Mahalo!

Mahalo! ...HALO!!!

IS THING ON? GODDAMMIT MITTENS HOLD YOUR HEAD STILL OR WE'LL LOOSE THE WORMHOLE!

..upid cat! I can tighten that vise grip ya know! Sheesh!

So what the heck happened? It's hard to say. Well no it's actually not hard to say. After going by Tracer's grave I worked on the transmorgafier a bit when a certain IDIOT CAT dropped a wrench she was holding in her mouth... I DON'T CARE IF IT WAS HEAVY MITTENS I SAID HOLD THE FUCKING WRENCH NOT DROP THE FUCKING WRENCH ACROSS THE RELAYS CREATING A MESMERTRANSCONDUIT

into...

into... an alternate universe.

And here we sit, Mittens and I. Well OK Mittens isn't exactly sitting, Mittens is more or less duck taped to a gurney with her head in a vise grip so that she'll hold the damned uplink strapped to her head still enough that I can blast this message into your universe through her central nervous system.

Oh cry me a river Mittens, I DIDN'T DROP THE GODDAMN WRENCH!

But I'm sitting, I'm quite comfortable actually, as comfortable as one can be when they're riding this Madone on a trainer using a powertap so I can pass just the right amount of juice through Mittens... drinking single malt...

::sigh::

I'm boring you.

Anyway Mahalo! I trust you're well. Mittens and I are getting by but this place is sorta weird, for one thing you actually have to work. If you want to eat anyway. Other things? Well people actually take Al Gore seriously over here and it's not hard at all to win the Nobel Peace Prize, in fact you don't even have to do anything! You just have to sorta promise that you might actually think about maybe doing something... sometime... maybe... and BINGO! they're practically blowing you to give you the prize!

Who knew?

I don't know how I appear to you over there, but over here I'm just a dude, ten fingers, ten toes no paws to wring, no fur, just some dude - I came through pretty pudgy and all but now I'm a regular at the gym. I quit smoking. Well cigs anyway. Knocked off around 30-35 pounds with this gym/bike thing currently clocking in at 200lbs and trying for 190. I figured it was better than flushing out my system like MsGrace did, that didn't look like fun and she got a wittle loopy during it, if you ask me.

So here I sit on this bike, holding 200 watts that I'm passing through Mittens over there talking to you, whoever you might be. I wonder if anyone? Oh well, I hope so but gothGirl probably burned down the lab for insurance money by now. I wouldn't blame her.

I see palimpsests over here. Almost people of the ones over there. MsTara is in the Bolshoi Ballet and a world renown author of erotic haiku in her spare time. I'm pretty sure it's her because I managed to swindle get a hold of a ticket, front row center at the Gardens. She's the prima ballerina assolutas which sums up MsTara dontcha think? And she's major beautiful and graceful, well until she caught sight of me anyway.

She was doing some ballet thing, smiling at the crowd when she suddenly stopped, bent over, and squinted at me (I think she wears glasses!). Her face contorted in rage as she wheeled away from me shoving through some confused back up dancers. The whole show came to a stop and dancers were milling about on stage wondering what the heck was going on when she turned back, charging across the stage, screaming,

I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU LITTLE BLUE SHIT!!!

and cleared the orchestra pit while planting a ballerina shoe filled with Tara toes right into my mouth! It both hurt and was hot at the same time. Weird huh? They tasted salty...

Anyway I deployed all my advanced karate moves on her and wound up across her knees while she delivered a horrific spanking, all the while she's screaming over and over, "FUCK ME I WANT YOUR BABY!!!" Every FUCK and WANT punctuated by that infernal hand of hers striking my innocent bottom.

If security hadn't pulled her off I would have cried.

She spent the night in Bellevue, where she wrote her most haunting haiku to date, titled Blue Fur, Thighs of HEAT

Blue Furball, sad eyes
Blue heart, slippery thighs must
Fuck him FIVE DOLLAH!

I think she's stalking me.

I caught site of jem recently. I'm pretty sure it was jem, though she goes by Jem over here and is some sort of pop star. I can't stand her music but what does she care? She's still raking the coin in, having fun, getting by. The tabloids say she's some sort of secret dominatrix like Hannah Montana or something like that. I'm quite serious.

