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Blobby Log Owners Manual

Archive: Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory
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Blobby Log Day 67 (part 1)

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: WHO KNOWS; Day 67?
Weather: AHHHHHH
Landscape: WHOOSHY WHOOSH!

NOTES:

I have been trudging through this hairy storm for a time.  A time unknown.  Perhaps it has been 20 minutes.  Perhaps a year.  Perhaps I have always been walking through a constant sea of swirling brown threads.  I am maybe a fish-Professor now, I am maybe swimming in a storm and this is now maybe my new life.  This is well beyond disgusting.  This is around the corner from disgusting, I believe my soul has thrown up one million times.

To protect my eyes I am wearing Professor Island standard issue Bi-Monocles.   I have heard others call these Goggles.  Goggles?  That word seems made up.  I must check the searching-steam-engine-powered Encyclopedia on that when I get home.  Home?  Goggle?  Encyclopedia?  I do not know if anything exists or has ever existed anymore or before.

I cannot see anything.  The Bi-Monocles do not add sight to the whirling, they merely protect my eyes from flying hair colliding with them, burrowing into them, and growing into little moustaches.  Little eye moustaches.  Should I lose my Mind, I shall invite the eye moustaches into my life fully.  Perhaps the eye moustaches will steal my sight but grant me the ability to fly.  Flying eye moustaches.  Perhaps my regular moustache is where I draw my own aeronautical tendencies from.  Moustaches are the key to the Heavens.  Heavens.

Figure!!!Though I cannot see, and have been walking in this hairstorm for a Forever, I swear there is a formed shadow in front of me.  If I had not already accepted my Bonkers status, I could tell you that I SEE something here, a shadow, a something.  A figure?  A figure!  Hey!  HEY!  FIGURE!  HEY-LO!!!  HEEEYYYYYY!!!

?: ?

PF: HEYYYY!  The hair storm has stopped!

?: Who is that?

PF: I am Professor Frederick Fliggins, I am Bonkers!  Bonkers from hair snow!  What manner of Beard-Creature are you?

?: M’ name’s Tarvis Whiskerton, and I’m one of the Royal Barbers here in Moustachio Territory.

PF:  Tarvis?  Whiskerton?  Royal?  Barber?

Whiskerton?!Whiskerton: Yep!

PF:  And you, kindly Whiskerton Barber beast, are absolutely certain you are not merely a vision induced by the millions of needle hairs lodged into my brain during my journey through the dastardly hairstorm?

Whiskerton: Umm… I think so…?

PF: Sweet mercy – DISCOVERY!

Limited Edition Plush Discovery 3

Current Mood: From Bonkers to Zonkers!
Discoveries Made: A Royal Barber!!!

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤

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Blobby Log Day 67 (part 2)

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Evening; Day 67
Weather: Brisk!
Landscape: The Hair grows from the Earth! Is the ground a Face?

NOTES:

PF: All righty, Blobby and Roy.  Whiskerton has brought me to his Beard-Shack.  I must convince this Beard Hair Hill Barber to cease his hair mowing so that I may get my Bean Gas and fly away from all these incessant troubles!

Whiskerton: Come on in, friend.  Have a seat.

PF: Thank you for inviting me into your home, kind sir.  I have much business to discuss with you.

Whiskerton: Business?  You’re not gonna try ‘n sell me enchanted teeth or some other such crud?

PF: Enchanted Teeth!  Ho Ho!  What a HI-larious proposition!  Ho ho!  You are HI-LARIOUS FOREVER!

Whiskerton: Well, what’re you about then?

PF: Well, my goodly fellow – I would like to give you the chance of a LIFETIME.  Have you ever heard of a little thing called MAGIC?

Whiskerton: ?

PF: Well, sir, I have here a stupendous, non-horrendous, MAGICAL PHOTO-PAITINING SEPTAPUS!

Roy: Say what now?

Whiskerton: I don’t know what the words you’re saying are…

PF: That is right, my cousin – he can photo-paint you a photo-painting instantaneous-like with just a few flicks of his tentacles.

Whiskerton: I don’t think…

PF: Did I mention he is ENCHANTED?

Roy: I should photo-paint his mouth shut…

PF: …AND all you would need to do to own this little be-tentacled wizard is to quit your job forever!  No payment required!

Whiskerton: My job?  Oh no.  No, sir, no, thank you!  I’m a Royal Barber!  I got the best job a Beard like me can get in this here Moustachio Territory!

PF: Not so fast!  Act now, and receive your very own Stenographer Blob!

Blobby: !

