Tag Archives: Wheeler Wilson^^+++\@

April 12, 2025 · 10:39 pm

00460314

They put her up in a motel across from City Hall where she’d be working most of the time. She took Electra’s room, who, being the former mayor of this here burg, had left the scene for parts unknown, perhaps back to her original home in the Sansara continent’s snowy region. She left behind an assortment of, here, little used shawls, coats, and toboggans in this much more temperate climate of middle southern Jeogeot, so hasty she was to get out of town. Disgraced (!). She didn’t even say goodbye to her kids Wolvie (originally: Bert) and Charlene, since she hadn’t been on real speaking terms with them since they started dating the same person. Wolvie she wasn’t as mad at. But *Charlene* — how dare she date a another girl. Now it became really dirty, this threesome. She wondered if they did it that way — all 3 together I mean. Emily had enough such tapes at her disposal that they could get ideas. In fact as she was thinking about it she’d bet money on it, perhaps up to 10.

Back to Wheeler and the present. We’ll deal with Electra and the consequences of leaving her children behind later. Right now there was only a bed in her room, a small dresser, a Gustav Klimt painting print called “The Dancer” from his late period, and that’s it. She logically wondered about closet space for her many clothes she’d recently bought on the marketplace, discount mind you, because you can find so many cheap there, especially older models (she doesn’t mind retro; thinks it’s got a strong future). Not living in the shadow of her locked-in-childhood looks daughter, she can experiment, mix and match blouses, skirts, and shoes and such. She’s kind of living the life, come to think of it. And all this mayor stuff is just for play. She’ll invite Newt over as soon as she fixes up the room to her standards. And then perhaps think about a larger occupancy for the both of them. If it comes to that. 1st “proper” date tomorrow beyond just the marriage and attached rendezvouses. Not ice cream this time but an actual meal in an actual, pretty upscale restaurant. More details very soon.

(to be continued)

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April 9, 2025 · 8:06 am

00460312

“There she is, Emily. The new mayor.”

“*Not* the same as the old mayor,” replied Emily, trying not to look behind her. It was hard. And what was all that butterfly, um, *gear* she was wearing? But it was just all part of her power. She couldn’t help asking aloud, though. She leans over, and says not far above a whisper: “Butterflies?”

“All part of the power; perks of the job,” responded Charlene. Knew it.

“Who would *want* that?” Still leaning, still just above a whisper.

“I hear ya. But…” she decides to say since they were leaning in to each other, being more secretive. “What about Wolvie?”

“What *about* Wolvie?” Emily says.

“You know, because he’s, ahem, the mayor’s son. Like I’m the mayor’s daughter. *Old* mayor. And *Shelley*.”

“Shelley’s not in this story,” shot back Emily New Moon, tired of hearing about the old. New is the thing now. And Wheeler fits right in, she thinks. She’s tired of the mother-daughter-son talk, the Unholy Triangle. Speaking of which…

—–

“I wish, Edward, that you’d be more sympathetic to my plight. I’m *married*.” Edward, her Ed, was in danger of fading away himself under her new butterfly power and he knew it. Wheeler had to disappear in order for him to even been seen atall in this setting. He had no other choice than to wait in the background, biding his time. At the backwards flowing waterfall.

(to be continued)

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April 8, 2025 · 9:34 pm

00460311 (3Ms)

“Are we keeping you up, Ms. Wilson?”

“Oh. *Sorry*.” Wheeler quickly moved her feet off the table, sat up straight. She realized she’d made perhaps a grave mistake falling asleep at the employment assessment meeting here in The Burg. But it was all part of the play, the fun and games. None of this really mattered except *as* in a play. “I’ve been, ahem, sleeping in my car lately,” she tried to excuse her pretend drowsiness. “After I left my last job.”

“And, let’s see, that’s as a maid, I see. Interesting job description. All sorts of tasks — laundering, ironing, vacuuming, window cleaning, in a, quote unquote, semi-aquatic setting? Can you explain further?”

Yes, it was a skybox partially filled with water. My 2 feet were always wet, she started the joke she’d prepared beforehand. Make that 3-4 feet since the water went that high, ha ha.”

Wanda Wilma Willa Brown Halter didn’t laugh or even smile. “I’ll just add to my notes: owner fetish,” which Wheeler knew would be pretty correct. She knew she was always being looked over. “So… why did you choose The Burg to come to after this, Ms. Wilson? Your old job was in the upper east central lower part of Nautilus, which is a virtual hemisphere away from here.”

“I have a friend here,” she lied or pretended. “Charlene Brown, er, just Charlene Brown. You may even be related. I couldn’t help noticing your Brown middle name on your card.”

