Toonie, Twoonie, Twoney?

You got your penny, your nickel, your dime, quarter and loonie.  But why isn't the two dollar coin spelled with a "two" at the beginning?  I've been spelling it toonie.  Have I been wrong all this time?
Don't think so.

Mythical Super Hero Anne - Chapter 1

Back in the very first year that we produced Annekenstein, I had written a little sketch that pretended that Anne of Green Gables was a Japanese superhero.  The sketch was performed as if it was dubbed into English.  We had a pre-recorded soundtrack complete with stilted-English dialogue, while we pretended to mouth the words as if we were silently speaking Japanese.  It was a pretty strange sketch.
Anyway, a couple of years after that, and because I liked the idea of AoGG actually being a Japanese superhero, I decided to write that sketch out as a short story, pretending that this particular story is but one in a series of Mythical Super Hero Anne stories for Japanese girls.
I now present, in chapter form, that story to you, if you care to read it.

The Adventures of Mythical Super Hero Anne

Part 21

"The Destruction of The
Loved Ones!"

1.

             Toshomiko,
the girl-shaped human form disguise of Mythical Super Hero Anne, and her
dearest friend, Diannakiro, along with another factory worker named Josipi,
were riveting side panels of Tondo Motor Corporation's newest sport-coupe
utility vehicles. All three were honored to be chosen, four weeks earlier by
the plant manager, as riveters for the prestigious New-Vehicle Assembly
Line.  Diannakiro and Toshomiko had been,
before the promotion, working at the Vehicle Corrections Checkpoint, their
responsibility being to assure that no mistakes had been made in assemblage of
the vehicles.  That had been a dull job,
as Tondo Motor Corporation was reputed to be the best, and most error free
vehicle manufacturing plant in all of Japan.

            It
was late in the day, and, so far, they had riveted side panels on four hundred
and fifty two cars.  Diannakiro had
worked hard, and well.  For the last part
of the late afternoon shift, she was the riveter, the most demanding position
of the riveting line, with Josipi heating the rivets, and Toshomiko tossing
them to Diannakiro, who put them on the cars. 
She was tired and sore, but felt pleased with their output.  No, it wasn't a record number of side panels
for one day, but it was a respectable number. 
Besides, it was the Americans who were always worrying about breaking
records.  Diannakiro was just as happy
obtaining respect.

            Naturally,
Mythical Super Hero Anne could have easily riveted seven hundred side panels by
herself, a clear record number, if she so chose, but she knew that that kind of
productivity might make others suspicious. 
She knew she had to be careful around the people at the plant,
especially Josipi, for she knew that Josipi did not like Toshomiko.  In the past she had looked for ways to make
Toshomiko look bad in front of the plant manager.  Of course Josipi could never find anything to
make Toshomiko look bad, but Toshomiko still wanted to be careful, and went out
of her way to be nice to Josipi.

            "This
rivet is nice and hot," she would say to Josipi, as she tossed the glowing
red rivet to Diannakiro.  Or, "You
are a hard worker, Josipi."  Bad
feelings between coworkers in the workplace, besides being a detriment to
productivity, could possibly lead to a workplace investigation, and that,
Toshomiko/Mythical Super Hero Anne knew, could inadvertently cause her true
superhuman identity to be revealed to all of the world. It was of utmost
importance to Mythical Super Human Anne, and for the security of Tokyo that no
one know of her powers, that she not give away the secret that she was, in
reality, not Toshomiko, a mild mannered Japanese girl of fourteen, but Mythical
Super Hero Anne, the supposedly mythical Japanese super hero.

She had told Diannakiro the
secret when they had first met, or rather, Diannakiro had guessed right away.
At that moment, Mythical Super Hero Anne knew that someone who could discover
her secret as easily as Diannakiro had must be kept close at hand.  From then on Toshomiko treated Diannakiro as
a Kindred Spirit, to such an extent that Diannakiro even partook in some of
Mythical Super Hero Anne’s adventures. 
Mythical Super Hero Anne/Toshomiko knew that Diannakiro could be trusted
to keep the secret.

           

            Toshomiko
had just handed Diannakiro the final rivet for the four hundred and fifty third
vehicle when an announcement came over the loudspeaker in a pleasant female
voice:

            "Attention,
factory workers! As you all know, tomorrow is a holiday.  Therefore, morning workout exercises here at
the plant will begin one half hour later than usual, enabling you to be happy
as you spend extra quality time with your grandparents.  Despite the half hour delay in startup, it is
expected that your happiness will cause your holiday productivity levels to
remain at the high standards that you, the factory workers, set for yourselves.

            “For
those of you staying today after work to do more work, saki will be served in
the factory workers' lounge.  That is
all."

            Toshomiko
removed her clean, white cotton gloves, and unzipped her clean, white cotton
coveralls.  "Diannakiro," she
said, stepping out of her work clothes, " let us leave work, now."

            Diannakiro
put down her riveter, and began to remove her outerwear.  "Toshomiko, my dearest friend, and my
colleague, Josipi, another day of high productivity must reluctantly come to an
end."

            'This
is true," agreed Toshomiko. 
"And we must rest tonight so that we will be in top physical and
mental form for tomorrow's workday," 
she reminded the other workers.

            Josipi
picked up another rivet and the riveter Diannakiro had just abandoned, and
said, "I shall work for another four hours, so that the plant manager will
be impressed with my day's body of work."

            Toshomiko
smiled a polite smile and said, "Very well.  I am not in a battle with you over
productivity levels, Josipi."  Then
she turned to Diannakiro and said, "Come, Diannakiro, you will stay with
me and my adopted family while we eat our evening food meal."

            "Thank
you for your generous offer," said Diannakiro.  "I accept.  Thank you to you.  I look forward to again meeting your adopted
father, Matthewsan, and his sister Malirra."

            "Thank
you for your acceptance, Diannakiro," said Toshomiko. "Let us go, and
leave Josipi to work in peace."

            Toshomiko
and Diannakiro mounted their bicycles and rode together out of the factory.