Whiskerton: Sorry, pal.  I wouldn’t trade my job for every friend you got in that there log!

PF: Please!  The Mayor of Bean Village is going to give me Bean Gas to power my Kerchief Dirigible if I can just make the periodic Hairstorm that curses his lands cease.

Whiskerton: Well, I’d like to help you, but even if I quit, there are a hundred of us Royal Barbers, and we got strict orders to keep these hills shorn short!

PF: A hundred!  Drat sandwich!  I am never going to return to the skies!

Whiskerton: Now buck up, little fella.  You can fly cantcha?  You’re a Moustachio!  All Moustachios can fly!

PF: No, I am not.

Whiskerton: Are you sure?  I mean, you look kinda like one, ‘cept for that pale bulbous growth that’s protrudin’ out your body.

PF: Sir!  I shall have you know that this pale bulbous growth IS my body.  My moustache is subservient to my face, not the other way around!

Whiskerton: A Moustache a servant?  Maybe you DO know magic…  Well, if you’d like to stay for a stretch while you pick up them shattered pieces called your life, by all means, stay with me!

PF: *Sigh* Yes, I believe I will have to.  Thank you, Mr. Whiskerton.

Whiskerton: Not a problem.  I could use a new friend.

PF: I as well.  Though I promise to cease the annoying habit that I have developed to try and exchange my friends for goods and services.

Whiskerton: Thanks!

Roy: I’m gonna draw stuff on his face when he goes to sleep.

Blobby: Yeah, I was gonna say.

Current Mood: Defeated and Hopeful.
Discoveries Made: Friendship! Do you HEAR ME! FRIENDS FOREVER!

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

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Blobby Log Day 68 (part 1)

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Morning; Day 68
Weather: I can breathe this here hairy atmosphere without the aid of lung goggles!
Landscape: Whiskerton's humble but lovely domicile.

NOTES:

FriendshipWhat a lovely night’s rest!  Trudging through hair storms is more tiring than one would think!  Good morning, new friend Whiskerton!

Whiskerton: Morning, Fred!  You sleep good?

PF: Like a baby angel!

Whiskerton: Great.  My home might not be a Moustachio Castle, but it’s got the market cornered on cozy!  Help yourself to some breakfast in the kitchen.

PF: DELIGHTFUL!  Walk, walk, walk, walking away…

Blobby: Pssssst, Whiskerton!

Whiskerton: Who’s talkin’?

Blobby: Hey, it’s me, Blobby – in the log!

Whiskerton: Talkin’ logs!  What’ll that bulbous feller bring here next?

Blobby: Hey, so, don’t tell PF that Roy and me painted a bunch of warts and scars on his face last night.  We had to teach him a lesson for being so jerk-headed!

Whiskerton: Oh, that’s paint?  I just thought that he naturally got more hideous overnight, since he already looks like a deformed Moustachio.  Your secret’s safe with me, talkin’ log!

Blobby: Shh!  He’s coming back!

PF: Walk, walk, walk, walking back into the room… I shall tell you, Whiskerton, your hospitality is like a warm blanket wrapped around my shivering and hypothermic Heart.  I am so grateful to you!

Whiskerton: It ain’t nothin’, Fred.  Poor deformed feller like yourself could use a little respite and retreat!

Blobby: *snicker*

PF: So, Whiskerton, why will you not quit your job for me?  I would do you oh so many favors.  I will TOTALLY be your best friend for a forever!

Whiskerton: Well, Fred, I can’t give up my work.  It might not be the most glamorous life, but as far as Beards in Moustachio Territory are concerned, I’m basically a celebrity!

PF: From hair-lawn care?

Whiskerton: You don’t understand.  Us Beards are ground-bound here in Moustachio Territory, living simple lives with basic pleasures.  But we and the Territory are controlled by the Moustachios, them flyin’ Moustaches you might see zoomin’ ‘round out the window.  They live on floatin’ islands in the sky, where they monitor and legislate us from above.

PF: Flying!  Oh, Whiskerton, I LOVE flying.  Can we see these magical flying islands?

Whiskerton: I’d love to.  But Beards aren’t allowed up there.  We can only speculate what goes on in that floating kingdom.  I bet they got all kinds of fancy cheeses and high-tech primpin’ equipment!

PF: Well, perhaps I cannot get you to quit your job, but if you help me acquire the necessary Bean Gas from the Mayor of Bean Village, I promise to take you in my Dirigible to those floating castles in the sky!

Whiskerton: That sounds like a fine deal, Mr. Fliggins – a fine deal indeed!

