What Y’all lost in Detroit.
Staring Walter down, growling. “We’re still here. Lights still on. niggah.”
Walter fidgets, stammers and adjusts his overcoat while saying, “Yes. Well, we employed video game and government map references to no avail. The framework for the pocket universe had to overlay and be attached to a network of real neighborhood infrastructure. So we employed your memories and imagination and in 2015 we chose your Pixelated Park, Caregivers’ Village constructs from your Imagined Nation narrative. We used Belly’s massive funds and resources to make them a reality in your time.”
I’m so pissed right now.
Walter continues saying, “As it so happens the Qube matrix of redundant frameworks is a practical method of securing data. But if you want a surplus of CO2 and…”
“Live food.” I say, “You used my neighborhood for a pocket Universe, filled with droves of September’s little pale bug and rat-eating baldhead Buddha babies. So, last time we talked, Uncle Walt here, was tripping acid and smokin’ something called MC Esher. All in my cookies and milk. Periwinkle ain’t here man. I told yo ass to do the Orange Gotan. White boys can’t count past four without help from James Brown. Niggah, please.”
“That delightful scent…” Walter says, “…Is that fried chicken and the Love Basket I smell? And the two of you bear a remarkable resemblance.”
September continues, “Walter thought perhaps his childhood imaginary friend would be able to help him figure out the calculus for the container. So, I brought him,” pointing at Walter, “here to you, because…”
The waitress puts down two fried chicken dinners and a roast beef sandwich.
“Mahalia’s got good food and you know.” We fist bump and as we sanitize our hands, I say, “Go head Uncle Walt. Eat up, man. Here. September, try this hot sauce. Puckerbutt. Oh yeah. He really believed that room he hid the baby in would be stable and that hokey pokey dance trick was gonna work?
And where’s your girl, Dr. Winick?” September’s head nods to the left a little. We fist bump and I say, “For Real nigga? Dope.”
September says, “Chelsea, please, for him.”
Walter explains, “The breach formed when Peter got caught in an Orgasmic KarmaLoop, during the war between realities. My pale bald friend here was able to construct a large-scale habitat for a collection of progeny designated Anomaly XB-678…
…Michael. Their genetic series could only be achieved via ‘Organic’ conception with moderate to exceptionally intelligent women in highly controlled conditions suited to each mother’s particular preferences, consistently producing genetically more desirable siblings.
By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have any…”
Chelsea returns with an ashtray, a pre-rolled joint and a box of wooden matches, Walter finishes, “Blueberry Bubble Gum.”
Taking off September’s hat and sensually rubbing his bald head, Chelsea West says, “Dr. Bishop, you know this my Baby Daddy.”
Walter says, “Oh, Thank you. Although not responsible for any of the experiments resulting in…
…Oh. Oh my! This is wonderful weed. You’ve been a busy fellow my bald friend.”
September continues, Walter Bishop affectionately named my children: XB Anomalies ‘Michael’.
Progeny integrated into the genetic code of the ones called the Invaders, Code Designation PA-112…Penrose, SA-357… Frank and CA-235… Carson. None are my progeny. Walter calls the latter Belly’s little fuck-ups.
However, for reasons that are very apparent, anomalies code named with XB were scheduled for termination.
Because we used technologies from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries to connect with the infrastructure and not ‘magic’ there are odd points where our pocket universe intersects with the more commonly perceived reality and the magical realms meet. Specifically, cemetaries, polliwogs, fairy rings, willow trees and the storm water and municipal utility networks of mid to late twentieth century construction.”
I say, “So, last time you showed up. I was at Joe’s People Fuel eating a bowl of Almond milk and cookies. Walter here, just plops down at the counter next to me and begins citing the logic of eating milk and cookies like cereal, then says, “My friend Michael informs me that you have a summer luge.”
