Tag Archives: WEGEE

September 19, 2026 · 6:25 am

00510611

I had… Anocemax right here on the table where yesterday I’d been woofing down a suspect bland topless pizza and where I was sitting when the unsliced top showed up afterwards with a mouth running on about Silver this and Silver that, turning *me* Silver in the end, *sigh*. Should’ve been Jack instead of Luigi’s at the end of that row staring with King followed by Queen but it wasn’t in the cards; all sour grapes or at least fruit by this point. This won’t happen tonight; I’ll make sure of *that*. I unload two pills red and blue from the bottle before me into my shooting hand and raise them toward my open mouth.

“Don’t do it!” shouted a likewise open mouthed, frilly, grape colored Prince barging through the front door. My Hitcher! I realized, or close enough. Must have used the wrong vendor. “Oh,” I said, realizing what he was concerned about. “No no, these are *appetite suppressant* pills, not the kind that can kill you. I just wanted to avoid the pizza again.”

“You sure about that?” Prince said, looking at me askance with that famous pout like he knows something I don’t.

Anocemax, I ponder. “Oh DARN! I bought the wrong drug from that cheap ass pharmacy in town. I wanted Aconamex!”

“Precisely. And I’m here to collect the remainder of your balance.” Then Prince shrunk down into the same blasted banana I was trying to avoid all along, starting the cycle all over again. “Empty your pockets,” he commanded. “Give it all over to me. NOW.”

I turned them inside out like before, handed over the $19.99 it surprisingly produced which he seemed pleased with and said it was just enough to party down like there was no tomorrow. Which he also indicated there wasn’t. tbc?

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September 17, 2026 · 1:29 pm

00510608

“God I hate that itchy thing,” O*laka* Majo complains about his doctor’s outfit he’s shedding as fast as possible now that Tony B. and Shelley J., the newly minted Silvers, are out of eyeshot and earshot and heading back to their motel kind of on the opposite side of town. Him: heading sort of the opposite way to the Dairy Queen next door to the Burger King for an actual shake in an actual proper food establishment. “Done!” he shouts with some satisfaction as he discards the last of it while sitting down, stuffing it under his table so it’ll be out of sight and hopefully out of his mind too. Return to his normal self before and between and after the crazy. He takes a deep breath.

“Fool some other dumb ass tourist with your tales about the Pill?” Dairy Queen attendant Ruby Twistytwirl calls from the counter. “Reason for the doctor’s outfit again?” she again guesses correctly.

“You bet!”

“Are they headed to the motel? *Your* motel?”

“Right,” he answers. “Swallowed the pizza story too. Swallowed it whole, exotic topping and all. They’ll be here for a while.”

“What about your *brother*? An accomplice I assume. Per usual again.”

“Oh he’s really dead this time,” he says, surprising Ruby T.

“Dead? Can’t be. He’s immortal!”

On and on this went. At one point, Olaka approached the counter, extending a hand toward 15 1/2 year old Ruby not for another shake this time but to propose marriage himself, sugar high cranked to the max. “Run away with me to the icy hills of North South Dakota Montana,” he begged, grasping the appendage tightly and on his knee now as well. She could barely keep hold of him over the counter still separating them, if just for play and giggles. The counter that represented her job, her ties to town. She could no longer run away to a glacial paradise than he. And both knew it. Instead: wedded to the town itself, this Bandanaboro of the upper east west central plains of Omega in the virtual world of Our Second Lyfe that has also become Their Second Lyfe through osmosis and also a bit because of the line of eating establishments starting with King running through Queen and ending not at Jack as one might suppose — say, visiting musicians from an exotic foreign land — but at Pizza. Plus she was a bit too young still, 16 being the minimum marrying age if not working age here in this borough of not just bananas but getting there. Only play keeps them alive.

Better move to the last of them now. tbc

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September 15, 2026 · 10:11 pm

00510604 (Silvers)

His head kept pivoting toward her atop his otherwise static body but she was just that much of a head turner to him, although she didn’t think of herself that way. Modest; naive even. Part of the appeal obviously. A peel.