PF: MARVELOUS.  May I accompany you to work today so as to devise a plan for ending the hair storm?

Whiskerton: You sure can!  Oh boy, flying castles…  I can taste them fancy cheeses now!

?: *squeak!*

Current Mood: Content and Focused.
Discoveries Made: Deal-Making with Beard-Creatures!

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤

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Blobby Log Day 68 (part 2)

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Dusk; Day 68
Weather: Almost unreal yet...
Landscape: Part Heaven, Part Space.

NOTES:

What an exhausting life you lead!  I had no idea a Barber could work so hard!

Whiskerton: Today was nothin’!  You should be there on Cowlick Tamin’ Day!  Them suckers is vola-tile!

PF: Gracious!

Whiskerton: Yep, it’s hard work, but I got a good life.  I can’t complain none.

PF: I admire you.  I suppose it is nice to know what ones calling is.

Whiskerton: Well, what’s yours?

PF: I would like to say “Discovery!” as is my instinct, but that does not capture it all.  I feel more and more that I must fly, as the Moustachios do.  That seems closer to the mark.  Sometimes the sky calls…

Whiskerton: Why flyin’?  What’s wrong with walkin’?

PF: Oh to be in the skies, with access to ALL the directions.  Featherless wings.  I love it, Whiskerton.

Whiskerton: Well I hope we can get you back to your skies.

PF: I am GOING to go back there someday.  *sniff*

Whiskerton: Hey, Fred, you got some stuff in your ‘stache.

PF: Oh?

Whiskerton: Lemme get it…

?: MAMA!

PF: Ooof!

Whiskerton: Aw, get off the man, Baby ‘Stache!

Baby ‘Stache: Mama!

PF: What is this thing attacking my face!

Whiskerton: Um, well, it’s a Baby Moustachio, and I think she thinks your moustache is her mama.

PF: Oh dear!

Whiskerton: Baby ‘Stache, that man’s face is not your mama!

Baby ‘Stache: Mama!

PF: It is hurting me!

Whiskerton: She’s just bein’ affectionate.

PF: OW!  I believe it is tearing the moustache from off of my face!

Whiskerton: Oh boy.  Just relax and maybe she’ll loosen her death grip.

PF: Why is this happening?  Ugh.  That is better.

Baby ‘Stache: *purr*  Mama…

PF: Shhh…  That is a good, surprisingly strong girl-‘stache…  Whiskerton, where did you acquire this cute tiny thing?

Whiskerton: Well, um, this Baby ‘Stache was sittin’ in the Goatee Hedges I was trimmin’ and she was shiverin’ and shakin’ and I almost hurt her bad with my big shears.  I could tell she was abandoned because her Moustachio name tag was removed.  I didn’t know what to do, so I took her home and been takin’ care of her since.  Please don’t tell no one about her!  I could get in so much trouble from Beards and Moustachios alike!

PF: I shant tell, but Whiskerton, my face is not this creature’s mother.

Whiskerton: I know, I know, but she’s harmless, Fred.  I’m more worried about bein’ found out now.  Beards don’t much like Moustachios and vice versa – neither of ’em would be too happy to find out I been takin’ care of someone that weren’t my own kind.  But what was I supposed to do, she coulda been Barbered!

PF: Well, I do not blame you, sir.  She is quite adorable.

Baby ‘Stache: *purrr*  Mama…

Whiskerton: Oh boy…

Field Drawing: Baby Stache

Current Mood: Though Whiskerton is uneasy, there is much more comfort to be found here than I first imagined.
Discoveries Made: There's not a word yet/for old friends who have just met...

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤

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Blobby Log Day 69

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Evening; Day 69
Weather: Jovial!
Landscape: On a dusty Beard-street, with the goatee-like tumblescruffs a-blowing by.

NOTES:

Thank you for inviting me to your Beard Saloon, Whiskerton.  I cannot wait to meet your friends.

Whiskerton: Yeah, well, just make sure to be cool.  My buddies are a little rougher than me.

PF: I AM COOLNESS PROFESSORFIED.  Do not fret.  I am sure your chums are just as lovely and comfy to hug and hold as you are!

Whiskerton: Oh boy.

Beard Saloon?: HEY, TARVIS – WHO’S THE DEFORMED MOUSTACHIO?

Whiskerton: Oh, hey Face-Fist, this ain’t a Moustachio.  It’s my new friend, Fred.

Face-Fist: Looks like a deformed Moustachio to me.  We don’t let moustaches in here.  This is a BEARDS ONLY saloon!

