Tag Archives: Uncle Jack^*======+!

ecumenical matter

“So tell me about this Church of the Ood. Been a while, you know.”

“Oh things have changed. No more clown sacrifices for these good folk up here. That’s all done and in the past.”

“Explain.” He looks at the pictures up front again, merged at the frames — black and white, yin and yang, he perceives. He’s explaining the situation to himself. “One beneath it all?” he guesses.

“Yes.” Guy sure is psychic, thinks Baker Bloch again, still hanging around Gold since his wife has been delayed. Suspicious but of course he doesn’t delve deeper into a reason. The Golds always seem to sort it out despite the many issues involved now, he thinks, infidelity to name a big one on both their parts. High Infidelity, then.

“I was also thinking,” Gold theorized further, “that the clowns have been exterminated through repeated sacrifices and there’s no more reason to hate them. Because none exist.”

“Yeah, that too I suppose. 1/2 and 1/2.” Gold glared over. We weren’t suppose to use that expression past novel 25, the one that changed everything. Baker apologizes, but he only 1/2 meant it. He of course kept that fact to himself. Because — it was a little thing but such things add up to make big things — he wanted to make it okay to say that again. He wanted to honor 12 Oz Mouse expressions above all else. Now that Spider has been found inside collages again. Spider equals Skillet, he knows through Missouri. Polk County, Missouri, to be specific. Home of Uncle Joe and Aunt Zoe, humanvillians both. He didn’t return the glare but he looked over all the same. Gold — could turn into platinum at any specific turn of events. Reaction. Visit from grand-niece and now grown-up Tessa could trigger it. Because she thought him dead anyway; surprised he was still a part of the Land of the Living after Baker phoned her up on a whim. He’s curious to see what happens when they meet.

And where is Preacher Zoidboro? he thinks. 7:05 now. Everyone is here that’s here so far, everyone is anticipating results from this lone religion of town now that the clowns are gone. They have to find or at least pretend to find some sort of God or else all is still doomed.

(to be continued)

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Every Man’s Land

“You again (!).”

“Yeah? What’ll it be?”

“What’ll what be?”

“Red or blue, bud. Good or evil I suppose. Dunno, don’t care. But you gotta choose to play,” he insisted.

“No,” said Newt. “You don’t understand. I’m just here to talk about Squared Root City with someone. Why this place — Ontario — and that place don’t get along, see.”

The fellow I’ve already seen several times in Ontario, including the groundside gun store where Arthur Kill was killed with a bullet to the heart by grown up Tessa at the end of the last photo-novel, just scratches his head. “Dunno anything about that. You might have to see the Mayor. Or even higher.”

“Mayor?” Newt parroted. “Higher?”

“Yeah, the King of course. I don’t know anything about this Root Squared City,” he insisted.

“Squared Root City,” Newt quickly corrected, but then thought about it. 3.16 x 3.16 is essentially 10, which is perfection (to us Pythagorean related TILERs). But then 3.16 is also pretty close to the circumference of a circle with a diameter of 1, and, in the case of City Park, County Park, Country Park, even closer. 3.14 to 3.15, maybe even 3.16 again. They are coded as All Ears because if Mickey Mouse’s face was turned into a matching circular ear it would exactly fit between all 3, copyright issues forever solved.

“I know this is space,” he continued, seeing the thoughtful look on Newt’s face, “but you can’t space out here. You gotta play or you gotta go. Orders.”

“Of who?”

“Dunno. Just came with the instructions.”

“Who do you work for?” The gun shop employee now space game arcade employee scratches his head again. “You gotta leave,” he insisted, and pointed to the lightsaber sign.

“I know I know,” said Newt, preparing to explore the rest of this space station. But first he had to ask permission to look out the window for a moment at all those glorious stars, perhaps some galaxies mixed in.

“Sure I suppose. 5 minutes. But then…”

“Gotta go, I get it.”