“Charlene Brown and I are *not* related,” she returned quite firmly. Charlene was Downtown, she (Willa): Uptown. The two sets of townspeople which include the two sets of Browns try not to mix. Clean and Dirty was another way she thought of them. Ms. Wilson here, she thinks, seems to fall into the Downtown category too despite the maid cleaning background. She’d deduced, correctly, there was a dirty aspect to that too. Friends with Charlene who’s also friends with fellow Downtowner Emily New Moon the smut store manager — that also fits. Sounds like the pay was for *show*.

And this time, she did crack a smile. She thought of Wheeler Wilson’s leg tattoos as well, the blue and red fish making their way up the right one to who knows where. She imagines a homecoming fish bowl for the 2 on her stomach for some reason. Reinforcement of The Core.

The meeting ended with Willa determining the only job Wheeler was qualified for was the just vacated mayor’s position, highest actually being lowest in this here Burg. Straightening her hem so you couldn’t follow her fish too high, she sat up and (reluctantly?) shook Willa’s hand to seal the deal. Mayor Wheeler Malone Wilson she is. Again.

(to be continued)

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April 6, 2025 · 3:58 pm

00460309

It was like the old days for Wolvie (=Bert), staring at bamboo from the perfect spot 108 108 108, triply beautiful. Not Shelley any more doing her moves on the bamboo yoga mat but Wheeler, mother having reabsorbed the child in section one of this here current photo-novel, just this morning named for her. He’d seen her again last week at the convenience store he manages over near Juho. She knew that he knew and he knew that she knew. Then: winked out. Gone. Like she was never there. And perhaps she wasn’t (*knew* I was going to add that, didn’t you).

—–

“Wolvie’s gone. VHS tape still in there. Let’s just look at it. I want to know why Blue Moon wants to buy all existing copies so bad. How, aherm, *bad* could it be?”

“Double anal?” guessed Emily who didn’t even know if that was a thing. And I suppose she’d know, since she runs the store. So let’s say she was jesting.

“Could be at least double, as in 3some,” speculated Charlene further. Charlene the Punk. Not seen in these here photo-novels since (as I’m checking… checking…) 31 really, minus a cameo appearance or two. Pre-retirement, then. But we also know that Charlene is actually Fern in the past. Or another timeline — something. The two can be lined up and made as one is what I’m saying. If that, once more, is actually a “thing”.

They both crowded into the tiny viewing room meant for one, setting aside the chair to make space. Plus… well, neither wanted to sit in that chair now.

“It’s just static,” Charlene complained.

“Keep looking,” urged Emily, knowing secondary and then primary letters would form out of the nothingness. Because this was a special tape, very much so. I to E to T to L and done. You get your money’s worth.

“Yes, here they come.”

(to be continued)

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April 1, 2025 · 3:01 pm

00460304

“Isn’t this a beautiful view of the harbour, Newt? Just lovely.”

“Well,” opined her opposite eating ice cream partner at the stand. “They could have done a better job with the line there dividing the 2 sides of the texture. Makes it obviously unreal. And the blurring–”

“Blurring only makes it more romantic,” quickly countered Wheeler. “This skyline could be any city in the world you want it to be, any virtual burg for that matter. It could be Sydney to me, Melbourne to you. Our choice. Just pick the most romantic city you know and you’re sitting across from it, eating strawberry or vanilla ice cream, also your choice. You like vanilla, I don’t.”

“We better start talking about Nawt Vaya,” said Newt, tired of meaningless chatter. “Why we came here. To this *rendezvous*,” he couldn’t help tack on again. Next time, he promised himself. Gowns and formal attire.

“Okay.” She finished the last 1 1/2 scoops of strawberry in one huge gulp just to try to speed things up and maybe add a little comedy to the matter, then continued to talk with mouth open and muffled voice. “Ow, fthatt *hurfts*.”

“What do you expect, Wheeler?” he said, watching her now deal with brain freeze. He decides to start while she heals. “Let’s take account of the residents of our fair land there in the center of Nawt Vaya. First off, there’s me and you obviously, then Lexi and Philip over in her house on the south edge of the property, then Fink is around too, then Jack is not far away as well — Jack Dogg, I’m obviously talking about here and not any of the other Jacks we’re attached to now. And then Barry De Boy and Wendy are up in that cottage perched above my own home of Newtonia. Do you like that name, Wheeler? Newtonia? Are you able to properly speak yet?”

“Mmmmm. MmmMMMMMMmm.”

