Well with that spelling, grammar and punctuation, @Simon Blackberry, the gang sure could use your help filling up the language cannon. @Zero Peach keeps on tellin' us "load more! load more!" but looks like I'm just about out of Tom Stone stories. Here's the last one I could dig up:

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Biography Report by 0lga Butterfly
Mr. Findlay's 6th hour Paranormal History
--------------------------------------------

Tomas Stone (b. 1830)

Part IV

From the Fort Union Bulletin, November 13, 1859:

"Our neighbors in Warlock have at last eliminated their infestation of very large centipedes. As reported in this newspaper last month, the town had been experiencing an invasion of the gigantic predaceous arthropods - up to twelve feet in length in some cases. The creatures began by raiding chicken houses and menacing local dogs and cats, but their numbers soon grew to plague proportions and they began to break into houses and dry goods stores. The last news received from Warlock had been that the foul beasts had murdered the sheriff, and that the creatures had taken to nest in the local church.

An expeditionary force of the B Company Calvary returned from Warlock today with the good news that the giant centipede siege has ended. The sheriff had apparently not died but been merely severely sickened by the poisonous bites he incurred. After recovering he was able to return to his duties and exterminate the entire hoard of vile bugs. As for his method, Captain Samuel Lucy reports the sheriff used "an eerie green flame," apparently generated through a sort of flame shooting device attached to the sheriff's hands.

The B Company Calvary returned with their wagon loaded high with the charred carcasses of the exceedingly large invertebrates, and claim that the meat is tasty, being similar in both texture and taste to that of crawfish."

Boy I'll be darned if I've got any notion of where @Zero Peach is squirrellin' away all these texts we've been diggin' up. Loadin' up like ammo in some big language cannon as near as me and the rest of the gang can figure. Good thing I've got a friend in the archives helping supply me. Thanks @Melon Seawater! I think you outta be an honorary member of the gang.

Anyway, here's the latest:

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Biography Report by 0lga Butterfly
Mr. Findlay's 6th hour Paranormal History
--------------------------------------------

Tomas Stone (b. 1830)

Part III

In 1987, Dr. Dicky Treadwell published 'Immortal Mummification Cults of Ancient North America{1}.' An expert in serial immortality, Dr. Treadwell uncovered a creche in northern New Mexico that had been in use as recently as 1882:

"Recent flash flooding unearthed the entrance to a large tunnel complex, leading to a central temple chamber. The find was immaculate. Apparently untouched since it was abandoned, the site appears to have been initially created over seven thousand years ago. The mosaic work and altar structure are virtually identical to that of the Patavilca River site{2}, yet the site was apparently maintained and used until barely a hundred years ago.

Perhaps most fascinating of all were the contents of a canopic jar found on site. Sealed in this jar, in the midst of this sacred and secret resurrection chamber, were a pair of mid-19th century cowboy boots, with the initials 'TS' branded into them."


-----------------------------
{1}Treadwell, Richard (1987) Immortal Mummification Cults of Ancient North America. Psychic Archeology Today 30: 49-56.

{2}Treadwell, Richard (1977) Atlantean Immortality Techniques in Pre-Incan Peru. Psychic Archeology Today 19: 32-39.

The whole gang's been sweatin', turning out material for @Zero Peach's planned assault on the commodification of language. Can we really create enough counterfeit to make the market crash? It's a fine line between churning out pure spam and something that sticks to the ribs, which is why I've been raiding the the Paranormal History archives. Here's part two:

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Biography Report by 0lga Butterfly
Mr. Findlay's 6th hour Paranormal History
--------------------------------------------

Tomas Stone (b. 1830)

Part II

Mary Eberson follows up on August 5th, 1857, with an entry that is to become typical of Sheriff Stone's peculiar behavior:

"After finishing the final chores of the evening I was putting out the light when I heard a terrible clatter from across the way - which happened to be the boarded up offices of our departed Sheriff. They had been vacant since the terrible events of last month, and Luther went so far as to board up the doors and windows, to preserve them as much as possible from the rowdy violence of the drunken villains that seemed to breed like rats in the absence of the Law.

I peeked out the front windows of the store and to my utter amazement it was Sheriff Stone hisself standing there, prying the boards from the doors of his offices!