PF: Face-Fist?  Why he is ADORABLE.

Face-Fist: Tarvis, tell your Moustachio spy buddy to stop huggin’ on me right quick.

PF: What’s this stuck in your hair?  A decorative seashell?

Face-Fist: It’s broken glass!

Whiskerton: Fred, please don’t hug Face-Fist.

PF: You got it, chumly!

Face-Fist: I oughta smash that little Moustachio into paste!

?: I wouldn’t mess with that there Moustachio, Face-Fist, he’s got all kinds of scars all over him.  He must be a real bad dude!

Face-Fist: I don’t know…

PF: This place is so EXOTIC, Whiskerton.  All the little beards playing cards and spitting right on the floor – I am just dee-lighted by Discovery!

Whiskerton: Fred, try to calm down.  Do you want a drink?

PF: Surely!  You do not have Ginger Fizz, do you?

Whiskerton: Naw, but we got Beard Beer. It’s made from Hair Root!

PF: Flavorful follicles!  Magnificent!  I think!  Barkeep, two Beard Beers – one for me and one for my deeply intimate acquaintance, Whiskerton!

Bartender: You sure this guy is cool, Tarvis?

Whiskerton: He’s cool.  He’s just from some foreign place where everyone’s got developmental problems, apparently.

PF: I am working on an advanced degree!

Bartender: Two Beard Beers then…

Whiskerton: Let’s just play Stache Darts for a little bit and then we’ll go home, okay Fred?  Here, just try throwin’ ‘em at that target.

PF: All righty! How does one throw?

* C R A S H ! *

PF: Sorry! Let me try again.

* r e E E R !*

PF: Oops – sorry, tumblescruff creature!  Curse my clumsy nubbins.  Last one!

Face-Fist: Hey!

Whiskerton: Oh no.

Face-Fist: What’s the idea?  You just threw a stache into my face! MY FACE!!!

PF: My bad! I am more book-smart than arm and coordination-smart…

Face-Fist: I oughta barbecue yer brisket!

PF: Come now, friend – let us not be a Big Beard Baby now.

Face-Fist: There’s a STACHE on my FACE!

Whiskerton: I think we better get out of here, Fred.

PF: No, no!  We should be able to enjoy our evening just as everyone else.  I shall not let one dour albeit adorable Beard keep me from sitting here and enjoying my Beard Beer!

*sip*

*THHHPPPPP!!!* THIS IS DISGUSTING!

Whiskerton: Oh no oh no oh no…

PF: How can one stomach this bilious slop?  Drinking it is akin to sucking on a hairball soaked in garbage water!  Oh what now Big Baby Fist-Face, I suppose you do not like having Beer spat into your stache face?

Face-Fist: I’m gonna fustigate ya!

Bartender: Wait, Face-Fist!  Look at all them scars: he’s clearly a BAD dude!

Face-Fist: Well let’s see how the bad dude likes beer all over HIS face!

*sploosh!*

Bartender: Hey, wait a sec… His scars are washing off!  He’s a phony!

?: Yeah, he’s just some Moustachio with a fleshy, plaid sack attached to it! GROSS!

Whiskerton: Let’s get outta here, Fred!

Baby ‘Stache: Don’t huwt my Mama!

PF: Moustachia, what are you doing here?  You are not of age!

Face-Fist: Another Moustachio in here!  I knew he was one o’ them flyin’ dandies!  Get ‘em, boys!

PF: Foots, do not fail me now!

Current Mood: Running!
Discoveries Made: The limits of good manners!

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

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Blobby Log Day 70

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Early Morning; Day 70
Weather: It is hailing angry mobs from the rear!
Landscape: Torch-lit!

NOTES:

Huff… huff… Blobby…  I… should…  eat… less… food…

STOP CHASING US, BEARD-MOB!

*phew*

I HAVE ALREADY APOLOGIZED FOR SPITTING IN YOUR ADORABLE FACE!

Huff…  so… huff… tubsy…

Current Mood: Breath-out-of.
Discoveries Made: Fear: A Diet That Works!

Hereinto referenced:

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Blobby Log Day 71 (part one)

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Early Morning; Day 71
Weather: Hopeless!
Landscape: Utterly, utterly hopeless!

NOTES:

So this is it, Blobby.  We are cornered, surrounded by a mob of very disgruntled Beards.  I am so sweaty and breathless that I am fine with the Adventure ending forever, right now.  I am sorry, Whiskerton.  I am sorry, Moustachia.  I have led you to ruination.  Ruin Nation.  A desolate country with no central government, but at least there is less running there.