-------------------------

Next time - Chapter 2 - Meeting the family

More Car Woes

I last wrote about our car woes in September.  Large amounts of dollars to fix it, then.  Actually, the large amounts of dollars were more about trying different things to fix it, and failing.  Finally, though, we took it to Walter Piccotts, and they reset the computer and that seemed to have solved it.  Another place had set the computer earlier, but that, for whatever reason, didn't solve it.  The second re-set did, though.
Well, after that, it had been running fine.  Okay, so there was the power steering that was leaking a bit, and we had to keep topping up the coolant because the low coolant light kept coming on every 4-5 days.  But, the power steering had been leaking, like, forever, and it was a tolerable annoyance.  And, we put in some radiator LeakGoop product, and that seemed to slow the radiator leak quite substantially.  So, yeah, the car had been running great, apart from these annoyances.
Then, right in the midst of the hectic, nervous week before our Sketch22 Christmas show opened, our car again decides to break down.  The same thing as in September.  Car stalls when you're driving along, so you have to re-ignite is as you coast.  Driving from Winsloe into Ch'town, it might stall 3 or 4 times.  Totally unacceptable, of course, and, seeing as we just got it "fixed" in September, totally infuriating.
So, we take it back to the place (out of three we tried in September) that seemed to cure it in September.  Their claim this time was that the power steering burst and leaked liquid on the alternator.  Damn me and my stupid procrastinating self!  Damn me straight to hell!  I knew that it would come back to bite me on the arse, and yet I did nothing!  I'm an idiot!!!
Gonna need a new alternator (even though we got the alternator replaced in September, even though replacing the alternator in September didn't cure the problem then, even though the mechanic said it would).  And, yes, they'll have to fix that power steering leak.  Okay, so we get a new alternator and power steering unit on Wednesday and that cost a couple of hundred.  Okay, so not so bad, the car's fixed and the power steering leak has been cleared up.
Driving the car home from the shop on Wednesday evening, it stalls once, then twice.  And, now, anytime you put it in reverse and try to back it up, it stalls out.  Okay, contain the anger.  Then, just before we try to back the car in the driveway, the radiator burst.  Damn me and my stupid procrastinating ways!  Damn me straight to hell!  I knew that it would come back to bite me on the arse, and yet I did nothing!  I'm an idiot!!!
So, in the absolute depths of despair (well, for a Canadian who has a home and food on the table, and a loving wife and kid) I drive the ailing, stalling, liquid spewing car back to the shop and, because they're closed, I park it and leave it, with the keys out in the open, hoping someone would steal it.  In the cold of a December night, I, depressed, walk from Parkdale to the Guild, to our dress rehearsal.
The next day, the shop calls and says the radiator leak is gonna cost a few hundred dollars to fix, and when re-investigating the "stalling when in reverse" problem, it looks like the problem is the ignition switch.  Gonna need a new one of those.  Won't be able to get a part now, though, until Monday.  Sigh.  Okay, fix the fucker!
Anyway, Monday comes, and the car's fixed and we pay the money to get it back.  On the way home, the thing stalls.  Okay.  Don't panic.  Probably it stalled because the computer needs to re-set itself.  Wait until it stalls again before Totally Freaking Out.  So far, a month later, it hasn't stalled again.  The car is working great.  No leaks at all, it starts great and runs smoothly.
There is some weird static-electrical thing happening though, that causes me not to be able to use my iPod/iTrip.  When I use it, it's pretty much unlistenable due to static interference.  That doesn't happen in any other car.  Odd and frustrating.
So, the car's working great.  Until last Friday.  Two days ago.  Car won't start.  It'll turn over, but it won't engage.  It just "werwerwerwerwerwer"s.  I thought, because it was kind of cold on Friday, that the gas line had frozen, but that doesn't seem to be the problem.  It shouldn't be spark plugs, because we just got a complete new set in September (one of the initial failed attempts to figure out why it was stalling).  It's not the battery, as there seems to be lots of juice, and getting a boost from another car didn't help.
So, there it sits, in our driveway.  An ugly and expensive piece of lawn-art.
Guess we'll get it towed to our mechanic on Monday and see what the problem is this time.
Why do we still have this car, you ask.  Because we are currently in the financial position where we can't afford to get another car, and we do need a car, so we're unfortunately forced to keep fixing this one.

Is It Live or Is It Memorex?

Can you tell which is the real F1 image and which is the GP4 game version?

Technorati Tags: F1, video, sports

Sketch22 Goes Madly Off

Tonight, Dennis, Andrew and I will be performing a couple of sketches at Madly Off In All Directions at the Confederation Centre in Ch'town.  Sketch22 has done Madly Off before, and I've done it before with another group. Because it's primarily a show that's being taped for radio broadcast, it's a different performance than usual because you really have to perform to the microphone so that means everyone is pretty much stationary and there's not the same character interactions as usual. 
There's a great lineup of performers scheduled and it should be a great night.  If there are tickets left, you should come out and see the show.  It'll be the last Madly Off to come to Ch'town, as Lorne Elliot is getting sane and ending the run of the show.

Technorati Tags: Sketch22

A Special Offer To UPEI Students

I haven't talked this over with the other guys in Sketch22, but I have come up with what I think is a pretty sweet deal for students at UPEI, and I'm sure my sketch compatriots would be cool with this.
I am hereby offering this deal to any and all UPEI students:  Because some of our Sketch22 shows get over-booked during our summer run, I am going to suggest that any UPEI student who wants to say they've seen our show, come and pay your money for the ticket, and then not stay for the show.  I promise that, if asked, I'll say that you enjoyed the show to a degree 70% of those who've seen it.
You'll be doing Sketch22 a service, because we really don't like to perform when there's standing room only.   You'll be doing a service to those audience members who really do want to see us. 
And you'll be getting easy credit.  Isn't that what UPEI's all about?
I'll also extend the offer so that it includes UPEI faculty, ex-faculty, members of the board and administration, and janitors.
Registrars shall remain exempt.