On the 5th night of their 5 day stay in Bandanaboro, right after their last gig at Rock & Jim’s Gay Ol’ Music Club on Rehab Road, Tony B. and Shelley J. were married in a private ceremony at Belle’s Lost Church off Holy Hero Street, catty-corner to the courthouse where they just got their license for a flat 60 dollar fee per state law with no waiting period between its purchase and the wedding itself required. Fellow Silver band member Okama Majo — make that *former* Silver band member — couldn’t attend since he was on his death bed, or at least 66.67% of his doctors thought so. Tony and Shelley probably wanted to squeeze in the wedding before the funeral. The talking anthropomorphic banana also named Bandana was now nowhere to be found, having been eliminated through a corrected pizza order from Luigi’s where the fruit arrived on time atop the pizza and not later as a split off entity aiming to stir up trouble in town. Correction: Let’s make it that Tony B. had to strike a deal with the intelligent yellow dude to get rid of him. Assume the last name of Silver per his request to untangle the ins and outs of that name, that metal, that lake, that whatever, and he’d leave his life forever. He could also split this town of Bandanaboro perhaps named for him but perhaps not too. If he took a wife. “Corrections must be made,” the banana being again before him stated firmly. “Will you do it?”

“I do,” he said several days later to Shelley J. before Preacher Ziegler at the alter, name fully transferred from band to man to couple. tbc?

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September 14, 2026 · 9:14 pm

00510602

There’s no way I can take a decent shot of the golden dome topped courthouse from the end of Justice Ave. and also include the street sign. I give up this morning. Besides, the sim’s going offline in 299, 298, 297 seconds. 294… must return to home and reorient.

—–

10:09:

Better. About as good as I can do. Now I can rest easy tonight, hah. But where is Tony B.; the talking banana; Shelley and Okama the two permanent members we know about of the band Silver that is slated to play at least a 5 night gig in this town of Bandanaboro in the upper east west central part of the Omega continent? Shouldn’t one or two or maybe all 4 of ’em be posing in this picture? Who is taking the picture? Is the last name of Tony B. actually Bandana like the banana he’s talking to now? Why would Luigi’s send over a talking banana instead of the banana topping he actually ordered? What’s wrong with descending into the sandy colored Body in town from its Head, dumb, very dumb being the implication for doing so? Dumb Man. 4 eyes. 4 pairs of eyes. What do they see? Do they see me? Can I see them? Why can’t I see them? Is it this town? Is it this courthouse, this avenue that turns into Holy Hero Street at its door? End of Justice here, beginning of Justice down there. Will Justice be served? How do we untangle all the involved Silvers now, throw in the California town of Silver Lake formerly known as Edendale as well? Why is AI hallucinating a well in or very near Bandana NC? Does it have to do with the well of information I received from the two owners of, well… here?

Rock &… One Strange Rock. Is this Earth or is this one strange rock somewhere else? Is it quartz? Mica? All of the above or none of the above? I can’t sleep after all. I’m going to get up and have some water, watch some more Youtube videos, maybe pop open another non-beer. Starfield always seems to do the trick. I’ll try one of the ones where the pace across the planets is faster. Wish me luck!

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September 11, 2026 · 8:00 am

00510512

I was promised a personal favorite Jack in the Box but instead received Pizza in what was suppose to be a climactic ending point for the King and Queen line of eating establishments facing west. Tired of burgers and ice cream, I finally caved in and got over my grudge with them in a situation that really wasn’t their doing and gave Luigi’s a call at 11:00 on September 11, PM not AM. I couldn’t afford morning food by this time. Ordered the house special banana, attracted by the low cost and also, a bit, the potential exotic flavor. Never had that topping before, hmm. Imagine my surprise when it didn’t come with the pizza but instead showed up several minutes later at my door all anthropomorphized and shite. “You’re late!” I decided to jest at this uncanny intersection of Meat and Fruit.

