Tag Archives: Tank Ferguson^*======+++

mountain majesties

In the southeast corner of Sandman’s sim, where its lone tunnel winds through we just saw that chopper exit from, exists what some call the Purple Uplands, or Uplands anyway, its landscape dominated by 4 same sized, purple banded, hexagonal towers which move up and  down through slotted holes in unpredictable patterns. Some say The Void lives here, and indeed I was able to find her/him/it easily enough in a mine located beside the corner-most moving tower. Snow covered, it appeared — I believe the only object here so adorned. A bit of winter in an otherwise hot desert land. Conifer trees instead of palms.

Okay, a couple of oaks here in additional to firs, and maybe the snow is just different shading on chopped wood. But the indication still stands I believe. This is one a-hole of a place, cold as Uranus in comparison with the rest. Shelley walks inside…

She stands before it now, walking around it, examining every side and corner. A big red button is the only marked thing on its surface, much like a New Mexican police intercom has such to call in the military when needed. Like we saw conspiracy theory mongerer Tank Bazooka use earlier in Lordsburg vis-à-vis Hucka Doobie aka (or so they say) pop/surrealist artist Charles Nelson Blinkerton, returned from the dead and inhabiting her old 102 hotel room on the strip. He felt like he was in over his head on that one — again.

Knowing something needed to be done in additional to what already had been, she presses it. Sirens fill the air.

(to be continued)

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small European counties

Barry Deboy made simple collage-photos about it later:

“No luck, chief,” Officer Blair spoke over the police radio. “We’re sitting right outside 102 — been here for about (checks his watch), 17 hundred hours.”

“Since 7 this morning,” chipped in Officer Doublebush riding shotgun, simplifying Blair’s language as usual. Blair continued. “If that old scoundrel Charles Nelson Blinkerton is here, then it’s like he disappeared into thin air. Over.”

“Roger that,” replied the chief. “Keep… your position. Over.” Lt. Tank Bazooka had made a decision. The military needs to be called in. Hesitating only slightly, he punches the big red button on his intercom to start the process.

—–

“Wonder what kind of conspiracy theory Tank roped us into this time, ha ha.”

“UFO’s?” also laughed Officer Gore, riding shotgun. “Portals out the desert?”

“Shakespeare, pheh,” said Officer Chamberlain to this. “And now a surrealist painter come back to life.”

“Pop,” said Gore. “Pop artist. Like Luxemborg.” He meant Lichtenstein of course. Or did he?

(to be continued)

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root of the problem

He found her in a town full of bigots and zombies on the other side of the wall, a mere apple’s toss from where he was before. Annaball or Annabell, the pretty, white, raspberry beret wearing woman of the night who was dating that [black guy] who just broke into town one day, stole all its dignity. She had ambitions, she did. The hooker aspect was just to tide her over until her *real* dreams kicked in. Plus she really wasn’t a hooker; they just hung that tag on her back because of the incident in the alley and it stuck. A lot of things get stuck in this town of 9 that can’t quite reach 10, however hard it might try at times (try 3.16 instead of 3). “And to think she use to teach our children!” exclaimed one when learning about the alley. “Abhorrent,” hissed the other sitting across from the first, still below the TILE colored lights where green mysteriously switches with yellow at times, another round and round situation. If only the carousel could stop. We have to get off.

“‘Nautilus,’ she said to me (he relayed later on to the proper authorities). ‘I have to get back to Nautilus.'”

“And you just let her *go*?”

“I didn’t… have any choice.”

“Dot dot dot,” the authority figure chided. “It’s always dot dot dot for you lot. You’re as bad as her,” he finalized, spiked helmet secured on zombie head with a dead leather strap. Or so they say.

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this town (no breakthrough)

Stuck on a mountain, Norris waits for the train to stop and pick him up. Problem is, he himself is the train, the trees, the mountain. This is plainly displayed for others to see.

Duncan Avocado confidently enters the store, noting the colored writing on the wall.

He spies what he wants on the top shelf. “I’ll take, let’s see, the policeman, the fireman, and that, um, Star Trek military robot I believe, Rootitooti or something.” He wanted to own them all, practically the entire public safety force.