Technorati Tags: Sketch22, UPEI

A Sketch22 Weekend Update

We are back from the Halifax Sketch Comedy CBC Audition Weekend.  We are trying not to feel like conquering heroes.
It was a really fun weekend, hanging out with the guys.  There was the eating, and the drinking, and the ogling that one would expect a bunch of guys to do.  Rather than go on about the periphery of the weekend, this post will focus on the reason we were in Halifax - to audition for a CBC producer who is planning on producing a one-time sketch-comedy tv show featuring 6 sketch comedy groups from across Canada.  Auditions are being held in Halifax, Toronto and Vancouver.  We were part of, along with 8 other groups, the Halifax auditions.
The event was held on a Sunday night at Gingers Tavern.  The Comedy Dawgs perform there every Sunday night, apparently.  I don't know what kind of stuff the Comedy Dawgs does, but based on the very small dimensions of the stage, I'm guessing it's mostly stand-up comedy.
So, yeah, the small stage was a bit of an issue for some groups I'm guessing, but not really a problem for us.
Here's my impressions of the night of sketch comedy:
The first group was god-awful, their segment containing a couple of horrid bits revolving around the election.  Yeah, it was timely, but it was not funny in the least, and really amateurishly performed.  I couldn't possibly convey to you how bad they were.
We (Sketch22) were really interested to see how we compared to other sketch groups in the region.  We had some fear that we'd prove to be not all-that, and would be driving home the next day realising that we were nothing special.  This first group allayed all those fears and had us feeling really good about our stuff.  Their badness instilled in me many emotions.  I was ecstatic that this was potentially the level of competition we'd be facing.  I was also worried that if this was an example of the rest of the night, many of the audience (which was packed, by the way) might leave before we went on (we were slated last).  I also felt bad for the group performing.  They were giving it their all, but it just wasn't good.  The audience was kind and laughed encouragingly for them.
To be honest, I don't really remember the order in which the other groups performed, so I'll just pick and choose memories as they come to me.
I found it interesting that a lot of the groups had "god" "jesus" or "philosophy" as the theme of their sketches.  The kind of comedy you'd expect to see at a university talent show.  Kind of sophomoric and text-booky.  Of the god-religion-philosophy themed sketches:
One group had an interesting sketch involving Jesus, Mary, Joseph and Buddha.  Basically the sketch was about Mary telling Joseph and Jesus the truth about Jesus's real father.  It was interesting because it traversed some of the same themes that we did in our Christmas show.  They had some pretty funny lines, and was somewhat edgy, but overall it really missed the mark for me due to the poor performances of the actors.  The guy who played Buddha laughed at his own lines a few times, mostly when the audience would laugh at them too.
Another group, a duo, did this way-too-long sketch where they both played gods who were creating Man and Earth and kind of following the History of Man to its inevitable conclusion involving nuclear explosions.  They were good performers, and some of the material was pretty funny, but the two criticisms I had for their bit are: 1) it was way too long, in desperate need of editing, and 2) I had seen them perform the exact same bit maybe 10-15 years ago.
Yet another group had a couple of scenes that involved Jesus as a waiter.  To be honest, I didn't pay too much attention to this group as they didn't seem to be very good.
Also interesting was that two groups each had a very similar sketch, of the type that I'd seen performed somewhere else long ago.  I'll call it the "wha' 'appened" sketch.  They both start out with a "business man".  He gets accosted, in one group it was by a bum, in the other it was by a mugger.  There is some dialogue and in the end, the roles have reversed, so that in the first sketch, the business man is now seen as a bum, and in the other the business man ends up mugging the mugger.  Wha' 'appened?  Not very good, either of them.
The night wasn't all bad, though.  There were some competent and funny performers.
One guy, physically a cross between Quentin Tarrentino, Neil Patrick Harris and David Hyde Pierce (he had a three-name name, too) was a gifted mime.  Yes.  Mime.  Fascinating to watch, but, you know, it was mime.  He also did some talky-bits.  One where he's on the phone to god, and maybe another one that I can't remember.  He was a pretty competent performer and my only complaint about him was his over-bearing ego got in the way of the comedy he was performing.  In fact, his comedy was kind of all about how great he was.  Kind of off-putting.  He was the kind of guy who'd insist on gathering all the groups together before the show, so that he could suggest that all the groups could make sure that they conform to some sort of thing that was important to him and his group but not really important to any other group.  In fact, that's what he did.  He had the organizer call all the groups together.  Once called, Quentin Patrick Pierce instructed us all on how great it would be if we could all use the same convention when informing the audience that a sketch was over.  Since there was no way to "blackout" the lights to signify the end of a sketch, perhaps, chaps, we could all just say "blackout!" to indicate such.  He said it would be good to instruct the audience that anytime they heard the word "blackout" that they were to close their eyes.  Then, he suggested, when we say the word "open", they'd open their eyes.
What nonsense.  Graham made me laugh when he said that one of our sketches had the word "blackout" in it a bunch of times and how would we handle that?  Neil Hyde Anal, taking Graham seriously when absolutely nobody else did, suggested that we could use the word "scene" instead of blackout.
That important bit of business taken care of, and his feathers properly displayed, the cock of the walk allowed us to get back to our regular programming.
He did a segment on his own, and also was in another segment with a group of 4 or 5 others.  They, apparently, were an improv group who decided recently to switch over to writing sketches.  Trouble is, they didn't have any sketches written.  Also, apparently, they were misinformed as to the nature of the event, and they were expecting to do improv.  When they were told, days before the event, that it had to be scripted material, they feverishly began the arduous task of rehearsing some improv games and, I'm guessing, transcribing the words they said in rehearsals.  These bits became their "scripted material".
As a group, they were all pretty talented, I thought, but their material was weak.  Basically, they performed maybe 30 "sketches", each that consisted of a brief setup, then a punchline.  Then the "blackout!" followed by "Open!", then into another 10 to 30 second "sketch".   It reminded me of fast improv games you do to warm yourself and the audience up.  Only these were written down.
Good talent, really poor execution.  And not "sketch comedy".
The best of the bunch of groups was a duo from Moncton, called, I believe "2 To Go".  Consisted of a woman who was pretty funny and a guy who was really funny.  They did a bit where they played nuns who had a cable-access type show that focused on Entertainment News.  Basically a back-and-forth bit where the nuns say increasingly more outlandish and bawdy things.  It was pretty funny and well-performed.  Yet I couldn't help but sense that it was a bit too rote for them.  They obviously performed this a lot, and their reactions to the lines sometimes had that "I've heard this a thousand times before, but I'm acting like this is the first time I'm hearing this line" fakery.  They did a second sketch which I honestly don't remember.  Then they inexplicably went back to an encore of the two nuns, and did basically more of the same.  I was surprised that they went back to the nuns sketch and it had me wondering if this was all that was in their repetoire.  Their material was what I would call "good PopCultured" jokes, and would fit well, if perhaps a bit too racy, in an Air Farce show.  Of all the groups that performed, they are the only other group besides us that I could see the CBC going for.  Not so much from their material, but from their sense of professionalism.  To me, though, their act was a bit too polished, to the point where it was a bit robotic.   Another factor that could potentially work in their favour is the fact that they are half woman and half gay-asian and that might be a benefit in terms of the CBC feeling the need to consider demographics?
The only other performer worth talking about was a guy who did standup.  I'm not sure why he was included in an audition for sketch comedy because his routine was pure standup.  He started off dressed in Scottish garb and did a bit in Scottish brogue about Keiths beer.  I didn't really understand the point of it, but the audience seemed to like it.  He did a couple of other non-scottish-guy routines that were pretty funny.  It was apparent that he was a pretty smart stand-up comic, but his stuff wasn't sketch comedy.  After the show was over, he went to great lengths to try and impress the Sketch22 group.  It was during these attempts to fit in where I learned what an egotistical, desperate sadsack this guy was.  A good comedian, but something of an asshole in real life.
Anyway, he was on just before us.  The MC, who was a standup comic, and a not-very-good one but thankfully kept his between-group bits short, came up and started doing this "thanks for coming out to the show" bit.  We, as a group, began to get a bit worried because he was kind of signalling to the crowd that the show was over, and I was afraid that they'd start getting their coats on, etc.  Fortunately, he stopped that before it became trouble and introduced us.
My character in our first sketch was the first one on stage, and I noticed that the previous group had left their chairs and stool on the already-small stage.  Since our sketches didn't require them, but required the real estate, I kind of paused the beginning of the first sketch to remove these items from the stage.  I did it in kind of a comical way, pretending to be upset at the housecleaning I had to do.  It was getting a few audience chuckles and a few more as I continued.  Then, after I cleared the stage, I did an over-the-top "blackout", just to spite Doogie Howser.  It got a few laughs.
Anyway, we did our set, and from my perspective, it went over like gangbusters.  Huge laughs and great appreciation from the audience.  If felt fantastic.
While I personally try to maintain a critical perspective on the things I do, and we in the group try to temper our self-aggrandizing as much as we can, it was really hard not to feel like the guys who saved the day.   I felt like we were on another plain compared to the other groups.  I really think we rocked the house.
The reactions from the other groups, the members of the audience with whom I spoke, and from the event organizer all seemed to indicate that we nailed it.
The CBC producer remained pretty tight-lipped about the whole evening.