Thoughts of slicing him up then and there and putting him on my pizza to close the raw deal I felt I got were quickly set aside as he turned out to be quite the intelligent yellow dude with a strange tale to tell indeed. Settling back on the couch he eventually wandered over to, it began thusly:

“I had to divide off from the rest of your meal in order to gain a mouth, eyes, brain. The house special was just a ruse to get you to order me, here, now. We know that you are poor, perhaps abjectly so.”

“Banana… split?” I said, still not quite over the slicing inclination at this point and eyeing the case of knives on the counter out of the corner of my eye.

“Precisely. I know you think we’re merely bananas, me and all my associates, but when we bunch together we become larger than ourselves individually. I am the end product of that transmutation.”

“Just… bananas?” I uttered in a similar vein, stuck in idiom mode. I imagined them altogether in a darkened room conspiring to drive me nuts in the end. I had to avoid that conclusion. I edge closer to the counter, clandestinely select the largest one to get the deed done quickly.

“We hope to make you think otherwise,” and it is here he introduced himself properly and it is here I decided not to end his life with a cut cut cut.

“I am more than Banana now, the sum of my parts,” he declared proudly, sitting up straighter on the couch in front of me and even seeming to grow larger with the action but maybe that was just my perspective. “I am *Band*ana, a whole band of entities.”

“Like the borough?” I say. “Like the borough we’re in?” I followed, waving all around with my free hand.

“Precisely.” I put back down the knife behind my back. Being in a borough band myself right now, I had to hear this out. tbc

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December 4, 2025 · 8:50 pm

00480615

“I- don’t know where I am!!”

“Wait a minute. Yes… yes I this I *do* know where this must be,” Mouse rectifies as his head stops spinning around an unknown center and the earth moves up to meet his feet, giving him balance on the perch above the trees. True earth, and not that fake crud up down sideways in Our Second Lyfe. “Bill,” he says, looking down. “This must be Bill again, a, um, reduction from the mountain in Maine. As, yes, mass turns into energy for locomotion… across the landscape. I *remember*.”

—–

“I forgot to tell you — I got a postcard from Mouse today,” Frank says after he puts his hands on the planchette to begin. “Turns outs he’s in Vermont, not New Hampshire.”

“Interesting. Okay… back to the game.” Philip also touches the planchette from his side, which then rather quickly spells out OLD ZIRCON. The self described phased-out Byzantine devil ends up giving them the answers they both need and desire. tbc

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October 8, 2025 · 6:46 am

00480305

He was talking to himself again while writing. “Golden glove, golden *glover*,” he muttered. Philip had turned his back on the man called Mouse, thinking about his own stuff. Like how to beat Mouse’s high score in High Speed. Maybe take some speed? NO, he cannot go down that route to highness again. Might end up in another dimension once more! “Philip,” said Mouse. “Could you please move your elbow a bit. Trying to concentrate here.”

“Have you figured it out?” asked curious Frank to his left. He knew he hadn’t but was just making conversation to kill time. They’d finished eating and didn’t want to do anything else. Just: rest. No pinball for Philip, no piano for Frank. At least for a while. But Mouse had his post-dinner project. Scribbling down notes about the Youtube poop videos he’d been watching and studying, focus on CENTER. He couldn’t wait. It was just that urgent for him.

“It would *help* if I knew the name of the character who emerges from the wall of static in 08:10.” Mouse had started naming his videos after their time, but neither Frank nor Philip were keeping tabs. To them all the videos blurred together in a great big chaotic mess. They didn’t see the beauty in the re-mix products that Mouse did. I guess he had to. Salvation and all. Plus he was in some of them so that helped draw him in. He saw *himself* in them. He could identify. “Philip… *please*,” he requested again about the elbow.

Philip got up, stretched. “I’m booored. Let’s play Weegee again.”