Whiskerton: Man, Fred – you really done it this time!  Why’d you go and spit in Fist-Face’s fist-face?

PF: It is not my fault your peoples are super absorbent!

Angry Mob: Get ‘em!  Get the Moustachio spies!

RMAF???S H H H H H H O O O O O M M M  !

Angry Mob: Hey!  Get back here you, varmints!

Baby ‘Stache: *meep!*

PF: What is going on?  Why are we not currently being pummeled into tiny bits?

?: Sit tight, old bean.  You’re quite safe now.

Whiskerton: The Royal Moustachio Air Force!  You’ve saved our buns!

RMAF: Yes, yes.  Cling tenaciously to our bristles, gents – we’re taking you to the castle!

PF: Gadzooks!

Current Mood: Flying! I am FLYING!!!
Discoveries Made: A new Emotion: "sweaty-relief-glee"!

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤

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Blobby Log Day 71 (part two)

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Afternoon; Day 71
Weather: The air is as crisp as diploma paper!
Landscape: The luxurious opulence makes my moustache curl!

NOTES:

S H H H H H H O O O O O M M M  !

PF: Thank you, RMAF!  What nice fellows.  Simply lovely.

Whiskerton: Wow, look at this place, Fred!  It’s so majestical!

PF: Pardon? Did you just say…

Whiskerton: I said MAJESTICAL!

PF: Yes, YES! I too find myself overwhelmed by this floating castle’s majesty.   Look at all the Moustachios zooming about!  Everything is golden-trimmed and beauteous!  Bring on the silken Moustache cuffs!  Bring on the fancy cheeses!

Whiskerton: Yeah.  Hmmph…

PF: What is wrong, Whiskerton?  I thought that you wanted to see the floating Moustachio castles.

Whiskerton: Well now, that’s true enough.  It’s just them boys what was chasing us – those are my FRIENDS, you know?

PF: Those dreadful vagabonds?  Whiskerton, you are in a CASTLE in the SKY – it is probably illegal to be sad here it is so amazing!

Whiskerton: That just might be true, pal.  I don’t know.  Being a Royal Barber is the swellest job a Beard can get, but the guys were always giving me guff for cavorting with Moustaches.  Now as soon as I meet you, I’m swept away by the ‘Stachios and in their super fine castle.  I feel like a sell-out, maybe.

PF: Well good!  Be a sell-out!  Look at all the fantastical things you get to see and do by selling-out!  You get to fly, Whiskerton!  You get to walk upon the clouds!  You get freedom!  Down in the Territory you are constantly dirty, you live in a tiny hair-house, and your “friend” had GLASS stuck to his FACE.  That is hardly living!

Whiskerton: Now slow down, Fred – that’s MY home and those are MY friends!

?: Please don’t bicker.

Whiskerton: But he was insulting my people!

PF: And he is being a dander-headed simpleton!

Whiskerton: I’ll show you simple!  Wait…  The Prime Ministache?  Oh goodness!  Sorry, sir!  I didn’t mean disrespect, sir!  Bow on yer knee, Fred – that’s my boss, the Prime Ministache of Moustachio Kingdom!

Prime Ministache: Now now, get up.  I won’t stand for kneelers.  Until we can straighten out what to do with you, you two are guests of the Moustachio Kingdom.  Please, gentlemen – follow me.

Whiskerton: If you got me in trouble with my boss, Fred, I swear I’ll have you tarred and bearded!

The Prime Ministache!

Current Mood: Conundrummed.
Discoveries Made: Racial Tension!

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤

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Blobby Log Day 72

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Morning; Day 72
Weather: HEAVENLIKE!
Landscape: A Floating Castle Couched in Clouds!

NOTES:

Oh, BLOBBY – I slept on a bed made of clouds last night!  Hairy clouds!

I do believe we Professors ARE descended from Moustachios because I AM GETTING USED TO THIS!  I AM SO GETTING USED TO THIS!  GETTING USED TO THIS IN MY HEART HEART HEART!

Blobby: Please stop yelling into my log.

PF: I am SORRY, Blobby, but my soul will not cease its frolicking and that makes me EXCLAIM LOUDLY.

Blobby: Ugh.

Prime Ministache: Good morning, gentlemen – I trust you slept well.

PF: Oh, Prime Ministache sir, I slept delectably!

Prime Ministache: Capital.  And what about you, Mr. Whiskerton, how was your rest?

Whiskerton: Sir, I didn’t sleep.

Prime Ministache: Oh?

PF: How is that EVEN POSSIBLE?