Whether or not we get to be part of this CBC show or not, it was really rewarding to see how we compare with other groups and people from around the region.  Interesting, too, that the two best groups of the night didn't come from Halifax.

Win or Lose, I Win or Tie

Only one more game to be played in the NFL this season.  That means only one more pick left to be made in The Annekenstein Monster's NFL pick'em pool.  Currently, I am one game ahead of reverseflash for the lead of our pool of four players.  That means that no matter what happens in the final game, I will be either tied for first or will win the pool out-right.
It was a hard-fought battle, with a few lead changes throughout the season.
Thanks to everyone for playing.  By "everyone" I mean the three guys who played.

As for the NFL season itself, I think it was a pretty good one.  The Colts prove once again that the pursuit of the perfect season can be devastating to a team's motivation, heading into the playoffs.  With nothing of substance to play for in their final three games, the Colts had lost their edge when it came time to getting back to playing a meaningful game again.  I'd rather my team lose a game early in the season, get that "perfect season" stuff out of the way early, then have your final game of the regular season be of some import.  Preferably import such as Win and you get home-field advantage throughout the playoffs.

As for my beloved Dolphins, I can't be upset about their season even though they didn't make the playoffs.  New coach Nick Saban seems to have the team definitely moving in the right direction.  They were substantially improved over the season before.  The future looks good for the Dolphins, and will look especially bright if they can acquire a good young quarterback.  Nothing but care-taker qbs since Marino retired has gotten really tiring.  Time now to get a quarterback who can be a star.
I hope, too, that the Ronnie Brown-Rickie Williams running back tandem stays in place.  With last week's  announcement that Mike Mularkey (a run-first type of coach) has signed on to be Offensive Co-ordinator,
it's looking like it might be a good idea to keep the two RBs.  Keep them, and Chris Chambers at receiver, and add a good qb, and the Dolphins could have a pretty sweet offense next year.
In any event, a run for the playoffs should definitely be an attainable goal for the Dolphins next year.

Rock It, Man. Rocket, Man. Rocket Man

I posted a link to this before, but now that it's so easy to embed video within posts, I've got to post it here again. Plus, my Sketch buds haven't seen this, and they'll get a real trip out of this.

Shatner. 1978 science fiction awards. Interpreting Elton John's "Rocket Man".

It's one of those things where I'm not sure if it's really really good, or really really bad. Or really really good because it's really really bad. But, man. Do I ever love it. Shatner totally sells it, man, and I'm buying it all up.

Fantastic.

Technorati Tags: Shatner, RocketMan, video

Copper Acropolis - Chapter 10

Link to Chapter 6 (plus chapters 1-5), Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9
And, finally, here is the last chapter of the story:

10

‘Goo’byee, Moffer’

             By the time Lucille and the posse
got to Copper Acropolis, the first faint light of dawn was creeping over the
eastern horizon.  When they came to the
big double doors, Lucille turned around and faced the posse.

            “You’ve got to let me go in there
alone,” she said.

            “Why,” shouted Guy Maddox, “so you
can build another one of those things?”

            “No,” said Lucille, “I’ll never
build another creature as long as I live. 
But if we all burst in there, she’ll kill some of you.  You don’t know how strong she is.  I don’t want any more dying.  I’ll go in there and end the job I started.”

            “Okay,” said Constable Maubery,
against his better judgement.  “We’ll
give you  ten minutes, then we’re coming
in there blasting at anything that moves.”

            “Agreed,” said the Doctor.

            She began to open the double doors.

            “Doctor Dewar?” It was Art
Schprengel.  On the way from the lake to
the mansion, he had been told that it would be impossible for his daughter to
live in a bucket of goop, and now was resigned to the fact that his daughter,
what was left of her, must die.  “Before
you kill them, her, would you tell my Pristle that her mother and me love her a
whole lot.”

            Lucille found she couldn’t look at
the man.  “I will,” she said, then, “I am
truly sorry about this, Mr. Schprengel.”

            “Just tell her,” came the reply.

            Lucille opened the doors and went
inside.  Once in, she shut the doors and
quickly bolted them shut with a large piece of metal that slid into its sheathe
across the doors and the door frame.

            “What’s going on in there?” yelled
Constable Maubery, trying to open the door upon hearing the sounds of metal.

            “I’ve locked the door,” yelled
Lucille, back out the door. “I must do it my own way.”

            She heard Constable Maubery order
some of the men to run down to the Afton Road General Store to get a battering
ram.  That should give her enough time,
she thought.

