Tag Archives: Tom Banks^*+!

August 31, 2023 · 6:32 am

00390609

It was time for Marsha Pink Krakow to show Tammy Beige Brown the way out of this world, to see down on it all. “Over here!” she called, not worrying about the vile photography/calligraphy teacher hearing. “Quick! Climb behind me! Just sit on the thread and go go go go go!”

She got on just in the nick of time. Shelley the kid was already waiting at the top. Tammy was about to get initiated into the most exclusive club in all of Storybrook in all of its room-like forms.

At the top, Marsha cuts the cord (disables the climbing scripts) before Banks can figure out how to follow. They are above and he is below. Safe at New Home, but trapped. Only Bart the missing yellow can help. But Marsha knew this too, if only unconsciously. Or maybe consciously — we’ll see.

(to be continued)

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August 30, 2023 · 9:25 am

baddest Brown in the whole damn town

He came into the place and offered his services, saying he was the best in his business. The big boss asks, of what? Cartooning? Yes, that was it, precisely the job Leroy needed to fill. When big Jim *L.* Brown left several years later with his budding comic strip mega-franchise in tow, he took his name and also called the paper that because of the growing fame. “Brownsville Herald” it became from that point on. He: Leroy Brown. There was no other at the time so he was both the best and worst, you see. He could use both descriptions but chose the latter for street cred. Another employee named Jim Crochet Wedding Dress walks into a church and pens a famous song about the decision, expertly marrying word with tune in what turned out to be a long standing relationship indeed, enabling him to quit the roller coaster gig (see: 00390508 exactly one section ago) and work for another as well. Leroy was losing employees good and bad right and left. He needed fresh faces.

Just age eligible Tammy Beige Brown walks over from Home to apply for the post she heard through the grapevine (thanks Raisins!). That *name*, thinks Leroy when she introduced herself and her 3 monikers. She *must* be the new star!

—–

Tammy wished she’d never put away the canvas in favor of the camera. “Tom Banks at your service,” the company man introduced himself on top of the Brown part of the paper. “I’m here for the shoot.” She gasped as he raised his arm in greeting — old, forgotten memories kicking in — which made him laugh, certainly inappropriate for the scene, Tammy felt. Her palms were sweating, her face was twitching in the nervousness. Continued snickering. The laugh of one with no soul.

“Relax, child, I’m only the photographer,” and then remembered to add calligrapher as he moved toward her to prepare.

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August 29, 2023 · 10:17 pm

there is no Steamboat Kelly, only Leroy

She looks over at the back of Pumpkinhead and thinks: Pumpkin*ass* is more like it, pleased that she doesn’t have such a big rump. She turns her attention back to Tammy, focuses in on the information she is blabbering on and on about. Brownsvile. Cleveland. Steamboat. Marsha gathered she’d heard or learned something in childhood that didn’t hold a bit of water when she grew up, except for the fact there was a Steamboat Springs in Colorado in the same state as a conjunction of Leroy and Kelly, albeit in a county pretty far away in a pretty big state still. Tiny places, perhaps extinct. Couldn’t have been a factor in the mistake. Not *consciously*. “Tell me more about the Browns in Maps,” she decides to say in a pause. “How about that place called Brown’s Bench you mentioned earlier,” she starts her out on about the spot she lost the train of thought — started thinking about rumps. Rumpus Ridge, big ball of twine — LOST. What did it all mean? Oh, shoot, there she goes again. “I’m sorry, Tammy, I was blanking out again — nothing to do with your *excellent* subject. It’s just…,” and here Tammy begins again without warning, without waiting for an explanation from Marsha Pink Krakow on what she was thinking in her own head. Tammy was talking hers out loud per usual. She: more internal, thoughtful. She heard Bench and then Rose. “Biding his time, hmm,” she says about what she thought she just heard.

Leroy Kelly was a star running back for the Cleveland Browns in the late 60s and early 70s. But he had to wait for the retirement of Cleveland’s greatest star ever before he too could shine — not as brightly of course, because we’re talking about the one and only *Jim* Brown, perhaps the greatest football player of all time never mind greatest runner. Certainly most Ohioans would agree to this, Clevelanders or otherwise. Leroy had to sit on the bench, bide his time until the greater star’s early retirement at the age of 30, shocking the sports world, since he was still on top of his game, it seemed.

I’m going to find them, he thought outside, not being able to see thru walls yet. He *senses* them, and they probably do him as well, at least Marsha does, being more open to those kind of things. If they per chance lock eyes it could be over. Safe at home for now, though.