I look up, “Yeah. Pretty fresh too. Looks like giant Hot Wheel Tracks.” Then I re-introduce myself, “I’m Papillion Day…”
“Yes, You’re Styng and Periwinkle’s host.” He stammers out, “I am to speak with you regarding three important matters.” He smiles, “I am to explain the proposition made by my colleague some time ago.” Then he goes into this protracted diatribe about my family name and how much I resemble someone he knows but whose name he can’t remember.
Still annoyed, I growl, “I’m really about to fuck this old man up for not remembering the name of the artificial personality you had installed in the glasses my uncle Ishmael gave me, Its Styng Bitch! Pronounced Sting, like the sword, like the singer. You made me a weapon with a really stupid emotional trigger, and then forgot he exists. Fuck you man.”
Then dude shows up and Uncle Walt continues, “Ah I am to ask you, where I might be able to acquire a strain of Marijuana called Bubble Gum. I have cultivated a strain of my own, you know, “Brown Bettye”.
I greet September with a series of hand gestures ending with a fist bump with a something or other. We say in unison, “What up doh. Yeah! So, when we set this thing up for me to watch his /our kids and shit, my nigga / Bro? I / He forgot to tell me / him about his / my uncle Ishmael’s thing with the nuns and shit. So…”
Just as this thick redbone woman steps into Joe’s coffee bar and distracts September. He hands me this key fob and says, “You’ll know what to do. The instructions are on your sun porch. In the temporal bubble.” Then they were off. Walter is fidgeting and thinking then asks, “How do you know September?”
I say, “And the third thing is?” He says, “Oh oh! Yes. I am to ask about Michi’s alter ego’s condition. Apparently Agent Farnsworth is very fond of her. I don’t ever remember her mentioning knowing anyone in Detroit.”
I smirk, “I’m her best friend. Her name is Zambia and Periwinkle is her way of keeping your little killer imaginary friend Styng alive and beneficial. Really, a Half Drow in the daylight? Anyway thanks for BlackFrost. You know, Black Frost…
…You do remember the little red Coywolf you found in Expert Die & Tool. She’s how you get to me.”
Walter says, “You told September he should build a monastery. It goes against contemporary faith based business models, but there are no rules saying that your parsonage can’t be self-sustaining. And like you say, No one will fuck with them here. The Little Michaels can just go about in the open like everyone else. Just let them run around dressed like little monks, making recycled cool tech shit, cheese, bread and wine, doing nice things, being quiet and well behaved.
Oh! Oh, I see. You’ve been acting against what you believed was his natural alignment. No, Styng is chaotic good. I rolled his character to be a child of Eilistraee. This is extraordinarily good chicken. You know I have no idea what to do with all that money. What would you do?”
“Yeah.” I smile, “It’s Silkie. Mahalia’s recipe. Really? Eilistraee. Hmm. I don’t do math. I never liked the stuff. I need help from James Brown to get past five.”
September almost laughs, “Hit it Fred, But Periwinkle has a great way of making it work.”
I just say, “Make it someplace they’d rather be.” Then at the same time we say, “Well, what about the Sadie Hawkins effect?” I’m like, “Com’on it’s a rip off of the Pong Far rite. I lock them up or…
Led by a huge black dog with glowing fur, Zambia walks in as Truly Scrumptious saying, “Tell Astrid, Trixie’s condition is fine. Periwinkle and I are doing well now, settling into retirement. Let her know, she should come visit sometime. Anyway, we have Bacchanalia. There’s one going on right now.” She throws a Kajira tablet on the table. “Wanna watch?”
“The world’s most exclusive competition reality game show.
The Tracer Round on Water Island.
Seventeen contestants will fight to their very last to see
who enters the Tracer Round.
The winners go on to the Grand Bacchanal.
A three day and two night long non stop run for their lives and…
Someone may be going to the Big Dance for A CHANCE TO SPLIT OVER A BILLION DOLLARS with some lucky viewer.
The winner will meet Trixie Racer, Mistress of the Whirlwind Pyrimid with BlackFrost and Styng in this season’s Orange Gotan…”
