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Blobby Log Owners Manual

Tagged: Moustachio Territory
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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 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 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: ¤ ¤