Tag Archives: Sven Felton^*

January 14, 2023 · 7:42 pm

Redtown

And so, only weighed down by the sand he had to tote along to make it all work, Santman’s career took off, at first rather slow and bumpy but then speeding up as more sand was dropped, symbol of a heavy past — poor as piss-ants they were in the day. Killer of children and babies alike no more. He had achieved Heaven on Earth. And the money certainly wasn’t bad either. Bought his first town over in Montana or Kentucky back in ’68, just before the Robolution that kind of snuffed deals like that out for a while, another type of death. But he personally made it through without having to change into a mechanoid. He figured all those other assimilations gave him some kind of immunity virus.

First he took over New Years Day — easy one. Then he set his eyes on Thanksgiving — about ’96 for that assimilation. Then Valentines Day. Then… Halloween. That was tougher. Had to fend off a lot of upset ghouls and goblins for that one. Then St. Patricks Day. The snakes the snakes. But he made it through with his patented snake popper, as he marketed it later, becomes a saint himself, a replacement one. Good.

Only one really significant holiday stood in his way after that. 4th of Juli, America itself. The Battle of Christmas vs. America begins.

Oh, he thinks in the moment, reviewing his past glory. Forgot about Easter! Dang Peter Rabbit, dang Donnie Darko. Yes America’s transformation into a full holiday state will have to be delayed until he figures that all out. Christmas vs. Easter instead. Red-green vs. blue-yellow, echoes of the Trojan-Durexian Wars creeping in. Perhaps this is even an extension.

(to be continued)

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January 14, 2023 · 10:34 am

00360503: the birth of Santman

“Now this is what’s so fascinating to me,” spoke Baker Bloch, taking over his father’s talk show business. Just until he mends from that broken hip. Should be off the crutches in another day or 3. “So let’s review: you moved from behind the camera to in front because Ricky Cargo got shot in the head with a real bunch of lead — no death here!” he shouts toward the audience, which got a roar. “And so you played in ‘I Love Lucifer’, for 6 years as the male lead — didn’t say lead!” More laughs. “Then you quit that show after they moved the location from the city to the country (Sandman nods here with a soft “um hum”), then you decided to get that age operation to better exploit your chances in the then lucrative child acting business.”

“More money, uh huh. After you subtract all the cost of living stuff, the houses, the pools and cars and, let’s see, women I suppose. Women of the night.” He laughs a bit here and the audience too. They’re still with him. They’ve bought into this whole story. Baker Bloch almost has as much talent in the build up as his father. But still he hopes he gets well soon and returns.

“Let’s see, the next job is then little Richie Pettry in the ‘Dick van Duck Comedy Special’. Aired on CBS for 3 years.”

“Four. Counting the Christmas season. Ran for 6 episodes actually.”

“And I believe that’s the first Christmas season in television history.”

“Television *comedy* history. There was always Bing Cosby.”

“Right, forgot,” exclaims Baker Bloch. “But that started the whole Santa thing. Tell me about that — I know we’re getting off-topic again but the story is fascinating. We’ll return to the child acting soon.”

“Well, that was part of it. At Christmas a child needs, what? A Santa. To sit on his lap, tell him what he or she wants for Christmas.” He gestures placing an imaginary child on his knee during this.

“We all know that *now*. But back then — brand new! You invented the holidays, Sandman. Have you ever thought about that?”

“Well… I can’t take credit for St. Patrick.” Laughs from the audience. He stares out at them lovingly, knows they’ve footed the bills for his many yachts and mansions down through the years.

“Okay,” says Bloch. “Let me cut to the chase — Tommy’s telling me we need to go to a commercial break.”

“I sat on his lap,” says Sandman, getting the core of it. “I… told him… I wanted a duck for Christmas.” Chuckles from the audience, most of them not even paid studio laughers by this point. “I wanted to *be* a Duck (dramatic pause). So he ate me.” Stares even wider eyed at the audience, who have lost it. Everyone knows the story. It made broadcast history.

(to be continued)

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August 30, 2020 · 9:32 am

N-W-E-S

I knew Rock Ramby lived or at least *sat* in the cabin at the center of this circle of railroad in a forest grove of huge trees of his design. Or so he claimed. I knew that Gill Alex lived here as well, his Vain and Artery Boy that Santa-like Sven, who runs a packing industry over in nearby Misty Mountains, delivers a fresh supply of every now and then, always a happy moment for Rock. He likes his boy mate to be rock hard and real seeming, veins and arteries popping out in the right locations and correct hemispheres.

Then I knew that Blue Berry Girl, also from the Misty Mountains and maybe even the same as Sven in some mysterious way, came to Rock’s place, and, Wonka-like, shed her spherical blueberry encasement while crossing the RR track to enter the cabin. The dog at the house seemed to know her after the blue sphere disappeared, but earlier we understood this was Rock’s canine. So who lives here, Rock or Blue Berry Girl? And why did Rock’s fair haired mate and Blue Berry Girl later conjoin at NWES City at that ill-fated meeting hosted by Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, ending with his death at the hands of, um, I believe her name was — yes — Lu Ellen Hutchinson? Or Hutchison. Why did Baumbeer take the green seat of the 4 after yellow topped Vain and Artery Boy, later Gill Alex, took the yellow seat, Blue Berry Girl, sans exterior sphere by this time, took the blue seat opposite him, and red hatted Lu Ellen sat down in the red one opposite Baumbeer’s, gunns ready to be pulled at the right or correct moment? Ka-POW!! POW POW!! *POP* POW!! Meeting adjourned.