            Lucille walked up the three flights
of stairs to the door of the laboratory. 
It was open, and inside the domed laboratory she could hear voices.  She carefully entered the room and saw her
creation, her daughter, their daughters, pick up one of the medical machines,
and heave it across the room.  It crashed
heavily, smashing into bits.

            “What are you doing?” asked Lucille.

            Newgirl turned around quickly,
flinching as if expecting some sort of gunshots. There were none.  Once she saw that it was only her Mother,
Newgirl began to laugh.  “So, Mother has
come for her little daughter.”

            “You know you have to die.”

            “Do I?  You know, it’s always so sad when a child
dies before her parent.  I’d rather that
didn’t happen.”

            “Who am I talking to?” asked
Lucille.  “Is this Amalga-- Newgirl?”

            “Yes.  Who else?”

            “Well, I thought that maybe that
vain little heart of yours would be yapping at me some.”

            “I’m here, Doctor,” said
Pristle.  “Don’t let Newgirl fool you
into thinking she’s in control.  I’m the
one with all the power.”

            “Really?” said Lucille.  “Don’t you think the orphan brain has all the
power?”

            “See,” said Orphan Brain.  “She thinks I should be in charge.”

            “No,” said Lucille, “I think you
should be dead.”

            “We’re not going to die for you,
Mother,” said Newgirl.

            “Well you can’t live like this, can
you?  Three silly girls trying to beat
the others to the controls.  Don’t you
see, none of you will ever have complete control.  Ever. 
Maybe if I hadn’t used that stupid orphan’s brain.

            “I’m not stupid,” shouted Orphan
Brain.

            “I wish you didn’t use her hair at
least,” said Pristle.

            “Why, don’t you like her red hair?”
asked Lucille.  “I like it.”

            “No, I hate it. I’m going to get it
dyed.”

            “You can’t dye red hair,” said
Lucille, dismissing the idea.  “It would
just turn green.”

            “How do you know that?” asked
Pristle.

            “Because I tried to dye your red
hair before I brought you to life, and the dye job didn’t work.  It turned your hair green.”

            “Where?” screamed Pristle, panic
coming into her voice.  “I don’t see any
green hair.  Where did you dye the hair?”

            “Well,” said Lucille, “let me just
advise you not to look at your pubic hair anytime soon.”

            Pristle screamed.  “My pubic hair is green?”

            “And red,” added Doctor Dewar.

            “Green and red?” shouted
Pristle.  “I’ll never find a man who’ll
marry me!”

            Newgirl’s heart began to beat faster
and faster, as Pristle began to contemplate her dire future with green and red
pubic hair.

            “Don’t listen to Mother, Pristle,”
said Newgirl.  “She’s only trying to
trick you.  Get you worked up.”

            “Shut up, Newgirl,” screamed
Pristle.  “Don’t you understand?  I’ll never get a man with an ugly red and
green muff!”

            “Not that you ever would have,
anyway,” said Lucille, “not with an orphan’s brain as your brain.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”
asked Orphan Brain.

            “Just that everyone knows that no
one would ever marry an orphan.  They’re
too dumb and you can’t trust them.”

            “You know I’m not dumb,” said Orphan
Brain.  “You even told me so, the night
before you killed me.  You said I was
brilliant, just like you.”

            “I lied,” said Lucille.  “Remember I’m an orphan too, and you
shouldn’t have trusted me.  I really
think you’re dumb.”

            “I am smart,” yelled Orphan
Brain.  She was beginning to get
agitated.

            “You can’t be smart,” said Pristle,
“if you like red hair.  I agree with
Mother.  You’re stupid.”

            “Yeah, well, you’re vain and
stupid,” said Orphan Brain.

            “I am not vain!” shouted Pristle.

            Pristle began to pump her heart in
such a way that the flow of blood to the head increased, putting undo pressure
on the brain, causing severe pain in Orphan Girl.

            “Cut it out, Pristle,” shouted
Newgirl to no avail.

            The only retaliation that Orphan
Girl could do was to send brain signals to the heart, telling it to beat
faster.  While Orphan Brain knew that
this course of action would probably make her brain explode, it would also
cause a massive heart failure in Pristle’s heart, and without her heart,
Pristle was nothing.

            “Stop it, the two of you,” screamed
Newgirl, as her body began to writhe in pain, ‘you’re killing us!”

            Lucille ran over to Newgirl, who was
now oblivious to her surroundings.  She
grabbed the helmet that was used to send energy pulses through Newgirl’s body
and placed it again on Newgirl’s head, strapping it on.      

            When Newgirl felt the helmet go on
her head, the internal fighting stopped, as all of her wondered what had
happened.  Both Orphan Brain and Pristle
had suffered extensive damage in the melee.

            “Whush goan awn?” asked Newgirl, her
voice now slurred from brain and heart damage.

            “What’s going on?” repeated Lucille.
“I’m about to flip the switch that will kill you.  All of you.”

            In the distance, downstairs, a
battering ram could be heard starting its work against the front double doors
of the house.

            “I doan wanna die,” said Newgirl.

            “You must die, and I must kill you,”
said Lucille.  “After all, I created
you.”  The pounding on the door
continued.

            “Ah try ta be khoot,” said Newgirl.

            “I know you tried to be good,” said
Lucille. “But it’s impossible to be good when you have an orphan for a brain,
and a vain, self-centered heart.  And for
that you have me to blame.  I am sorry.”

            Newgirl looked at Doctor Lucille
Dewar with her right eye, the left, Pristle’s being now blind.  “Goo’byee, Moffer,” she said.

            “Good bye, Newgirl,” said
Lucille.  “Oh, and tell Pristle, if you
can, that her Mother and Father love her so.”

            Newgirl farted.

            “Good,” said Lucille.  “No one will forget you, I’ll make sure of
that.”

            The banging on the double doors
finally ended, as the battering ram burst through, and the shouts of men could
be heard.  They were slowly beginning
their search of the old house.  She had
only a few minutes left.

            Lucille pulled the switch on the
Energy Conversion Unit, causing the residue energy still inside to  pulse through Newgirl’s body.  The extreme power of the pulses caused the
brain and heart, already damaged heavily, to stop altogether.  Newgirl was dead.

            “You won’t be forgotten,” said
Lucille to her dead daughter.  She walked
over to the desk where Yune Mune’s torn, shredded body lay, pulled some paper
and a pen out of the drawer, and sat down to write.

            She could hear the voices of the men
getting closer.