I called to Luther, dizzy in my disbelief, and he went out to greet the Sheriff and to welcome him back. Though I was still swooning, I could not help but to cross to him and ask him how this could be. He assured us that everything was fine, and that what had happened was quite simple. It seems that, following what had appeared to us to be mortal injury, one or another of his swarthy dark skinned deputies had taken him to a certain medicine man they knew, though of what tribe Sheriff did not specify, and this primitive doctor was able to heal Sheriff's wounds. Not only that, but on his way back he had already tracked down the remainder of Jim Bat's gang and that we wouldn't be troubled by that group ever again!

The Sheriff does indeed seem to be of superior health - even more strong and youthful and handsome than before, if that were possible. In any case it is good to have him back, and already the town is returning to its better nature."

-----
While this is the first documented account of one of Tomas Stone's resurrections, it was likely not his first, and he had apparently been acquainted with the 'medicine man' and his 'swarthy dark skinned deputies' for some years prior to this rather public 'recovery.'

Well @Zero Peach sure has us spinnin' the yarns! She checked out a buncha old equipment from the Fairy Tale Storage Space. Ball winders, swifts, pedal spinning wheels, electric spinning wheels, wheels that are driven by fanciful little varmints, enchanted looms, haunted bobbins and battens, smart hooks. Who thought being in a gang would be this much trouble? Sometimes @Cleo Spencer lets out a muffled holler when their wrappings get caught in the works.

@Zero Peach's got me working on the westerns. I was inspired by @Rayla Tibbets's connection to Sheriff Stone, who's kind of a famous figure, so I did some digging and found this in the Paranormal History archives. Yee Haw! Check it out:

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Biography Report by 0lga Butterfly
Mr. Findlay's 6th hour Paranormal History
--------------------------------------------

Tomas Stone (b. 1830)

Part I

Tomas Stone was born in what is now Northern New Mexico, though at the time was part of Mexico itself. His father, Jehiphus Stone, was an American gold miner, lured by the first discovery of gold in the Oritz Mountains. Little is known of his mother except that she was of Mexican descent, and her name was Lucia.

Tomas came of age in the Mexican-American War, though his affiliations during the war are unclear. Neither his father nor his mother appear to have held strong political beliefs, and at the time of the war were merely attempting to maintain a life in the desert. Their differing ethnic backgrounds likely made them enemies to both parties. By the end of the war, Jehiphus and Lucia apparently left for Colorado, while Tomas stayed behind to seek his fortune.

The existing historical record of Tomas Stone concerns his intermittent tenure as the sheriff of Warlock, New Mexico, from 1855 to 1865. While Warlock was near a number of trade and transportation routes (including the Santa Fe and Mexican trails), it was also distant enough from centralized military power to remain mostly lawless throughout its heyday. Only the on again, off again presence of Tomas Stone as Sheriff brought the community enough stability to exist as a community for as long as it did.

From the diary of Mary Eberson, wife of Luther Eberson, owner of Warlock Central Supply:

July 21, 1857
"The remnants of Jim Bat's gang rode in tonight, no doubt looking to take revenge on Sheriff Stone for the quick work he'd made of their {unreadable} two weeks before. There was no moon, of course, and from outside our window about all you could make out were their tiny little red eyes, drifting down the street like firebugs. They hissed and spat and called out Sheriff's name till he stepped out of his offices to face them. Sheriff had his silver mirror and old dusty book with him (that had served him so well in the past with Bat's gang) but there were just too many of them this time. Bullets flew from all directions - Bat's men must have been on the roofs and down every alleyway as well. Within a few minutes they were done and gone and there was nothing left on the street but dust and cordite in the air and Sheriff stone dead in a puddle of blood with probably 50 bullets inside him."

So what’s the prize when you take down the commodification of language?

The company of Nidivarui has the language teaching business locked up. You’ll see their name on all the textbooks in Psyhigh’s language labs. Urudu, Enochian, Galaxperanto... and a highly effective method, which is why they own the whole sector.

They’ve got other classes too, but you have to pass through their byzantine pyramid scheme to get the invites.

You know how powerful people speak. It’s a gradient. Yuppies have a certain tone—a college-level clarity of language command. If you’ve lived your life on the streets you have a different dialect. As do doctors, lawyers, C-level executives, fast food workers, cops. The codes and pattens get more hushed and obsequious as you get deeper into the halls of power. A whispered “yes” or “no” in the board room has impact on billions, their language focused and aligned with the life and death force of capital.

We are their words.

For a price, the company of Nidivarui will teach you that language, and they’ve made themselves the only source for the highest levels. Because they invented it. Or inherited it. Or stole it. Nobody remembers. Nobody knows. Not really.

So the first step is to leave the hive, leave the slave farm. We need to circumvent the language of the oppressors. Decouple its connection to capital.

