name in town, one small, red, and with horns. The other…”

“I see you’re still confused about time,” Stumpy spoke up, seeing the glazed look in MAT’s eyes.

“H-how long have you been back?” MAT managed.

“Just got back. Ask me where I’ve been. Buy a returned employee a drink why don’t you. I’ll buy you one and we’ll call it even.”

But then Stumpy forgot all about the experience in the Green Yarn sim as well, and his gig there. Gigi was always at the bar, but he doesn’t recall that either. He had the unfortunately experience of going into the 1898 room and falling asleep, replacing Jeffrie in the bed — another replacement for him. Stumpy stares at MAT, MAT stares at Stumpy. They suddenly realize one is as much of a mess as the other, unable to replace anybody, anywhere, any*thing*.

(to be continued)

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00240111

“First she met with Blue Thorn, who explained why he dropped the Rose along with the Thorn.”

“But he’s still ‘Thorn’,” replied [name removed to simplify].

“Right. I meant throne there.”

“Throne. Okay. That makes more sense.”

“And then the wars were brought up. The wars that are still going on now. The past is the present. At least in the Thorn Room.”

“And then Casey One Hole?”

“Yes, he showed up next. They’d moved to the bar by then. Or Tessa had. He has links all around.”

“He’s certainly ever-present,” responded [delete name].

“And then Stumpy, moved over here from Moe’s bar seemingly.”

“Who’s in charge of Moe’s now? [delete name] logically asked, being a [delete job title]. “Is it Moe again? I thought he was dead. Or maybe I’m just thinking he retired. Oh… Karl showed up… I remember now. Another 1/2 and 1/2 situation.”

“That are coming up more frequently.”

“1/2 and 1/2,” joked [delete name], to no laughter. Okay: 1/2 and 1/2 again. Baker chuckled a little bit.

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00240110

“Just a minute, Tessa, I’m watching Gigi (pause). Okay, she’s gone. Go ahead.”

“I’m trying to *simplify*, Stumpy. I’m trying to become punkish, I guess you could put it.”

“Like being stuck on the 4th side of a mid-70s art rock concept album, yeah. I get it.”

“‘What would Peter do?’ And that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I have some advice for you. I’m a good bartender like that.” He shifts from bartender pose 3 to bartender pose 2 to better explain.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Sorry. Just raising my elbows out from inside the counter. Right. Here’s my advice.”

(to be continued)

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