He walked toward the nearest window, stared out. Many of the illuminated dots were moving. Could these be spaceships? Newt pondered. And the colors (!). Not just white, but pink blue yellow. He could stare at it for days but he only had minutes, seconds now.

“Time’s up, bud,” he says oh too soon. But surely there will be other windows around the station with just as good a view, maybe better.

“Can I ask your name?” he said before leaving.

“Jack,” came the answer back. “Now… please.” He indicated the door.

“Goodbye Jack,” Newt said while walking out, knowing there was something to that name. Because, in some circles, perhaps the ones we just talked about, Jack was code for clone.

(to be continued)

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wedding 03

Weddings at St. Mary’s traditionally took place after the Munday sermon so Preacher Stephan had to sacrifice a Renaldo O’Donnell clown first to appease the Gods. Tradition as well.

“Oops, that was a real squirter Pitch, ha.” The Darklys excused themselves to go home and wash clothes.

Afterwards church officials found the sacrificial altar was too heavy to move, so they made do with a cheap wedding booth found buried in a pile of junk at the back of the annex. Toothpick and Elberta then said their “I do’s” to Preacher Ziegler, since Preacher Stephan, a Northerner, refused to acknowledge the Deep South tradition of marrying siblings as kosher.

At the reception, Marty sang one of his beautiful love ditties to Saffie sitting with Toothpick, Elberta and best man Zapppa, hoping to get a better rental unit out of it.

Time to cut the cake. Big Wanda becomes annoyed about the orange butterflies that keep flying off her head in the excitement and leaves the task solely to Toothpick.

As feared, Her Majesty the local bigfoot/yeti came up from the new hole behind St. Mary’s to pay her respects to the newlyweds but was surprisingly controlled by the Corona-V pirates and ended up not eating anyone.

Lastly: group picture. Everyone had a laugh about all the innuendos.

And that’s it! Log another Collagesity or Sunklands photo-novel in the books.

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new Diagonal 02

200 200: another threshold.

180 180.

But Hucka must *really* get over to Harrison’s before the night is done. Daylight in a little over an hour. Magic opening closed!

144 144. Maybe I better call Baker over here instead.

145 145 and 144 144 respectively.

“I was just going to tell you that The Boy was not at Stranger Creek. That’s all.”

“Good enough. Let’s see what else we’ve got on this Diagonal. Maybe it is all planned.” Both laugh.

203 203: “Let me help you out here old timer.”

“You’re axed.”

204 204: Mo guest. Missouri? Mizzou?

Mount Lemmon, Arizona

203 203: “We’re just missing the mark now, Hucka Doobie. Can you hear me?”

239 239, 240 240:

240 240, 242 242: Uh oh. Something’s going on. “How can you be in 2 places at once?” I exclaimed, flipping back and forth between Baker Bloch’s and Hucka Doobie’s viewers.

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Somewhat later, a tall, blue-ish gnome approached the side of the sunken pool from around one of the two giant cylinder rocks there, telling respectively swimming and sunbathing Woody and Wheeler he dug it. His name: Salazar, according to the object’s description. Beside him, a shorter, similarly red capped gnome protested Linden tier gauging, a subject reviewed in a post earlier this month by Baker Bloch to “newbie” Grassy Noll. I don’t know what the policeman has to do with any of this. Maybe he’s policing the protester?

Who lives in the nearby lemony VWX dust bunny fairy house remains a mystery. I don’t think it’s Salazar nor the other gnome, nor the policeman. Someone else.

Wait. I’m picking up something. A person named Jack lives there. Pretty sure of that.

So many Jacks, though, to choose from.

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back to Snowlands

“We brought her back. She-he’ll just have to live with the changes (in Purden).”


“It’s good to see the kids having so much fun at Christmas Season.”

“And the animals too!” tittered Tiny Tomita Thumb below him.

“Yes indeed Tomita.” Uncle Jack turned. “But we have a new guest tonight.”

“What to do with him, what to do with him?” Tomita trilled while Uncle Jack eyed the axe in the far corner of the kitchen. A small buzzing noise then occurred.