            She wrote, ‘The woman lived just where the Afton Road main road dipped down into a
little hollow, fringed with alders and traversed by a brook that had its
source-’ before Constable Maubery burst into the room.  She calmly put her pen down and thought,
“I’ll finish my novel in jail.”

            Constable Maubery escorted Doctor
Lucille Dewar from Copper Acropolis and had the Mount Stewart Fire Department
burn the building, and all of its contents. The copper was salvaged, however,
and used to make a monument in memorial to the five girls from Afton Road who had
all died of pneumonia in the same year. The people who knew about and were
involved in the going’s on in and around Copper Acropolis that night had
decided to keep quiet, and let the world sleep soundly for a little while
longer.

Copper Acropolis - Chapter 9

Chapter 9 of the saga:

9

‘A Volatile
Combination’

             Through the
telling of her story, the creation of a new girl,  Lucille was able to see clearly the error of
her ways. Hindsight has perfect vision and by the end of her story, she knew
what she had done was wrong.  She said
she was sorry.

            “So, let me
get this straight,” said Art Schprengel. 
When the Doctor was telling her story, when he first realised what she
had done to his daughter, he was furious. 
It took all his willpower not to shoot her there, on the spot.  But, as she continued, and told of why she
did it; because she wasn’t loved as a girl after her parents had died; because
she never had any friends; because everyone made fun of her; because no one
cared for her, some of his rage died as he heard her sad, eloquent story.  “You took all of our daughters, spliced them
together, and got a brand new daughter?”

            “Basically.”

            “And why was
that?”

            “So future
children could be manufactured the same way as this one was, created in such a way
that they would always have the love of the various individuals within them to
keep them happy.  They would be love
self-reliant.”

            “But you
think something went wrong with your, what did you call her?” asked Constable
Maubery.

            “Amalga-Girl.  Yes,” 
said Doctor Dewar, “I realise now that the orphan brain that I used must
have been too much of an unstable entity in comparison to the relatively stable
upbringing the other girls had.  That
stability was why I came back to the Island to
conduct my experiment.  I knew that there
were hundreds of communities here that had well nurtured and loved
children.  But when I got the orphan
brain, well, she just reminded me so much of myself, and I thought that maybe I
could save her.  Give her the lack of
need for love that I never had.”

            “Did you
ever consider adoption,” came the voice from up the lake.  It was Newgirl, on her way back to the
mansion.  The speaker was Orphan
Brain.  “It would have been a lot easier
on all of us.”

Everyone looked in the direction of the voice. They
could all see that Newgirl had her arm around Dr. Yeo, who went up that way to
have a pee, using him as a shield.

“Amalga-Girl, drop that man!” screamed Lucille.

            “Don’t call
me that stupid name,” said Newgirl.  “My
name is Newgirl.  And if any of you come
any closer, I’ll kill this guy.”

“I’ll kill you dead girl,” said Guy Maddox lifting his
shotgun and shooting in the direction of the voices.

            “Don’t
shoot,” yelled Art.  “My daughter’s in
that girl.”  Hearing the absurdity of
that sentence, Art felt he needed to add a more reasonable reason as well.  “And, besides, you could hurt Dr. Yeo.”

            “Daddy?”
yelled Pristle, out of Newgirl.  “Daddy,
I have red hair!”

            “Pristle!”
shouted Art.  “Don’t you worry,
Pristle.  Daddy’s going to get his little
girl out of there.  I promise.”

            “You can’t
get me out of here, Daddy,” said Pristle. 
“I’m a part of Newgirl now.”

            “Yes we
will,” said Art.  “We’ll take out your
heart, and all the other stuff of yours that’s in that girl and we’ll put in a
bucket of goop, or something, keep you alive that way!”

            “I’d look
ugly in a bucket of goop, Daddy,” Pristle said. 
“Just get me an appointment with a hair dresser who knows how to dye red
hair.”

            “No one is
going to dye my red hair,” said Orphan Brain. 
“It’s the hair that I was born with, it’s the hair that Mother chose for
us, it’s the hair that’s going to stay.”

            “I’ll let
you pick the colour of the goop,” said Art, trying to entice his daughter’s
heart.

            “No, I’m not
going to live in a bucket,” said Pristel. “I’m going to live here, as part of
Newgirl, and we are dying our hair.”

            “You’re only
staying as part of me,” said Newgirl, “if you promise to let me have complete
control of me.”

            “I am going
to keep complete control of this body,” said Orphan Brain.  “The brain should always be in control.”

            “But I am
the soul of me,” shouted Newgirl.  “I
should be in control.”

            “Well,” said
Pristle, “what about the old saying ‘follow your heart’?  I say I should control our life.”

            “No one is
going to control your life,” said Doctor Lucille Dewar.  “Because you will have to die.”

            “Excuse me?”
said Pristle.  “But that is not an
option.”

            “You can’t
live,” said Lucille.  “none of you,
either alone or as a whole.  You’re too
volatile a combination.”

            “But if the
soul was in charge,” said Newgirl, “sort of keeping the rest of me in check—“

            “No, it
wouldn’t work,” said Lucille.  “The
orphan’s brain is to unstable.  It could
never get used living as part of such a close knit family.”

            “Oh, no,”
shouted Orphan Brain, “don’t blame all this on me.”

            “I don’t,”
said the Doctor.  “It’s my fault,
entirely.  I should have never used the
orphan brain.  I should have let her
continue to live her miserable orphan life, never allowing herself to trust
another individual enough to love them, or let them love you.  It’s my fault I made you this way, and
there’s nothing I can do to change it. 
I’m sorry, but you’ll have to die. 
For the betterment of society.”

            “Yeah?” said
Newgirl.  “Well, I don’t know about my
sisters, but I know I don’t want to die, so screw you, Mother.”

            “I’m with
her,” said Orphan Brain.

            “Let’s get
out of here,” said Pristle.  “I know
where we can get some nice black hair!” 
With that, Newgirl threw down Dr. Yeo, and took off running.

            Newgirl ran
past the posse and Doctor, into the darkness of the night, before any of them
could get a shot at her.

            “Damn,” said
Constable Maubery.  “She got away.”

            “I know
where she’s going,” said Lucille, calmly.

            “Where?”
said Constable Maubery, checking the ammunition in his revolver.

            “Copper
Acropolis.”

-------------------------
Next, the final chapter:  Chapter 10 - "Goo'byee Moffer"

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The Specials - A Message To You Rudy (Video)

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Copper Acropolis - Chapter 8

Here's Chapter 8.
You can find the other 7 chapters within the archives.

