One day the Stranger arrived. He was a tall and lanky teen, his face peppered with acne and sparse pubescent hair. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, a long coat, a scarf, and he was Strange. Some newcomers prefer to observe, to gauge the breadth and nuance of Social Custom, and to keep low profiles until they are comfortable enough to risk a misstep. This newcomer preferred to wield a bean bag, and to go door to door, knocking, introducing himself, and asking if there might be any nice conversation lurking inside in which he might join.

Predictably, most people were horrified, frightened, and offended. They responded in a hostile fashion, and branded him Bean Bag Boy, or Bag Boy for short. A few others viewed him instead as a free spirit, a visionary, a unique character, and a Cool Guy. Perhaps they bought into the crap that society spews forth as part of its Campaign for Cognitive Dissonance. Perhaps they were just confused. Those that admired him branded him Doctor Who, a moniker of affection and respect. I will never understand this, even though I know which drugs they were on (Prozac, Zoloft, LSD, THC, psylocybin, and PCP, respectively).

Bag Boy learned to keep mostly to those who appreciated his insane ramblings. Had he been motivated and competent, he probably could have been a minor cult leader. Instead, he fell out of public view for a while. When he returned, he had two younger companions: a boy and a girl.

It became immediately obvious what to call them. The female, whose name, eerily enough, was Baggs, would be Bag Girl. Since Bag Boy already possessed that name, the male would have to be Little Bag.

Little Bag was an enigma unto himself, and went on to have many adventures of his own. Once he called me a Zenmaster, so I will refrain from mentioning him for a long time.

Bag Girl was no less a character. She detested being called by either her given name or her surname, and instead preferred to brandish an agglutinative designation of her own choosing: one part temporal adjective, one part finite act of performance. This contrasted delightfully with her appearance, which was not dissimilar to a three-foot-tall chinchilla.

Most were content to call her by her chosen appellation, though some would add her real surname (to which she fumed bitterly), and one insisted on calling her by her given name, as a hostile act of hatred.

Bag Girl's main hobby was a menagerie of characters that she explained were her multiple personalities. Unlike persons suffering from dissociative identity disorder, Bag Girl had full knowledge of her personalities and their doings.

One of these personalities was a 90-year-old elf named Galiganda Dulin. Another was a man named Sayjon, who bore a suspicious resemblance to Pink Floyd's fascist alter ego from The Wall.

In fact, Bag Girl had been profoundly affected by The Wall, although she had watched it while on LSD, so interpolation based on these data may be tainted.