We’re going to flood the market. Create our own sticky language for capital to accrete to. It’s only counterfeit if you’ve got nothing to back it up.

I’m so glad we’ve got a mummy. █ a⃠d⃠a⃠d⃠

The mummy is getting a bit ripe. Is that supposed to happen? I figured they'd be so desiccated after being sealed up for thousands of years that they wouldn't smell rotten at all. I figured they'd be, I don't know, kind of clean smelling? Like a nice musk? Or dry and dusty like an old wasp nest. Isn't that kinda the point of mummification?

But the mummy (or @Cleo Spencer as they continued to claim to be called) smells like they need a bath. For reasons I cannot fathom, they have been making trips to the bathroom now and then, but if they took a full-on shower I'd be afraid they'd fall apart.

Anyway, the timing couldn't have been better because we need a fourth. @Nevada Turquoise, Bitch Teen, and I won't be able to pull off our next caper without them. And the mummy might be ideally suited to help us.

We're going to jack the company of Nidivarui. We're taking down the commodification of language. █ a⃠d⃠a⃠d⃠

I took the mummy on a ride today on my trusty ghost horse Stormy. Stormy's used to mummies, cuz the hills outside my hometown are full of them. They live in the caves, and sometimes you find them wandering around lost in the desert and you have to give them rides home. Or to the movie theater.

So we went to the Historic Haunted Liberty Theater because they were having a Mexican monster movie festival and I figured it might help the mummy with the memory issues. I mean, maybe they're not Egyptian?

Anyway, we watched The Robot vs. the Aztec Mummy and it was awesome. The mummy seemed to enjoy it too. Plus, along with the popcorn, I got it to sip some cherry coke through a straw!

I will admit that telepathy is part of the skill set of a psychic lockpicker. Ok not exactly “telepathy,” but language and communication are just locks to pick like any other, once you know some basic techniques.

(I prefer creating a secret code ahead of time, where the subject can telegraph the message to me through undetectable methods, like tapping their finger or chattering their teeth, but I can work without that if I need to.)

Plus, people don’t like having their minds read, so it’s not a skill I advertise.

In this case, I was able to delve into the mind of the mummy. I discovered that they are suffering from some kind of break with reality, and insist they are not actually a mummy! Poor thing. Obviously experiencing some kind of deep reality denial. They also call themselves @Cleo Spencer, which is also a delusion as it is clearly not ancient Egyptian.

I am assuming this is some kind of amnesia that will pass. In the meantime, @Nevada Turquoise continues to slip pieces of popcorn through their bandages where the mouth would be. I keep telling her that mummies don’t eat and it’s just going to rot in there but the mummy seems to enjoy it. █ a⃠d⃠a⃠d⃠

I think I’ve joined a gang.

Finally, after what seemed like years of being trapped and blind and screamed at (okaaaay, it was only a day, but still!) I was saved! After so many people had screamed at what I assumed was the sight of me, there was someone who cared. They introduced themselves as @[Zero Peach]. I couldn’t see them or talk to them, but I just knew they had come to my rescue. After trying to feed me through the bandages, Zero introduced me to their friends @[Nevada Turquoise] and someone I think was called Bitch Teen? It seems like a strange name but beggars can’t be choosers, right?

I had to trust that these guys had my best interests at heart, even though I couldn’t talk to them. They seemed to think it was super cool they were friends with a mummy, so I did my best to play the part, holding my arms out and stumbling about. Although, I must admit, the stumbling was not intentional. I couldn’t see.

So my new friends led me somewhere I also couldn’t see. I was either being kidnapped or rescued. I couldn’t tell. I started to point at my mouth to try and tell them to help me speak, but that message might not be clear. In the meantime, I’m trying to establish a psychic connection with Zero to see if they’ll understand my predicament.

This group keep referring to a gang. I wonder what that’s all about?

“What do you need?”

“Mmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmmm!”

Bitch Teen thinks it’s hungry.

“Mmmm mmmmmmm.”

She tries offering it popcorn. I tell her mummies don’t eat. And not to spill any on the floor because the museum doesn’t allow food or drink in the exhibits.

“Some gang we are,” says @Nevada Turquoise.

Everybody thinks being in a gang is about being hardcore. Which is the most immature way of looking at a gang. A gang is about friends having your back. And taking you in.

“Do you want to get out of here? Come back and crash at our place?”

“Mmmmm Mmmmm!”

And that’s how we made friends with a mummy. █ a⃠d⃠a⃠d⃠