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August 27, 2023 · 8:59 am

00390602

Despite being 2 1/2 years removed from the event, she still kept her clothes on in what they called the big bathroom, seen here taking a bath instead of her usual shower, just to mix things up. Her everpresent pink shirt and pants dry quick enough, plus she’s more concerned at this location today about properly cleaning and grooming her head and lower extremities than parts in-between, what with handy items she could rez through the sink like a cordless hairdryer (seen above) and leg razor (see below). She could deal with the rest later in the smaller, private bathroom of the home she shares with 6 other people, including Shelley now, who just popped in one night after coming into Storybrook through the rat hole. Which they all did at one time, whether they remember it or not. Whether they *realize* it or not, Marsha Pink Krakow additionally thought. Conspiracies, pheh, she almost said aloud in disgust. Virgin birth, hmph. The things they teach you in church-school. And it’s within such stifling environments that a monster like Tom Banks could arise. Holding a rose when she first saw him. For Tammy.

Storybrook back then was a normal sized town with normal sized buildings and normal sized sinks and tubs. Before the coming of the map rat, who certainly had a tale to tell, a giant tale indeed. He stayed normal and the rest of them — us (she thinks) — shrank down. Done with the head now, down to the legs.

She was actually glad she had leg hair now because it meant she was growing up. Basically a full blown woman at 15 1/2. One-half more year and she can be on her own, away from the rest, away from Storybrook potentially. Because she had her plans all mapped out, damn the blocking rodent. She was going to walk right past the monster into the real, normal world again. Her new friend Shelley did it to get here, she can do the same to get out. Inspiration. But whether to take the girl with her becomes a new problem. Or fellow friends Lelia, Kellyya… even Tammy, since if they kind of cooked the idea up together that night in last May’s August, despite the smacking, sucking; she can’t hold those noises against her 3rd bestie formerly 1st bestie forever, although she could bump her down yet again in the friendship tier and replace her with Shelley. Seems so long ago now. The new girl and her fresh perspective has changed *everything*.

(to be continued)

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August 27, 2023 · 2:01 am

00390601

“I’ve actually been watching him for days,” spoke the kid version of Shelley Struthers over to Marsha “Pink” Krakow on the opposite side of the giant spoon, apparently a native of the land who’s experience many changes down through the years she’s lived here. “He’s scared to go back into his hole. The cat scares him. I think the crocogator scared him before and now that he’s gone he’s got this new adversary.”

“You’ve spoke about the 1/2 alligator 1/2 crocodile being previously,” replied Marsha to all this, thinking: could this be my new 4th best friend? Leaping over sweets addicted Tammy? Could be. She’ll put some sticky ass cinnamon buns before her asap and see how she handles them. And her resulting sticky fingers.

“‘He has no name that we know,'” said the younger of the two, but she was just quoting another person on the subject of monsters. She can’t recall who.

“Sat on a duck, huh?” said Marsha, reviewing earlier info on the creature. “Hmmm. I *know* where the ducks are, but they’re in a tub way up high. I skinny dipped for the first time up there. Mountain Lake we jokingly call it because of the height, the elevation. And I guess because of the attached waterfall.” She thinks back to Ben, Levi, Arthur, Lelia, Kellyya and Tammy having such a good time that night, all 7 of them. All paired up except her. Then came Tom Banks. The photography/calligraphy teacher at Storybrook school. Best to veer away from memories by this point. She focuses back on Shelley, on the ducks, on the at least *manifestation* of a monster on them. This could be… no, she can’t go there. But…

“I felt his eyes on me, then they weren’t.”

Man… it could be, Marsha then concludes.

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May 13, 2021 · 8:32 am

flagged

The first thing they saw was an angel heralding them in — or out. “Duncan is good,” said one to the other. “He knows what to see when it looks back at him.” The other didn’t respond, waiting for something better.

—–

“Ahh yes, that’s much better today Mrs. Fox,” says airport assistant vice manager for human interactions Stephan Spaceboy, checking the weight board.

“Miss,” she says. “Actually: Ms.”

“As you wish, *Ms.* Fox. Now. What can I do you for?” Stephan taps his foot nervously against the floor under the desk. Return visits by avatars usually mean trouble. It means they are looking for something. Or somebody.

“Yes, I think I’m ready to talk about Pink again. I hear…”

“… she’s here, yes.” Stephan tries to act casual while looking away from her. He glances out the office window in what he knows is the direction of Pink’s lair, as he calls it. Who is she with now? He doesn’t want to know.

—–

In her own office not 100 meters away to the south, Pink was asleep at her desk, dreaming she was young and, well, alive again. Tom Banks had brought her a vase of flowers, saying he was sorry he had to kill her but it was his role in life. Similarly dead Frankie “Beige” Brown sat across from her, giggling at the conjunction of Pink and Tulip outside on the plane and inserting, “Lips are like one pink,” between snickers. Going further back in time, Doogie Martin was staring at a snow filled tv he’d just mounted on the wall and mumbling something about Aspinwall. It was all being swept away in the (white) noise, all the sorrows put behind her. Then she wakes up.

One thing remains, but silent or at least very low.

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May 26, 2020 · 7:44 am

Pipe Room 03

Her future besties Tronesisa “Blue Eyes” and Duncan “Avocado” were already there, playing up a storm. She realized a Void needed to be filled. The drum set beckoned. She already had drumsticks sticking out her back pocket. She tended to carry them everywhere she went now. The drumsticks were sure to go.