My current theory about all this is that Gill Alex, Vain and Artery Boy if you will, is the same as Blue Berry Girl — they are part of one entity. Likewise for fellow opposites Lu Ellen and Dr. Baumbeer sitting around this same, four-square circle. And then the two pairs also correspond in a higher manner. This is one entity masquerading — if you will — as 4 separate entities. Each of the 4 represent an aspect of the 1. A great 4n1 or 4orrin1 or Foreign One. If you will.

But who is in the center, then? The actual person behind the people? Or meeples? Is it TILE? Is it the River or Riiii-ver? 12 square tiles linked from source to mouth, a complete stream to start the game like beginning Crosby progresses to ending Young through middlings Stills and Nash? TILE update with thieving or crooked red fishermen (and/or farmers) included?

Dr. Baumbeer might have been murdered because he was the only one who retained the knowledge of the 4n1 or 4orrin1 or Foreign One. He might have been the same as green toned Bullfrog, who a little earlier, had killed Lu Ellen’s father. If so, this seems like a revenge killing pure and simple but is actually more. This was the elimination or eradication or hiding of a certain type of truth, a central core. It seems meaningful that the red one did the shooting with the gunns: Lu Ellen Hutchison played by mediocre actor Alice Frame, who also stars in the current production as similarly red topped Wendy. Character-actor Sandy Beech is recruiting her hard for The Twins’ production, some kind of remake of “The Shining” or something, perhaps involving decisions made at crossroads. But the warm and fuzzy atmosphere of “Burger Wars” still represents a lure for Alice despite all the linden dollars being thrown around.

(to be continued)

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May 4, 2019 · 5:13 am

granted 04

Rock Ramby sure knows about trees and plants, thought Allen Y., listening in for the second hour now as the muscular dude babbled on. “The redwoods are a hybrid clone,” he was currently saying. “I got dwarves as well. I created all and everything on this sim,” he reinforced again. “Horses too.”

“Tricksy?” Allen ventured while scratching his chin, testing the water.

“That a horse name?” he came back. “Doesn’t sound like one.”

“Yeah, that’s the one I mentioned meeting on the way over here. All the way back at the first of our, er, conversation.” A long, long way back, he thought to himself. And he hasn’t mentioned this mysterious Hitchcock in a long time either.

“Mirabel,” corrected Rock. “A transer, yeah. Tricksy could have been it.”

“That’s what she said,” Allen held firm. Blasted know-it-all. In truth, Allen Y. had become weary of the chatter about 20 minutes in. He’d heard enough blowhards back on his home planet of Elven.

Just then, what appeared to be jingle bells sounded outside the cabin, breaking the banter. “Cool,” Rock Ramby then beamed. “Sven’s back. Runs a packing industry over in Meat City Misty Mountain, you know. Let’s take a look.” Rock springs up from the chair on his powerful legs and moves toward the front door. He draws his knife just in case. Less spry Allen Y. stands and follows; peers through the opening behind him.

“More veins and arteries for your boy, Rock,” called Sven merrily, landing just behind the circular train track. He threw a bowed package in his direction, which Rock deftly caught, knife still in hand. “Schweet,” he yelped. “Thanks Santa!”

“Sven, please. Merry, um, Something!” he shouted as his jingling reindeer lifted him and his heavily packed sleigh back into the sky. “Merry Something to All!”

Shuffling behind Allen Y. as he watched the sleigh recede. He turned. “I heard my name,” issued a Zeus-like voice.

Where the hell have *you* been hiding? the yellow alien thought.

(to be continued)

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April 23, 2019 · 4:08 pm

town City >

I’ve got to text Baker to come find me and get me. But what year is it? 2020? 1920? If the latter, then Septimius might be of aid. If the former, then Baker alone.

She looks down at her spacesuit like garb; realizes it has to be the former.

Unless we had children, she ponders further. Grandchildren. She searches for Wallytown + Septimius. Name is probably archaic but it’s worth a try.

She studies the search results. No Septimius. On a hunch, she tries Seppy. No luck again. Then Sep. Sep Felton. Ah ha. 8 hits down. Sep Felton. 128 Wall Lane. Number: 882-226-4371. She dials through her notebook.

“Hello?” Female voice — Wheeler was thinking male.

“Hi. Is this Sep? Sep Felton?”

“Yes?”

Wheeler decides what to say. “I’ve been looking up possible relatives in the area. My name is Felton as well. By marriage.”

“Well, that’s interesting. I only know of 1 other Felton, and he’s over in Meat City. Runs a small packing industry. No relation, though.” The voice was pleasant, inviting.

“I was wondering… could we meet sometime today? Or tomorrow perhaps? I’m only in town the two days. Today would be preferable.” Wheeler was thinking: it better be today. I’m ready to get the heck out of Dodge!

“I get off work at 5. How about 6? Bar Lemon is a popular place to meet. Dancers there as well. We can chat before the entertainment. Molly, one of the dancers, is a good friend of mine. She can get us a good deal on drinks.”

How strange, thought Wheeler. Of all the places. Does she know as well?? “Swell,” she answered. “See you in a couple of hours.”

“Thanks. It will be nice to compare family trees. See if we’re actually related. Perhaps you’re instead related to Sven over in Meat City. Or perhaps — I’ve often wondered this too — there’s a missing link between the 2 Feltons. We would be so isolated otherwise. Perhaps we can figure it out together. That would be nifty.”

A little chatty, thought Wheeler. But otherwise: quite nice. Pleasant — that’s important. No nasal in her voice. “Super. I’d like to see the dancers.” It was a hobby of Wheeler’s as well. So many dances in the world. So many more to learn.

“That’s wonderful. I’m a dancer too, but not professionally like Molly. Just amateur stuff.”

Queer again, thought Wheeler. Just like me once more. But enough talk for now. “Goodbye. I’m looking forward to it.” She touches the phone symbol on the notebook, making it turn from green to red. Disconnected. But later, perhaps connected in a much more meaningful and deeper way. Love.

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