“5 bucks,” she said so softly he asked her to repeat the price, which she did even fainter. He never got the cost; the train kept spinning and spinning round the small granite summit like a carousel.

One day…

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lines

The Sun and Moon seem to be moving very fast in this town.

“I thought I’d come talk to you first, Marilyn, clarify some stuff about your angle in this, ahem, evolving story. We have bigots in town, we have zombies, probably all wearing spiked or non-spiked helmets. Like that policeman who keeps eyeing me all around town.”

She wanted to say Tank but held back. And Bazooka — Bazooka was his dad, and, as former captain of the force back in the good ol’ days, the one who wore the spiked helmet. Tank: just a bright blue cap. Put him in the bigot category.

Then she remembered the slip of paper in her jeans pocket, the one she was suppose to pull out in case she got stuck. She pulled, she read. “Moms, don’t let your boys grow up to be Dimmy Jean.”

Silence. Was that helpful? she pondered, staring into his watery eyes. Was he… crying?

—–

Dimmy wipes the counter down nervously, thinking that 1/2 the people in the room are watching him and half aren’t. But he doesn’t know which. He tries to determine friend from foe through the caps and helmets but all the lines get blurred together. He’s lost it. He needs to go home but he doesn’t even know where that is any more. Home is here I suppose, he says to himself. He pours two shots of Jack Daniels, one for the raccoon man and one for himself. “Here’s to home,” he proclaims while raising his glass, resigned to the fact. Over in one gulp, he pours another while 1/2 the room still eyes him.

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spikey

“We’ve got to keep an eye out on that [black guy] walking over there, Virus.”

“Rrrrrrr–rough!”

“Good boy.

—–

“Just black and white,” The Mann determined about some lips in another 0117 post to end. “No pink.”

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found

“Boy I sure love these new mesh chairs the chief got us, dad.”

“Yes, certainly helps with the ailing back and neck, son.”

—–

“I’m here to file a report about a missing town,” spoke Ben Wolf, towering in his good looks.

Bazooka, the elder of the two policemen, indicates a seat beside the bloodied werewolf in the background. “Take a ticket,” he says, and then laughs at his son about the duplicity.

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home

“Officer Ferguson’s just here to ask you a couple of questions, pumpkin.”

“Da-ddy! Don’t call me that.” She indicated her pink outfit. “Wrong color!”

“Oh, this won’t take but a second of your time, me laddie,” interrupted Tank Ferguson, uncomfortable with talking about colored people. “We’re just here to discuss your visit to the old Perch place from the other day. We suspect — an unrendering of volume.”

The Man — playing Pink’s daddy in the current scene — gasped from his corner, but the gesture was a forgery. Fooled Tank, though, which was the important thing in the moment. “You *didn’t*,” he exclaimed to his little pink girl. “So… you saw the Big Inside,” he further rationalized. He turned to Officer Ferguson. “I *promise* Tank, that this will *never* happen again. I’ll — well I’ll never let her out of the house again!”

“Da-ddy,” Marsha “Pink” Krakow offered quieter now. “It was just a one time thing. We didn’t *go* inside… the, you know, Big Inside. We just looked at it, peered in just a bit. Peeked in, ahem.” Marsha “Pink” Krakow knew she had slipped up with the mention of a “peak”. Tank Ferguson, who majored in psychology before switching to criminal justice just before what would have been his senior year, caught the Fraudian slip. Pink’s face started turning beet red. Tank pivoted toward The Man. “I think we know what’s going on now.”

“We *do*?” he sputtered, but also knowing full well what was going on just beneath the surface slippage.

“I’m going to verify it with that SEAN child who lives down on Arnold Lane and then Olive Green, if she’s returned from the monastery.”

“You’ll never find her,” boldly responded Pink to the officer, in full defense mode now. “She’ll always be hiding just outside your grasp.”

“Oh I think I know where I can *find* her,” retorted Officer Tank Ferguson, smug look appearing on his face. He stared at The Man again. “Just so happens *I* have a daddy involved as well.”

“Bazooka?” shot back The Man, truly thinking the old geezer was dead in his grave. He’d been away too long.

(to be continued?)

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