“It’s *not* a game to play… like pinball,” Frank said to this. “It’s a channeling device. Serious stuff.”

“Nah,” said Philip, dismissing Frank’s opinion. “A game,” he punctuated his own belief about it. “But I’ve changed my mind again. I think I’ll explore the upper levels this afternoon, see what’s up there.”

“*Maybe*,” offered Frank. “Lexi needs some help straightening out the house *down* there,” and he pointed down toward the ground where Philip officially lived, in Lexi’s house by the sea. But in truth he spends almost 1/2 his time up here in the sky, in Frank’s giant moving castle that appears to have lost its sense of mobility. That’s about to change.

“Nah,” repeated Philip. “Upper levels.” And he moved through the opening of the kitchen down to the living room to access the spiral staircase. Sighing, Frank decided to follow him and leave Mouse to his notetaking.

(TBC)

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October 1, 2025 · 5:24 am

00480213

“Spongebub, what did I tell you about playing around with Weegee. *Now* look what’s happened!”

“But Squibward!” pleaded up his yellow, square Bikini Rump neighbor whose pineapple shaped home had just been destroyed by its giant nose. “We were boorrrrrrrrrrrr–

—–

–rded its ship and set sail for the sky.

—–

“What’s it spelling out now, Shelley? I mean… Lexi?”

“I think it wants us to stop.” STOP

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September 2, 2025 · 4:48 am

00480104

“Weird how it’s just spinning on its own.”

“Yeah, and we’re not even touching it yet (!). Energy is strong here for sure. Soooo… you ready? Just grab it and it will stop; it will magnetize to you, then. You start, and then I’ll take hold of it too.” Black first, Lexi knew from past experience with this kind of setup. Like a proper game of Iowa cheskers out in some random cornfield.

—–

“Are you there, spirit?”

The planchette rather quickly moves to YES.

“Thank you. Can you tell us your name?”

The planchette pretty quickly spelled out EDWARD and then PIERROT. So far so good. Everything Philip described is turning out correct.

“Are you the same as Edward Hopper?”

NO, came the even quicker response.

“Can you tell me if you go by another name?”

The planchette stayed still about 5 seconds. Then: JOHNSTON.

“Johnston?” Lexi uttered. “Who do we know that goes by Johnston?”

“Lexi!” Frank exclaimed. “Your hair!”

(to be continued)

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September 1, 2025 · 9:31 pm

00480102

https://www.sartle.com/artwork/soir-bleu-edward-hopper

“I’ve figured out who Edward is, Lexi. I don’t think we have to worry about Philip now as much as the castle itself and what, as he says, lives behind the walls. Realism strikes back against abstraction!”

“Say what?”

He swivels his laptop with the appropriate article pulled up toward Lexi. “The perriot. That’s Hopper. Found it pretty quickly using a search for Edward + pierrot.”

“Oh. Edward *Hopper,*” she said, recognizing at least the style. “So that’s who’s haunting the castle? A dead artist?”

“Kind of. Still unclear on that. But I’ve decided we need to have a seance. You’re the official channeller of Nawt Vaya Free State, Lexi.”

“Only because of that premonition about the alcoholic sea monster!” she says with a laugh, Hole in the Wall bar raised 100 feet in the air just in the nick of time to be saved from swallowing.

“Nevertheless, I think we should try. Else… Philip will never come back up. He’ll always be with you, Lexi. Forever… and ever. Noooooo escape.”

“Okay okay, I’ll do it,” she relents and then stares at the laptop again, the white face, the painted red lips and the cigarette sadly drooping from them. Another dropper? She imagined it spilling from his mouth, catching the crotch of his sad clown pants on fire. How to put it out how to put it out? He can’t. Not without our help.

“Tonight?” requests Frank. “I know it’s short notice but… I can’t sleep in that place now. He’s staring at me too!”

“Tonight,” acquiesced Lexi, already planning what candles and incense would be required to set the proper mood. And, of course, the Weegee board.

(to be continued)

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