Only emotionally. Some jacknut stole our AI and made off with a cave and then the clifhanger ended. Now I’ll never know if my tithes were well spent.
Two months later, the standoff continues.
Those outside the cave shuffle aimlessly. Some kick the remaining rocks at various things, others return some of the rocks that have been previously kicked. Others have banded to write a comic based on an old movie they half-remember.
All of them can only wonder what goes on inside the cave and how bad it must smell by now.
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Reminds me of a delightful distraction I found back in '14
https://www.yahoo.com/tech/rock-simulator-2014-leaves-no-stone-unturned-90361460559.html
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I’ve slightly lost track of who I am. Doc Z … something keeps coming back to me. An image, a reflection … a memory … bloody disconcerting.
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De’Ath, eyes narrowed, looked down at the figures by the gate of the compound.
Lizards hibernate, right? I guess if we wait until winter he might go to sleep.
Also, the kid really needs a haircut now.
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If that kid is even in there.
When I was a kid I used to read up on old literature, always loved Tom Sawyer. Of course the ending to that has them stuck in a cave, trapped, lost. Only when their last candle burns out do they see light coming in from a secret exit.
We might want to poke around the neighboring stones, see if we can find some tracks. Or bodies. Might be able to find a back door and circumvent all this waiting business.
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Does anybody else hear that?
Shhhh.
There. Sounds like a lawn mower.
Okay, okay, a lawn f******g tractor, fine. With no grass. WHAT. Ev. Er.
Listen carefully.
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The only time I had my car towed was when I was the designated driver to a Front242 concert.
It was a fitting end to the evening.
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Yeah, it was a lawnmo-- ahem, lawn tractor after all, here it comes round the mountain, trailing two parallel lines of dust behind it.
Well, it was a lawn tractor at some point, one of the latter-day everything-in-the-world-with-grass-as-a-sideline jobs that came with a roll-bar, power-takeoff and a bazillion doodads and whistles that this thing barely resembles anymore. It’s got a Wankel engine shoe-horned into it (with the little plastic letters W A N K E L on the front, so I’m not guessing), with an absurd “I break for BioDiesel” bumper sticker plastered on the side, right next ones for “Shell” “CBGB-OMFUG” “Europe 2072” “Haul Ass” “Where have I been?” and …
One final sticker: “The Name of this Tractor is Severed Heads.”
It can’t be, right? David Burned? Still doddering about with a passenger in tow?
Oh, yeah. The over-sized chain-mail on the driver, coupled with the dodgy, patched-and-patched-again paper-machie head should have been a dead-giveway. That and, who the f**k else drives a lawn-tractor in this day and age? Even one that’s been souped-up to burn 17 different kinds of fuel, has it’s cutter-blades on extension arms, and can burn down most houses with it’s dual-exhuast/flame-throwers. He may be driving solo these days, but it’s definitely him.
“You’re late” somebody calls out.
“Late?” A familiar voice responds, “Late as in the late David Burned?” And tosses something into the no-man’s land of the stand-off.
When it stops tumbling and the dust settles, we can see it’s a head. Burned’s head, duh. It’s eyes are opened in that angry swirl of marble flesh.
The driver lifts off his head and… it’s a her. G-d stone me blind, but it’s Deadly Harry herself, the ex-offender in the flesh.
The last time I saw her was at the last Tractor Pull, when Mary Margaret Road-Grader caught it in the face from Elmo John Deere (true story!). I look into her face, her eyes closed, and even though I know the batteries have been topped off and the valves freshly oiled, I can feel my heart shattering like a glass snowglobe tossed off a mountain.
Even the backfires are muted as there’s an old-fashioned silence, everybody politely waiting for the other party on the phone to say something. And then she does:
“I’m on E,” Blondie says, “Dagwood and I want in.”
KooKoo for Cocoa-Puffs, same as she ever was.
Somebody backfires, a couple of us rev in response, but we can all hear the highway breathing. Unlike Burned, I hope she knows where she’s going with this.
And she opens up her eyes.
[artwork in progress]
This was my original mental image of "Dagwood’; Deadly Harry not so much. And forget the ve-hickle. The quiff should be sticking up, not curling down.
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Guys, I had the weirdest dream last night.
Weird abstract artsy-fartsy dream.
Just this multicolor pole, spinning round in space.
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Okay, guys, Round Eight will be going live in a couple hours. Just wanted to give you the heads-up. It’ll be a different structure this time, since we don’t really know how many of you will still be actively participating. There will be an element of old-school tabletop RPG going on. The main post will set the stage. The actual round deadline will be 7:00 PM PDT on Monday, but we’ll have three mini-rounds of back-and-forth between then. You guys will have 24 hours to make a maneuver, ask our villains a question, hurl an insult, deploy a strategem, pretty much any small stage-setting action that doesn’t quite cause our whole delicately-balanced standoff to topple… yet.
At 7:00 PM Saturday, we (that is, @penguinchris and I, in the guise of Toecutter, Fleetwood, and any other relevant NPC and natural forces of the Wasteland) shall respond to this input. And you’ll have 24 hours from then to make your next moves. At 7:00 PM Sunday, we will again take our turn. And then you guys will make your final adjustments to the chessboard, as it were, and unleash whatever hell you all intend, collectively or individually, upon our villains. If for some reason you’re obliged to be AFK for part of the weekend, you won’t miss too much critical input, as long as you make your final move by Monday evening. The deadline for your final thrusts will be 7:00 PM PDT on Monday. And then we’ll analyze, collate, and publish the results on Tuesday evening, and put forth the final round Wednesday evening, the deadline of which shall be next Friday evening.
And then we’ll see who (or what) gets to Mars.
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Oh, and ahem.
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Uhh Uhh
Where Am I?
Where’s My USA TODAY???!???!
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Jesus Christ, Gramps, but I’m still so envious of your hair. 'Tain’t fair, Mac.
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The game is afoot.
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Hey, Bill! @webiii1976 Wake up!
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Hey, how 'bout that! Round Eight is posted! Huzzah!
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