8

‘The Long
Dark Truthful Mirror’

 

            Newgirl
awoke, three hundred yards up the bank of the lake from the body of Birt Gill
about two hours before Doctor Dewar began her tale of woe and regret.  She was feeling much better, rested, and
quite in control of herself.  She hoped
that Pristle, nor any of the other girls that were part of her would surface
ever again.  Newgirl got up and began
walking, to where she did not know.

            After about
an hour of trudging through the brush and woods, creeping through open fields,
trying not to be spotted by anyone, Newgirl came upon an old shack.  She was starting to feel tired again, and
figured she had better rest.  She began
to walk towards the shack.

            “I know that
place,” she heard herself say, although she couldn’t imagine how she’d be able
to know it at all.  She made it to the
door and knocked.  After hearing no
response, she went in.

            The inside
of the shack was sparse.  Light from the full
moon shone in through the only window, providing just enough light to see
shapes and shadows.  There was an unmade
bed to one side of the single room.  On
the other side was a table and two chairs. 
On the back wall of the shack was a mirror.

            Newgirl
realised that she had never seen her image before and now wanted to.  She was scared that she wouldn’t like the way
she looked.  “How bad can I be?” she
said, and walked slowly to the mirror, her head down.  There she stood, head down, in front of the
mirror, preparing herself for the visage that awaited her.  The reflection of her face.  She breathed in deeply, closed her eyes and
lifted her head.

            “Well,
well,” came a male voice, from the direction of the door, “it looks like yet
another of my students has come for a little late night tutoring.”

            I know that voice, came the thought to
Newgirl, from somewhere inside her.  How? came a thought from somewhere
else.  It was the voice of Mr. Long, the Afton Road
School teacher.  How do
I know him? asked Newgirl of herself. 
Because I love him, answered
Pristle, as Newgirl turned from the mirror to face Mr. Long.  The moon’s light hadn’t penetrated  far enough into the room, and the remaining
darkness afforded Newgirl’s face the chance to remain hidden from his view.

            “It is a
little late for educating you,” said Mr. Long, buttoning up his fly, for he was
coming back from peeing in the woods, “and I’ve already taught a girl
tonight.  She had a long lesson in love.”

            Newgirl
could feel the rage and jealousy build inside her, could feel her heart beat
faster and faster, pumping the blood of flaming anger from Pristle’s heart to
the rest of her body.  Suddenly, Newgirl
felt the rage that Pristle had felt and understood its cause.

            Pristle had
been secretly dating Mr. Long for a whole year. 
He had told her he loved her and that she was his only lover.   She believed him because she loved him.  Now, she was hearing the truth and it made
her mad.  Newgirl could feel Pristle
trying to gain control of the body.  She
could also sense all the other girls feeling sympathy pangs of the rage, the
jealousy that Pristle was experiencing. 
Newgirl decided not to fight Pristle. 
Hell hath no fury like six women scorned.

            “You’’re too
tired for a little more extracurricular activity, Mr. Long?” asked Newgirl,
with a disappointed poutiness in her voice. 
It was not the voice Newgirl had expected.  Pristle had taken over.

            “Who is
this?” asked Mr. Long.  He took a step
forward to try a catch sight of her face.

            “No,” said
Pristle, “stay there.”  Mr. Long
stopped.  “I will come to you.  I’m a brand new girl about to enrol in your
school.  I heard I could get good marks
if I came by and helped you with your homework.”

            Mr. Long
liked the sound of this girl’s voice.  It
was deep and sultry.  Different from so
many of the girls that lived around the area. 
Suddenly he wasn’t feeling so tired. 
“I’ve been known to raise the odd student’s average by asking them to
come by for a little one on one tutorial. 
You say you’re new here, eh?  How
‘bout I administer an oral exam on you to see how smart you are.”

            “Well,  Mr. Long,” said Pristle, slowly advancing
toward him, taking care to stay out of the moonlight,  “I can guarantee that I’m the oddest student
you’ll have, yet I am truly average.  And
as for being smart,” she said, entering into a beam of light, exposing her
face, “I’m smart enough to know that you’ll not live through the night.”

            When Mr.
Long saw Newgirl’s face, he screamed and turned to run.  He ran into the closed door, then frantically
tried to open it.  However, upon his
return from his call of nature, he had locked the door, and now it wouldn’t
open.  He turned so that his back was
against the door and he faced her.  “Who
are you?” he yelled, looking again at her face. 
“What are you?”

            “I’m your
lover,” screamed Pristle.

            “What?” said
Mr. Long, cowering.

            “I’m your
one and only, remember?” yelled Pristle, moving closer to the man.  “That’s what you called me.  ‘You’re one and only.’  Only you lied to me.”

            “I don’t
know you!”

            “No,” said
Pristle, her face a foot away from his, “I don’t know you!  Now admit to me you’re a two timer.”

            “A what?”

            “A
cheater!  A seducer!  Look me in the eye and admit it!”

            Mr. Long
looked into Newgirl’s eyes.  In her left
eye he noticed a familiar twinkle.  He
knew a girl whose eyes twinkled like that.

            “Pristle!”
he gasped.

Newgirl grabbed Mr. Long by the throat.  “Admit it!”

“Pristle, I don’t know – “ was all he could say before
Newgirl began strangling the air out of his body.

“Say it,” she growled.  “Tell me you cheated on me.”

            “Alright, I
admit it,” gurgled Mr. Long.  “I’m a
cheater!”

            Newgirl let
go of Mr. Long’s throat as Pristle said calmly, “See, that wasn’t so hard, was
it?”

            Mr. Long
shook his head as he tried to get air into his lungs.

            “Now, give
us a hug and make up,” said Pristle, putting her hands around the man and
squeezing.  “And I’ll give you a hickey,
because you told me you like them.”  She
bit and bit deeply into his neck, her teeth slicing through arteries and
veins.  At the same time she squeezed
around his waist with all her might, until she heard his back snap.  She let go of him and he fell to the floor,
whimpering, wriggling and jiggling.

            “Now, where
was I?” asked Pristle.  “Ah, yes, the
mirror.”

            She turned
and began to walk back to the mirror.  On
the way to the mirror, Newgirl attempted to regain control of the body, but
Pristle didn’t want to give it up quite yet.

            The body
with the girls in it stopped just out of reflection of the mirror.

            “Pristle,
we’re stopping you!” said Newgirl, “You’ve had your revenge and we’ve all
enjoyed it, but it’s time to give control back to me.”