“Oops. See? Look at that. Happened again.”


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“Ooo, heartburn.” Rabbit 01 pauses for a small burp. “It’s always waiting, for us. Past and future and waiting.”

“And not waiting,” adds Rabbit 02. “Like something’s already happened that we — or one of us — has forgotten already happened.”

“Mainly *you*”

Rabbit 02 stews underneath his rabbit suit. “I’m not a good bunny. I play too much golf. I pull too many flag pins for holes in one.”

“You made that airplane engine not fall and then fall again. That was pretty good.”

“Just in that one movie. Just with that one dude. A bridge opens, a bridge closes. Coming and going.”

Rabbit 01 taps her fingers against her other hand. “Why are we here? Do you remember *this*?”

“Start of a new religion,” states Rabbit 02. “Blending of sacred and sacrificial. Should be fun.”

“Clown to be sacrificed how many times a month?”

“Four,” Rabbit 02 guesses. “Five, maybe. I suppose it depends on the moon.”

“Which you know all about.” Rabbit 01 peers around at the congregation, sees their disinterested looks.”I don’t think it’s going to happen today.”

“It’s happened 3 times already. 3 which is 1. ‘Nother one. Be patient. Have fun and be patient.”

“Hiberian-hispanic clowns. Mind you he *deserves* to die over and over…”

“He does,” quickly agrees Rabbit 02 with Rabbit 01. He removes a dead fly from his arm fur. “It’s a way for this place to remain clean and pure. 6 pieces and the truth.”

“You talking about Heterocera? Or just Collagesity?”

“That will be up to the queen.”

A jump happened.

“Oh. There she is. It’s me!”

“No it’s not,” Rabbit 02 hastily modifies. “It’s her. The queen.”

“And the sacrificee. Me as well!”

“Pipe down,” orders Rabbit 02. “People may actually hear us if we yell loud enough.”

“Happened that one time, yes. Olde Lapara Towne. They heard us from the future. It was in front of the Razielian synagogue.”

“I *know* where it happened. I was inside. Performing the sacrifice. Knife slip. Wasn’t pretty.”

“And here we are again.”

“Blink your eyes,” commands Rabbit 02, who was somewhat the older and wiser of the two. “Things should come into focus. I see the true queen. And the true sacrifice. It’s her all right. The Bill is back in town.”

“Oh yeah. I see now.” Rabbit 01 looks down. “And look what appeared in my lap.”

“Don’t do that.”

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“It was always going to be you and me, babe,” spoke robot Bendy from the couch. “And Alberta here too, I guess. What’s he hunting today?”

“Shellfish,” answers mergirl Prissy from her stand.

But Alberta’s greater passion was providing equipment for journeys into the center of the Earth. He waits patiently for his master Dr. Mulholland to finish her ride.

Er… his ride. This may take longer than expected.


“We’re outta here Jack.”

Jack manifests who he really is. “Goodbye Bendy my old friend. Safe journeys.”

“Hold on to your seat Fisher! HERE WE GO!”

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The children rock inside while Uncle Jack approaches the window, telling them the deed is done. The fake Uncle Jack has been buried out in the backyard along with the fake children that showed up yesterday. Blue has switched with pink. No pink clad twins in this storyline! But perhaps their ghosts will haunt the oversized trailer later on.

After supper, the children sit on the porch while Uncle Jack stays back in the kitchen. He always seems to be cooking or cleaning there.

“I’ve seen inside their room,” says Buurb, sitting on the wooden flooring opposite Old Mabel.

She makes a shocked face. “But *how*? The door is always locked.”

“Remote viewing. You don’t know that trick yet?”

Old Mabel’s shoulders ease back a little. “Of course. But I don’t like to pry. What’s behind closed doors should stay behind closed doors.”

“Not how it works around here,” answers Buurb, who was naturally nosier than his counterpart. “Anyway, they’re dead now. What do they care if we peek around inside. I could even lay in their beds if I wished. You could too.”