She sits in the middle, sticks at ready.

Tom Banks reenters the room. “Oh, so you’re trying to get out of this through a trance, huh.” He draws his gun again.

There was only one thing left to do for Marsha “Pink” Krakow. “Hit it!” she shouted at the top of her lungs while the sticks traveled down. The whiteness takes her.

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May 26, 2020 · 6:14 am

Pipe Room 01

Her friend Frankie “Beige/Brown” Hockentopper was dead. She knew it by the way murderer Tom Eugene Banks spoke of her. “Frankie *was* like that too,” he mentioned during the last visit about the similar ways they both hurled back the insult “f-ck you a-hole” when he asked them to do him a favor. Like, “*shut* UP.” Brown even went so far as to sing the entirety of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” after the final insult just to rile him up more. Not a really good idea, given what he did next. “Mary never had a Lamb,” he spoke over the body with smoking gun after cutting the third and last stanza a bit short. “They’re (the lambs) all gone,  Frankie, leaving dreams exposed — best left unrecorded.” He snaps a picture with his polaroid camera. He turned toward the Magic Red Door still on the wall. Igor can clean this mess up. He must find the *next* star — quickly, before she disappears from Storybrook altogether.

And so here she is. Attached to the same pipe as friend Frankie was. Then another appears, not Igor but a girl. Not really the ghost of recently deceased Frankie, although there’s an aspect of that involved. Instead: Jenny, who grows up to be none other than Your Mama.

“I’m here… to help.”

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May 25, 2020 · 12:54 pm

new turn

“Well, Parasol, the *white* version.” Parasol chuckles here. “Looks like we can leave Storybrook again since we’re together once more.”

“Right you are!”

“Now all we have to do is round up that little girl of ours, Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow, and skedaddle outta here, like we’d planned before. The job opening in Drane underneath that open hill is still available. Freedom at last!”

“I like the sound of it.”

“So… where is Marsha?” The Mann looks around, as if he’d missed her in the immediate vicinity.

“Probably with Beige. Or Brown or whatever drab color she’s going by now.”

“Ring her up,” requests The Mann, glad to delegate responsibilities to the wo-Mann of the house again.

“Okay,” Parasol offered, just glad to be loved and wanted once more. Charlie Banana was such a tool!

—–

“Thank you Belinda.” Parasol hangs up the phone after looking for the carriage a bit.

“Alright, she says there’s no word from Marsha *or* Beige.”

“Or Brown or whatever,” The Mann furthers himself this time.

“Right. Dr. Hockentopper down in the opposite corner of ‘Good Town’ hadn’t seen her in about a day.”

“Looks like it’s time for a search party. The Hockentoppers of course. And then us. No need to bring in Tank or Bazooka right now.”

“No.”

“Well… at least *Tom Banks* is locked up. We know our little girl is safe from…” The Mann then absentmindedly flips over the unread morning paper in front of him.

“Jeepers willikers, Parasol!” He turns the headlines toward his recently restored wife.

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May 8, 2020 · 7:18 am

end (of section)

end (of section)

After the body was found (by Mann’s Dogg), the funeral held (1st funeral after quarantine lifted (!), but still 6 feet apart for grieving parishioners), and the investigation wrapped up by Tank Ferguson’s team down at the station, TronAxis, now Peter again (Peter Esso, or, really, Peter Osseo if I can figure out how to transform the Esso t-shirt easily (see former Esso poster turned Osseo poster back at the purple Marz house in Tyranea)), stands before Gene Kelley’s old place, the town’s Mr. Fix It now 6 feet down in the ground itself over at Storybrook Memorial Cemeteries just off Little Miss Muffet Highway in Slabtown — a kind of permanent quarantine if you will. He’s saved enough money from recent criminal activity to buy, which he does shortly after the dirt is padded down nice and hard atop Gene’s grave. Greasy hands will be the order of the day for many to come. Wife Venus Flytrap (Wheeler in disguise once again) will have her hair slowly turn from blue-green to blue-black to black itself in following months because of the touching, the fondling. For Axis truly loves his sometimes on sometimes off wife, still running from the law like a virtual Bonnie and Clyde but always ending up on their feet. The lucky aspect this time is an inept police department led by a man controlled by his hips and not his head, just like his father before him — Jeep or something, Axis thinks here in his ruminations of victory. The gas station will be a perfect headquarters/front for further criminal activity.

He didn’t murder Gene Kelley/Mr. Fix It himself, but the death was handy for him nonetheless. He and Venus will be staying in Storybrook now for a while. But those pumps will have to be replaced, he thinks while staring over.

Peter’s Garage is born, selling fine Esso Osseo gasoline.

He goes over to the town jail to thank former photography and calligraphy teacher Tom Banks once again.


“Think nothing of it.”

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