“Obviously not. I’ll continue, then. Then there’s Veyot up on the hill, Pearl just up the coast a bit. Then in Juho we have Greg Ogden who’s also an artist — runs STAB now — and then I believe Nada New Year is there too, and also Carolin. And, let’s see, Peter Melanchton–”

“Gone,” Wheeler managed, ice cream headache finally subsiding.

“Right. And then the girl who’s suppose to take his place as summa cum laude graduate of Nawt Vaya State University and her, er, boyfriend I guess we’ll call him. And then Edward is still around.”

“Backwards positioned waterfall,” Wheeler identified his location. “You’re okay with that? Aren’t you?”

“Ahh, *sure*.” He was 1/2 and 1/2 on the issue but he really didn’t have any choice. Unless he did. He’s trying. Date first, then other things. Has to start with a proper date, which apparently this wasn’t. He tries to focus on the census again and away from the Wheeler+Edward continuing issue. “And then Princess Pinky Gumm.”

“She doesn’t count.”

“Oh…. right.” Newt remembers that Wheeler is playing that role, actually. “And… I can’t think of anyone else. Can you?”

“OH. I saw… I saw *Frank*! I totally forgot to tell you.”

“Frank?”

“Yeah. *Frank*. In Juho. At the barber shop when I was getting my hair cut the other day. I was getting the Butterfly No. 25 while he just sat there getting nothing, no styling no treatment, no anything. *Frank*,” she emphasized.

“Frank *who*?” Newt had to question. There were a couple, including a bunny man who hadn’t figured into the plot of these here photo-novels since the middle of the last. But it turned out to be Frank Lynn of GTAV fame.

“And Sep Felton was there too,” said Wheeler. “You know Sep. Butterflies again. Over on Corsica. She’s a stylist in both places. I didn’t even ask her how that worked, dufus that I am. I was *so* focused on getting it all chopped off, letting my scalp breathe again as Winter turns into Spring. I want the Butterfly, I said excitedly almost when I came in the shop. I didn’t realize the synchronicity.”

“You should always be paying attention to synchronicity. Why we’re here,” summarized Newt.

“I know, I know.”

“So… let’s start exploring and we can talk more.”

“My line!”

Someone in desperate need of a haircut himself, or herself, came walking into the picture. It, we’ll call them to remain gender neutral.

(to be continued)

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April 1, 2025 · 2:42 pm

00460303

He listened in while she continued to play her games. It wasn’t a date, she insisted. Casual dress you’ll notice. But Newt was kind of treating it as such. Arrived 30 minutes late. Payback obviously for him being so late the other night to their TV watching down in the bottom of her new dwelling place. Big!

“I don’t know what happened. It just… slipped out of my hands! The whole cone and its triple dip of strawberry ice cream I’ll remind you.”

“No problem, miss. I’ll dip you 3 more.” Sarah “L.A.” Nunchuck had passed the Wheeler test. She’s on the green list as opposed to the red. Newt knew they’d probably be coming here again for future dates or whatever you call this. Rendezvous, she said. “Let’s rendezvous and talk about developments at Nawt Vaya, where we’re going, where we’re heading. But somewhere away from home base. Who knows who’s listening here.”

“Who would be listening?” Newt questioned Wheeler’s logic.

“You know, the neighbors.”

“Veyot? Pearl?” Newt didn’t think the neighbors would be listening in. They had better things to do. Like running art galleries elsewhere in Our Second Lyfe. Yet Wheeler persisted and Newt finally relented. Besides, she found this burg about a 1/2 mile from the lake inland sea quite fascinating — Burg; that was the actual name. “It has an uptown, midtown, and downtown, Newt,” she said about it over the phone while setting up the, ahem, *rendezvous*. “Uptown is classy, midtown is, well, midtown, and downtown is seedy. Then there’s the park to end, west to east. We’ll explore after we have ice cream.”

And so here they are.

(to be continued)

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March 27, 2025 · 10:57 pm

00460214 (a new high and low of it all 04)

Time to take the next step.

And the next number. Power *off*!

—–

“‘Bout time.”

“*Sorr-ry*”

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March 27, 2025 · 9:45 pm

00460213 (power)

“Sir?” (pause) “Sir?”

“Oh yes, young Fink,” distracted Newt finally acknowledges his presence at the door to his study. “How’s it going? Everything alright with the computer upstairs and all?” He didn’t look at Fink Humann, kept staring at the screen of his own computer.

“Yes, fine sir,” said Fink. “It’s just that it’s 7 o’clock. Time for me to leave. I’m saying goodbye is all. Like, er, like I do every time I come over here… at this time.”