“Don’t you *dare*,” reprimands Old Mabel. “This Livigno sim will serve us well as long as we obey the rules set up by Uncle Jack. Do I need to tell them again to you? There are only three.” Buurb was about protest that she doesn’t need to do this again when she stands up anyway and begins.


“…if the fake people show up, they will be killed and disposed of in the backyard.”


“… don’t leave the Livigno sim because all answers are here.”


“… *never* enter the Story Room.” She sits back down in the executive chair. “Any questions Buurb? Buuuuurb?” Old Mabel knew Buurb hated it when the double vowels in his name were stretched out like that.

“Um, yeah actually.” He puts his index finger to his chin smugly. “I’ve been thinking about this. If all the answers are here, in this sim (he points down), and Story Room is part of this sim — *if* it’s part; perhaps its beating heart as Jack once put it — then maybe the answers are in that room.”

Uncle Jack’s ears prick up in the kitchen. He thinks about the still bloodied axe against the wall around the corner.

“We can just march in and get them,” Buurb continues. “That’s the, er, paradox of all this, where the head eats the tail. We stay in the sim, but must never look into the *heart* of the sim? Ever thought about that Old Mabel?”

“This is not the Garden of Adam and Eve.”

“Isn’t it?”


At the same time and 100 yards to the northwest, Wheeler tries to teleport back into her adopted Ayas cabin after buying a stack of books, a Lisa Simpson cutout, and some ice cream down the hill at Inferialist, but instead finds herself in a hidden space underneath.

On the other side of the wall she discovers more.

Buurb was looking in the wrong place.

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Way Station?

“*Wilson*. Should’ve known. I received this landmark in my inventory tonight and used it to pop over here, and find you.”

“Hi Baker Bloch,” is all Wilson said. She changed positions on her bench from Pout to Puzzled. That way she could stare out into the landscape.

“Why are you me again?”

“Why not.”

“Where are we?”

“Change into Snowmanster,” she requested. “You’re not suppose to be Baker Bloch when you show up.”

“Oh, that may explain it. Hold on.”

“Well that didn’t work,” they said in one voice.


They finally sorted out their roles tonight. Wilson changed into Wheeler, switched places with Baker Bloch on the bench, who remained Snowmanster. Annnnd… Action!


“*Wheeler*, I knew I’d find you up here at this Way Station.”

“Well good. Anything else?” She checked the pink script under her bench. “And it may not be a way station, as defined as, quote unquote, ‘intermediate stopping point’. I might be staying here.”

Snowmanster thought he had his lines memorized better. “It could be a way station as in a station set between principal stations on a line of travel,” he said confidently. “Look around.” He waved his left arm to indicate the area. “Livigno. The up and happening plateau place where it all goes down.”

“Check your script, Snowmanster, if you have one. Because we’re in Ayas. Right on the edge of Livigno where, as you said, it all goes down. But just beyond.”

“Oh.” Snowmanster shuffled his feet. “Must be working from an earlier script. Is this the one where you set up The Table in the Firefly related building over there?” Both look southward.

“Jesus, you’re at least two colors behind,” reprimanded Wheeler, standing up. “Look inside.”

Snowmanster turns around. White Wolf the guard dog tilts his head at him innocently. “Nice mutt.”

“What did you say?” queries Wheeler behind him.

“I said, you have a nice dog.”

“Oh… right. Well go ahead. Look inside.”

To Snowmanster, a door stood between him and the inside of the cabin.

To Wheeler, the door didn’t exist.

“I can’t get the door open,” Snowmanster says back to Wheeler.


“Well, get out of here, then,” she said back. “Be gone. I just received the newest script in my inventory and you’re not even in this scene. Pink has switched with blue. See ya!”


Wheeler sits alone on the Way Station bench, thinking she could stay here for a spell. Table meeting tomorrow night at 7pm! Invitations already sent. This place is where it all goes down.



In his oversize Livigno trailer just to the west, Uncle Jack prepares breakfast for the children. Uncle Jack shows up.

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