Whiskerton: Well I’ll tell ya – I appreciate you sending the Royal Moustachio Air Force to save us from getting pulverized by my buddies and all, and I certainly am privileged to be in your fancy castle, but I’m feelin’ kinda rotten.

Prime Ministache: Like you have abandoned your People, perhaps?

Whiskerton: Yessir.  Workin’ as a Royal Barber and hanging around Professor Fred here, it’s like I’m trying to be more civilized and so-phisticated than’s natural.  It’s like I’m pretending to be a Moustachio when I’m just a lowly Beard.  Those fellas don’t mean to be so ornery – but considering how none of them have as nice a job as me, I mean, I’d be angerfied myself!

Prime Ministache: Well, Whiskerton, we see a lot from up here that you “lowly” Beards do, and we’ve been keeping a close watch on you since you started taking care of the little Baby ‘Stache you rescued…

Baby ‘Stache: *meep!*

Whiskerton: Oh Moustachia?  You know about her too?  Good grief, I AM a sell-out!

PF: Well, clearly!

Prime Ministache: Mr. Whiskerton, your only ethical concern should be that you are TOO kind!  To be honest, so many of the creatures we see from on high could learn something from you.  The bickering between Beards and Moustachios, the Beans and their ridiculous legal system, those bonkers Hot Dogs with their immature King – it’s all simply madness!

Whiskerton: I suppose you’re right, sir – this IS a crazy world.  I don’t know, even though I’m being pulled every which way, there’s something in me that’ll never turn away helpless critters like Moustachia and Fred here – even if it fetches me gobs of trouble.  I just can’t say no to creatures in need.  Sigh…

Prime Ministache: That’s why we saved you, Whiskerton – because someone should finally be rewarded for bringing our peoples together.  I am getting on in years, and frankly, I can’t stomach much more of the disparity between Moustachios and Beards.  You’re a remarkable fellow for seeing past what’s on all our hairy surfaces.

Whiskerton: Aw heck, thank you, sir.

PF: Whiskerton, you…  you really want to help EVERYBODY?

Whiskerton: Well, yeah, I suppose so, Fred.

PF: *sniff*  So…  touching…

Whiskerton: What’s that?

PF: *BUH-BUH! buh-huh-huh!*

Prime Ministache: There there, Professor.  Don’t weep, man.

Blobby: Just let him cry it out.  It’s the only way now.

PF: He is just so NICE!  *Guh-HUH!*

Prime Ministache: Oh my.

Whiskerton: It’s okay, Fred.  Here take my hankerchief!

PF: *hoooonk!* A HANKY TO SNOT-CRY INTO!  THE KINDNESS IS ENDLESS AND I HAVE BEEN A BIG JERK-MAN-HEAD TO YOU! *BAHHHH-huh-huh!*

Whiskerton: I forgive you, Fred.

PF: FORGIVENESS!  *Bah-huh bah-huh bah-huh-huh-hic!*

Current Mood: OPENLY SOBBING FOR KINDNESS!
Discoveries Made: It is like, LIFE is SO HARD, and there is ALL of THESE THINGS keeping us apart from one another, YOU KNOW? It is not just, like, TOLERANCE, you know? It is like ACCEPTANCE, no matter what kind of facial hair creature you are.

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤

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Blobby Log Day 73

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Evening; Day 73
Weather: Tis raining chocolate nummers in my mouth!
Landscape: The Prime Ministache's private quarters!

NOTES:

*slurrrrrrp*  Thank you for this delicious chocolatey beverage, Mr. Ministache.

Prime Ministache: I hope it sufficiently cheers you out of your weeping stupor!

PF: *slurrrrrrp*  I believe it has.  I had no idea how different the lives of Moustachios and Beards were.  It is no wonder the Beards are all so angry.  Whiskerton is mega-angelic!

Prime Ministache: It’s true, lad.  I have attempted much to try and better the lot of Beards in the Territory, like creating the Royal Barber position that Whiskerton holds – but it’s never enough.  I must say – I am quite fed up with this gap.

PF: *slurrrrrrp*  Mm-hmm.

Prime Ministache: I swear it, after the Barbers complete the Great Spring Hill Shaving, I am going to DO something.

PF: *slurrrrrrp – hack!*  The Great what now?

Prime Ministache: Hill Shaving.  This Spring, the Barbers are shaving all the Hills of Moustachio Territory, and not just the areas underneath our flying castles like before.  Now they’ll cut all the Hills!  It was my idea to put more Beards to work!