Newt checks his watch not on his arm, gives a little start. “Oh dear, didn’t realize it was so late. Better wrap this up. Well, er, thank you, Fink, for telling me the time and the lateness of it all. And I suppose I’ll see you again… tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is a big day, sir.”

“Please, Fink. You can stop calling me sir. You’ve come over, what is it, almost every day for the past 2 weeks?”

“Except that Sunday when Jack and I went plane flying, yes.”

“We’re friends now,” emphasized Newt from his chair. “Come over here, actually — I know it’s getting late and you need to get back to the treehouse but I — I want your opinion on this. I’m serious. Here.” And Newt waved him over, which he complied with. “What do you see?” he asked as Fink Humann also stared at the monitor with him.

“That’s er, your wife,” said Fink, seeing her image dominating the screen. Fink knew this was Wheeler now and not another form of their precious Princess Pinky Gumm. Wheeler herself told them that during a visit the other day to their treehouse.

“No, *behind* her. What do you see on the wall over there?”

“Um, JEO — GEOT,” he read on the poster. “Jeogeot,” he combined.

“Very good. The continent we’re now on.”

“Jeo-geot,” Fink repeated. “Jeogeot,” he collaged again.

“Yes,” said Newt. “Fine and dandy. But what else is there?”

“Um… people.”

“People, yes. And…”

“Dinos.”

“Dinosaurs, right. Aannd…”

“Um, an elephant?”

*Elephant*? Newt thinks. Does young Fink here not know what a giraffe is?? But then Newt realized Fink had inadvertently given him the answer to the riddle he’d been pondering so deeply about all this afternoon and early into the evening. The phone rang on his table. Wheeler obviously, Newt thought without checking the number.

“Thank you again, Fink. We’ll be talking soon.” He pats him on his shoulder to signal their time was done.

“But not tomorrow,” Fink says while walking out of the study, making Newt realize that tomorrow was the day mechanical contraption Bimbo was suppose to arrive from Fink and Jack’s native Oooo. Fink might not be coming around as much after that, and perhaps not at all. He’d miss the lad if so. Perhaps there was another way, hmm. He finally answers the phone that’s been ringing all this time.

“Where *are* you?” Wheeler emits.

Where are *you*? Newt wanted to say in return but knew it didn’t matter. Could be anywhere in the world… or nowhere. He’d find her whatever. Just up the stairs from down. “Be right there,” he said not into the phone but in the air all around.

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March 27, 2025 · 1:04 pm

00460211 (the 1 that got away)

—–

“It was the perfect balance, Wheeler. Our Collagesity should have been integrated into NWES City, lesser to bigger. Red yellow green blue but also orange as the 5th.

“We failed.”

“But now we have a way to redeem ourselves,” balanced Wheeler, wiser in worldly ways than ever. The Baker Family here is still strong. And now with a new home. A new CENTER.

Let the butterflies fly I suppose.

(to be continued)

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March 26, 2025 · 2:21 pm

00460210 (Boo!)

Sans Newt now, Wheeler was testing out more locals and taking more notes while also trying out new outfits, this one called Fern (dress) with kind of matching shoes I suppose.

“Excuse me, ma’am. The bathroom’s locked with no one inside. Do you have the key?”

“Bathroom’s *broke*,” exuded Gertrude Witherspoon from Grapeseed, a person dying on the vine.

“Well can you tell me where the nearest public restroom is? My husband and I were just passing through on the way to Chilbo (she lies).”

“Mmmmmmmmm. I *said*…. hmmmm…. let me…. think… ummmmm.”

“Well, never mind,” said Wheeler. We’ll just do it in the grass beside the road.”

“That sounds best,” the woman said with no irony in her voice. Did she really think this was the best solution? Would *she* resort to that?

Wheeler was about to walk through the front door in a huff when…

“Oh wait, young person.” Young person! Wheeler thought. The old hag had just redeemed herself, ha. “Bert’s in his office today for a change. Bert has an extra set of keys. Just knock on the door — ’round the poster there.” As if she couldn’t be bothered, Wheeler thought, watching her continue to just stand there and pose in various ways. Provocatively? Could be if she were, say, 60 years younger, Wheeler thought, and then also thought that’s not a very nice thought. *She’s*… well, she always says she’s 25 working on 39. But those days had passed. Just call it a Jack Bennyism vanity.

Going past Gertrude again — bathroom’s broke *pheh* — she gently knocks on the door.

Bert, or who she presumes is Bert, calls back in a pleasant enough voice to come in. She goes in.

But not before noticing what appeared to be Gertrude prominently appearing in that poster. Queer! she thought.

Then the same poster inside along with another surprise.

“You!”

And just like that she was gone.

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