            “Not yet,”
said Pristle.  “I just want to see what
I, what we look like.”

            Newgirl
sighed.  “You can do that as a part of
Newgirl.  Now, come on, everyone’s
waiting.”

            First Girl
Killed, whose stomach was being used as part of Newgirl, grumbled in
agreement.  Third Dead Girl, who had
grown quite attached, both emotionally and physically (part of her was
Newgirl’s anus), to First Girl Killed, farted her vote in favour of Newgirl.

            “No,”
demanded Pristle, stomping her foot, the left one, down.  “I want to see, as Pristle, what we look
like.  I want to look through my own
eye.”

            “I can’t
believe you’re so vain!”

            “Who said
that?” asked Pristle and Newgirl together.

            “I did,”
shouted the Orphan girl, “Me, up here.”

            “Oh, don’t
tell me Brainiac is going to get her tits all tied up in a knot now,” said
Pristle.

            “They’re not
my tits, Pristle,” said Orphan Brain, “they’re yours.  And they were put on crooked.”

            Everyone who
could look at or sense Newgirl’s chest did so.

            “They are
not crooked,” screamed Pristle, punching Newgirl in the head.

            “Hey, hey,”
shouted Newgirl, “knock it off, or you’re going to knock us out!”

            “Yeah,” said
Orphan Brain.  “knock it off.  I’ve been sitting up here in the head, trying
to figure out why you’re so vain, and I can’t for the life of me figure it
out.”

            “I am not
vain!” pouted Pristle.  “Now let me look
at our face.”

            “Pristle,
will you give me back control of us if we let you look at us in the
mirror?”  It was Newgirl.

            “Yes.”
Pristle.

            “Well, what
do you say, girls?” asked Newgirl of herselves. 
“Should we let the big baby have her peek?”

            There were
grumblings, farts, belches, fluid sloshings and knuckle-cracks as the rest of
Newgirl debated the question. “Great,” thought Newgirl, shaking her head, “I’ve
become a democracy.”

            While the
others decided how they’d vote, Pristle took advantage of the lapse in
attention and leaped in front of the mirror.

            The only one
who noticed was Orphan Brain.  “Watch
out, she’s going to look.”

            Dead Girl
Number Two slammed shut the right eye, her former eye.  But Pristle had full control of the left eye
and left it open.  She gazed upon their
reflection in the mirror.

            Immediately
she screamed in horror.

            “What is
it?” everyone wanted to know.

“Are we ugly?” asked Newgirl.

“The face is not so bad,” said Pristle, gulping,
trying to recover from the initial shock of the sight.  “It’s a little swollen and bruised, but that
can be expected after major cosmetic reconstructive surgery.  But that’s not it.”

“Then what?” asked Orphan Brain.

“It’s… it’s the hair,” whispered Pristle.  “It’s red. 
Flaming red!”

“And what’s wrong with red hair?” demanded Orphan
Brain.  “That red hair happened to belong
to me, you know.  I liked it.”

“Red hair is awful,” cried Pristle.  “You can’t do a thing with red hair!  It’s wiry and awful!”

“Alright,” said Newgirl, “you’ve seen us, now give
back control to me.”

“Never!” exclaimed Pristle.  “I want to die!  I can’t live with red hair.  I’ll kill us all rather than have red hair.”

“Well, if she won’t give up control,” said Orphan
Brain, “then neither will I.”

“What are you talking about, Orphan Brain?” asked
Newgirl.  “You don’t have any control.”

“I’ve always had control,” said Orphan Brain.  “I’ve just been doling it out to the rest of
you.”

Pristle laughed. 
“Prove—“

The body of Newgirl crumpled to the floor.  It lay there motionless for a minute, then it
began to move.

“What was that?” asked Newgirl, as their body slowly
stood up.

“That was a brain aneurysm,” said Orphan Brain.  “I could have let it kill us if I wanted it
to.”

“I wish it had,” said Pristle.  “Better dead than red.”

“I’ll give you a massive heart attack if your not
careful, Pristle,” said Orphan Brain.

“I’ll cut off the blood flow to your ugly brain.”

Newgirl whistled loudly, getting everybody’s
attention.  “This is ridiculous!  We can’t go on like this, the three of us,
cooped up in this one body.”

An objectionable fart rang out loud.

“That’s right, Third Dead Girl,” said Newgirl.  “It was 
remiss of me to leave you other girls out of the equation.  I apologise.”

Third Dead Girl let a thin, odorless one go.  Apology accepted.

Newgirl turned her attention back to the matter at
hand.  “We’ll get nowhere, each of us
wanting control. None of us giving it up. 
We can’t solve this ourself.  Now,
here’s my plan.  Both of you, Pristle and
Orphan Brain, allow me enough control of our body to get back to Copper
Acropolis.  If we haven’t killed Mother
back at the house, then we’ll ask for her advice.”

“What can Mother do about this ugly red hair?”
screamed Pristle.

“I don’t know?” shouted Newgirl, losing her
patience.  “Maybe she could dye it?”

“Oh, no,” said Pristle. “Dyeing red hair is
tricky.  If it’s not done by a professional,
it’ll turn green.  I read that in a
book.”

“Well, maybe Mother’ll take us to the hairdresser,”
said Newgirl.  “Would that be acceptable
to you, Pristle?”

“I’d like to be pampered,” said Pristle, conceding.

“Orphan Brain,” said Newgirl, “will you allow me to
take us to Mother?”

“I have nothing against you, Newgirl,” said Orphan
Brain.  “It’s your rotten, stinking, vain
heart that I don’t trust.”

“Pristle is your heart, too,” said Newgirl to Orphan
Brain.  “You’ll have to trust her.”

“Yes, Orphan Brain,” said Pristle in her sweetest
voice, yet in a mocking tone, “I’m your heart. 
Trust me.”

“Give me a chance and I’ll stick a stake right through
that heart,” said Orphan Brain.

“Yeah, well I’ve got my eye on you, too,” said
Pristle.

“Are we agreed, then,” asked Newgirl.

            There was a
pause as Third Dead Girl made a fart.

            “Thank you,
Third Dead Girl,” said Newgirl. 
“Pristle?  Orphan Brain?”

“Agreed,” said Pristle.

            “Agreed,”
said Orphan Brain.

            “Well,
then,” said Newgirl, putting a false smile on her face, “let’s go and find
Mother.”

--------
Next time:  Chapter 9 - "A Volatile Combination"