One night I was at the Duck Tape My Balls Please! House of Sushi and Domination just drinking a beer when Jem came wobbling over all black leathery and stiletto heels and what not. She looked at me almost sadly and shyly asked, "Do I know you? I feel like I know you..."

I looked up at her with my black, solemn doll eyes (probably because of the mountain of opium I smoked on the cab ride over, sushi is best when you're wrecked on opium - fyi), wanting to say 'yes' and quietly said, "I don't think so."

She surprised me by pulling up a chair and we spoke in odd non-sequiturs for a good hour until this knee-sock loving ass came crawling in. Jem smiled, saying, "Excuse me but I simply must go beat the ever loving snot out of this guy." His screams for mommy were heard for miles and were so pathetic that the staff actually comped me for the beer and sushi.

Lucky and ace I've yet to cross paths with, but if they're here sooner or later we'll meet. I have heard though of a Texas multimillionaire who made his fortune developing and selling his special Blessed Boot Polish which he personally applies to rich Hollywood chicks' boots. It's all secretive and you have to go through an extensive interview process before being admitted. Tara Reid was turned away apparently. There's also rumors and innuendos about a masked superhero who goes by the moniker The Big Pussy and leaves a single thin mint on the criminals he's subdued. Needless to say, I'm suspicious.

I miss you. Still, here we are. I hope you're doing well and I'll try and 'drop dime' again soon. Maybe around Christmas. I'm wondering if I'm gonna turn into an elf, probably not, I'll probably turn into Danny DeVito.

And I know now which is which and what angle I oughta look at it from
I suppose I should be happy to be misread-
Better be that than some of the other things I have become
- Invisible Ink

Prayers to Broken Stones

I walk out the door of my nice house, my secret labs below it filling the air with a subliminal hum. It's cold, as in very, this February afternoon. I glance back at the house before shambling off down the empty sidewalk my head filled with useless thoughts.

I pause before Ace's mansion staring up the winding driveway. It's in complete disrepair. Ace was such a total hoot. We had some seriously fun times here in Paradise. You can read about them scattered across these blogs, or not. Maybe you can even figure out what happened to him, Tracer never could.

I move on.

I glance up at Princess's castle. There's a party going on. Pets moving about, laughter. The beat goes on. I think about heading up there but maybe not right now, I have to get up early tomorrow. I've been hitting the gym for the last thirty-four consecutive days. Getting up at the crack of dawn, unwilling to break the streak. Afraid to break the streak. I'm not up late much anymore. I have new addictions to feed.

I move on.

I wander down a path past Jem's house. I don't see jem nearly as much as I use to, nearly as much as I want to but every now and then we cross paths and shoot the breeze for a few. It's nice, I hope it continues to happen. What jem's been up to is jem's to tell. She seems happy though.

I move on.

I wave to MsTara. She waves back from the shadows of her porch, sunlight bothers her. I watch her light a sincerely monster joint. She offers it to me across the distance, inviting me to chat.

Tempting, but it's been about four or five months since I've smoked anything. Every time I see her I promise to write in this blog and I don't; I end up disappointing both of us. She deserves better. I signal 'maybe later.'

I move on.

The snow crunches under my feet. I practice air riffs while I walk along. I'm relearning guitar, it's both a pain and a joy, like exercise. You should have seen this place in its heyday! Things change and people do too. My thoughts skip across my mind like a stone on water, refusing to settle on any particular one.

I look at the crater where lucky's house stood. It and lucky warped out awhile back with a bang, filled with joking and sadness. He may be back but I don't think so, then again what do I know? I play back the hologram he left behind smiling. Lucky was/is funny. I catch echoes of him from time to time, a distant, static filled, "Howdy." Maybe our paths will cross on some future date. One can hope.

I move on.

I enter the graveyard and begin my prayers to these broken stones. Friday never really quite got over Tracer skying out but I hear she's formed her own PI business and can actually buy some real perfume. She's off the crutches too. Good for her. Tracer never found ace, never figured out what happened. Eventually it tore a hole in him, he fled to Bangkok figuring ace must have gone there, after all that's what Tracer would have done. Lucy was waiting.

I stare down at these broken, forgotten stones. Smiling ruefully I mutter, "Dumb ass" focusing on one I say a silent prayer to times gone by...

Tracer Bullet Billy
I move on