PF: Oh dearie me!  Mr. Ministache, if you put that much hair into the atmosphere, it will surely drive the Beans to war!  To war they will go!  They are crazy!

Prime Ministache: War?  But the Beans are peaceful!

PF: And they are ALSO CRAZY.  They have probably just been peaceful because they had a giant spinning wheel that told them to be so.  But they despise that flying hair…

Prime Ministache: Well, the Beards have already started!  That’s where I sent Whiskerton this morning – to oversee the operation as a promotion!

PF: Sir, rally the Royal Moustachio Air Force!  We must fly to the Bean Village immediately.

Prime Ministache: I will not fly to war, my good man!

PF: Not war, I will explain on the way – we may yet stop this impending war and could achieve greater social justice as well!  I have… A PLAN!

Current Mood: Determined to un-fail!
Discoveries Made: Purpose!

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤

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Blobby Log Day 74

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Afternoon; Day 74
Weather: WINDY!
Landscape: Racing so fast into my face!

NOTES:

Hurry, Prime Ministache – we must be FASTER than the wind!

Prime Ministache: I am flying as fast as I can!

PF: There they are!  Descend!  Descend!

Prime Ministache: You shall pluck the hairs from me!  Calm your grip, sir!

FIGHT!PF: I AM SO EXCITED!  Look at everyone assembled; these Beans must ONLY have public events!  Let us land behind that Bean Vendor Tent so that we may try and get close to the Mayor.  Yes, very good.  You, Bean, what is going on here?

Random Bean: This is the annual Wrestling Match between the Hot Dog King and our Bean Village Mayor – DUH.  Now leave me alone, ya mutant – they’re smack talking!

Hot Dog King: We’re evenly tied, Mayor – exactly 1,734 to 1,734 matches won apiece.  Today’s bout will decide the juju of our lands for the next 300 years – I sure hope nothing catastrophic ruins this moment!

PF: *ulp!*

Mayor of Bean Village: Quit your jibber jabber, King Weenie – LET’S DO THIS!

Crowd: WOOOO!!!

Miss Bean Village: ROUND ONE!  Tee-hee!

Hot Dog King: I’m gonna bun you, Beany!

Mayor of Bean Village: Bring it on, Meat Tube!

Hot Dog King: Taste my fury!  Hey, why is the sun being blotted out by that foreboding cloud?

PF: That’s the Hairstorm, your highness.

Mayor of Bean Village: THE HAIRSTORM!  I sent you to STOP the Hairstorm, Mutant!  The day is ruined!   BEANS, ASSEMBLE!  WE’RE GOING TO WAR!

Bean Crowd: HOORAY!

Prime Ministache: Sir!  Please, it does not have to come to this.

Hot Dog King: Hairstorm?  During Annual Wrestling Day?  That tears it!  Hot Dogs, prepare to attack the Moustachio Territory!

Hot Dog Crowd: HOORAY!

Prime Ministache: Gentlemen, surely we can avoid war!  Professor Fliggins, you must intervene!

Hot Dog King: This Pastry?  Intervene?  He couldn’t even find my crown!

Mayor of Bean Village: Beanchowski!  Fetch the Splashy Smashy apparatus so we can dispose of this Mutant once and for all.

PF: Now wait you reactionary loons!  LOOK!  IN THE DISTANCE!

Miss Bean Village: *gasp!*

Mayor of Bean Village: The Hair!  It’s stopped!

Hot Dog King: But how?  Is that a wall?

PF: Nay!  Peer through my extending Monocle and be amazed!

Mayor of Bean Village: Why, the Beards and Moustachios – they’ve caught the Hairstorm in giant… hairnets!

Hot Dog King: …woven of more discarded hair!  Ingenious!

PF: Thank you.

King and Mayor: WAR CANCELLED!

Crowd: HOORAY!

PF: *phew!*

Prime Ministache: Well done, Fliggins!  You saved us all from violence!

Miss Bean Village: How did you do it?

PF: I will tell you, but first, can someone PLEASE fetch my Dirigible and bring it here?  I must FLY and shall never be without it AGAIN.

Hot Dog King: Certainly!  Sausage Cadet, fetch the Pastry’s Airship!

Mayor of Bean Village: Beanchowski, get this Mutant some Bean Gas!

Prime Ministache: Royal Moustachio Air Force, come at once to aide in the Professor’s departure!

PF: Hooray!

Crowd: HOORAY!

Hair Net

Current Mood: Heroic!
Discoveries Made: REDEMPTIONS!

