|Golemdum and Golemdee Amidst the Flowers|
The Bob Saga
The moment was frozen in time. I'mSoNotADiva Bartlett, her disembodied head buried inside a hollowed-out pumpkin, was being held high above the head of her golem. Sweetie, towering above the crowd on her katana stilts, faced toward diva, her fist making the black power sign. The crowd was immobile.
On a small hillock to the left of the stage, the second golem tugged on the cord holding a sheet in place over the large figure that Diva was proclaiming the world's first piece of criminal performance art.
Then everything went into motion. The drape fell. The crowd gasped. I screamed.
But it wasn't Bob behind the drape. No, it was the intact figure of The Man from the recently-finished Burning Life Festival.
"No, screamed Diva. "That's not supposed to be there!"
"But-- but I saw him burn!" someone said. It was Neelix Nesselrode. He was the only reporter able to talk; the rest, including his partner Sleezy Spinoza, had mouths full of Sweetie's special caramel and rock-hard fragments of throwing scones.
"Ha!" cried Sweetie. "And who's the master criminal performance artist now? I stole the stolen performance art!"
"And all that time I thought you were holed up in your fortress of solitude!" I said.
Diva's face was bright red. "You'll pay for this!" she thundered.
Sweetie smiled at me. "Our good friend AlexHayden Junibalya distracted security at Burn while I replaced the Man with prims of my own devising," she said. "Or, rather, yours, dear Cheyenne. I'm afraid I sacrificed one of your spare Gorts. Diva's plan was for Bob to be here, under the sheet. So I stole Bob back and put the Burning Man in his place last night. Bob is safe on the other side of the bridge, at the entry point. I didn't have time to take him home."
"You think you've won," roared Diva, "but I'll see the end of your precious Bob!" She turned to the golem on the hillock. "Destroy it," she commanded. The golem began to shuffle off in the direction of the bridge. Toward Bob.