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Blobby Log Owners Manual

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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?


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.

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!

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.

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.

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.


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 67 (part 1)

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

Timestamp: WHO KNOWS; Day 67?
Weather: AHHHHHH


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: ¤ ¤