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤

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Blobby Log Day 75

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Morning; Day 75
Weather: Perfect.
Landscape: Familiar. For the first time in a Forever.

NOTES:

Thanks for seeing me off, everyone!

Hot Dog King: Present the hero with his ship!

Crowd: Hooray!

PF: Oh, my Kerchief Dirigible, is it really you?  The sweet contours of your basket – I HAVE MISSED YOU LIKE WHOA!

Hilda: Hi, Fliggins.

PF: Hilda!  I have whoa-missed you too!

Hilda: So, before you fly away, please tell us how you stopped the Hairstorm.

PF: Well, I knew that the only way to save the Bean Village from the worst Hairstorm ever was to have the Royal Moustachio Air Force assemble those poor oppressed Beards and have them construct the Hair Nets with lightning speed!

Whiskerton: We can sew!

PF: There you go.  And luckily the Three Bean Teens were nearby so they could lend the Beards some sugar packets, giving them the added burst of energy to sew like the wind!

Bonzo: …which we acquired legally.

Sid: Word, kid!  We be exonerated!

PF: Truly!  Then the Moustachios flew the Beards and Nets in front of the Hairstorm just in time to catch it!

Prime Ministache: …and now we can boost the Territory’s economy by giving the Beards jobs cleaning up our environment of atmospheric hair shavings and helping bring our two societies a little closer together.

PF: Yes, government jobs to help clean the various messes you have made.

Whiskerton: Thanks, Fred – you really helped out my people.  And now they don’t wanna murderlize me anymore!

Face-Fist: It’s true!  I can feel my heart losin’ its bitter edge!

Hilda: Wow, Fliggins.  I’m really impressed.

PF: Shucks.  So much shucks.

Miss Bean Village: My Hero!

Mayor of Bean Village: Our Hero, sweetheart.  Mutant, as promised, for ending the terrible Hairstorms, we have filled your Airship with our Land’s finest Bean Gas.

Hot Dog King: That smells horrible!  And hey, you never found my Crown!

PF: Yes, well, your highness, I did not.

Hot Dog King: HORRIBLE!  Sausage Cadet, re-damage his Airship basket!

Sausage Cadet: You got it, boss!

PF: Wait!  King, I have made you a new BETTER Crown – it is a toothless Moustache comb I Discovered many Days ago, bent into a circle, and tied together with some of Whiskerton’s extra trimmings.

Hot Dog King: It’s not the same, but it’ll work, I’m tired.  Sausage Cadet, un-re-damage his basket!

Sausage Cadet: I already did?

Crowd: Hooray!

Prime Ministache: Very good, everyone.  I look forward to increased relations and sanity between our three lands.  Fliggins, the RMAF will help you lift off now and take you away, but where are you going?

PF: I think I would like to go home to Professor Island.  I have had a WONDERFUL time Discovering this amazing new world both outside my home and inside my soul, but I believe it is time to return to the land I left so many days ago now.

Prime Ministache: Which way is that?

PF: I do not know, but I will not find it sitting still!  Nothing ever has been found that way.

Prime Ministache: Bully!  Then I will allow Moustachia to accompany you – she thinks your face is her Mama anyway, and her natural aviation skill may aide in your search for your home.

Baby ‘Stache: Hooway!

Crowd: Hooray!

PF: Oh wonderful!  Let us start our stinky ascent then, shall we?

Crowd: Hooray!

Prime Ministache: The boys will take care of you.  Be safe, new friend!

PF: Thank you all!  The skies are tugging me away now!  Thank you!

Miss Bean Village: Farewell, Heroic Stud!  Tee hee!

Face-Fist: Thanks for the job, ya dandy deformed Moustachio Spy!

Officer Beanchowski: Keep your nose clean, Scumbag!

Hot Dog King: So long, pasty Pastry!

Mayor of Bean Village: Good luck, Mutant!

Prime Ministache: Cheerio, Professor!

Sausage Cadet: Smell ya later, Loopy Larry!

Three Bean Teens: Peas out, P. Flig!

Whiskerton: Y’all come back now, Fred!

Hilda: Goodbye, Fliggins!

Blobby: Hey, say “goodbye,” PF.

PF: Goodbye, friends!  Goodbye!  *sniff*

Baby ‘Stache: Don’t cwy, Mama.

PF: Sorry, Moustachia – it is what I do whenever all the people I know grow smaller and smaller in the distance below from where I just was, where I was.   Goodbye, everybody!!!  Goodbye!!!

Crowd: Hooray!

Farewell!

Current Mood: Changed.
Discoveries Made: Myself, I believe.

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