Golden Stoneearliest post first | most recent post first
Yes! I called your name, you filthy little bird, strewing your feathers and dung on my first class golden ticket! I'm the reason for this whole she-bang! The customer! And the wealthiest one by far. Can't you see my golden rings, my golden chains, my golden grillz to boot? Well I'll show you my golden boot unless you bring me my Goldschläger pronto, you proletarian penguin!
Oh my dear you've raised me now, my temperature is going sky high! My gold is starting to fracture and crack, and the ice around me starting to melt. Didn't I read in the brochure you've got some bloke who takes care of that with his icy breath? A @Mr. Northwind, I believe, the coldest blower in the skies? I wouldn't have taken a ticket on this golden garbage scow if I hadn't heard you had the best.
Bring him to me now, I demand! I have need of his frosty airs.
Did somebody say @Squawky McWaddles? That's me! Penguin Pvt. First Class Squawky McWaddles, racing round this floating ice rink bussing tables with the other Penguin Privates, moving sheets of ice for windowpanes, delivering eggs from the Snow Chickens, and serving ice-cold martinis to those over 21. On top of being c-c-c-cold, the Golden Stone is old, and quite expansive, and we've only just returned from our circumnavigation of the pole! We scaled frozen waterfalls up bifurcated stairs, pulled ourselves up ice ladders with our teeth, hoisted ourselves up the final spiral to the tip of the candy cane pole, which we slid right down to meet you here.
How may we be of service?
I'm the Gold Toss-up Boy on the Golden Stone. And boy do our first-class passengers ever toss it up! Heaving over the bilge, oofing it over the guard rails. Gold gold gold gold gold, splashing and sloshing out of their gullets and onto the floors! Good thing the decks are kept so cold--the spewed-out gold just rolls like mercury balls in all directions, raining down stairs like pachinko, and causing @Squawky McWaddles and his penguin staff to skitter comically around the floors, skating across the ballroom on their flippers, tea towels draped over their flightless wings, great silver platters crashing down.
"Hey Young Jim! Clean up on Deck 10!"
White gold wielder, fissure crack healer, precious metal pot dealer, golden treasure mender... Sometimes you've abused your gold and haven't kept it cold, and it lands in our hold looking crusty and old. Who's a gonna fix it? Who's a gonna kiss that gold and make it better? That's right, it's me, Dr. Donald R. Stephenson, gold metal whisperer and icy lip kisser. My breath warms the cracks just enough to smudge, and I let my fingers do the rest. I'll massage your gold the whole night through, and leave you shiny and new in the morning.
No doubt you recognize me. My audacious brow, my pouty snuzzle, and most importantly, my long, golden locks of simian fur, combed neatly over my head and down into the rest of my luxuriant pelt.
That's right, it's me, Kurt Stingray, mascot and spokesmodel for the Golden Stone.
I was rescued from one of those cigarette smoking monkey test farms--just like Axel Rose! His hair is kinda like mine, but I feel I'm more like Kurt Russell in his heyday. Don't call it a mullet! It's golden and silky all the way down, baby. ;)
When I'm not spending time at a photoshoot, being waited on by my many attendants, you can find me poolside reading the Economist, making sure that gold is still the only way to fly. So long as there's people who collect it, they'll need to keep it refrigerated in airships for transport, so there will always be a need for our services. And the full head of golden hair that I provide gives them a sense a virility, and wild primitiveness--the same feeling hoarding so much gold gives them too.
As long as there's people who worship power, there will always be room for a beautiful monkey like me.
"Hey baby? How about a little more conditioner, huh?"
Can I see your golden airship ticket, please?
I'm afraid your passport has expired.
Do you have a second piece of identification? Some gold perhaps?
Gold is the language of the skies, and if you want to fly you'll speak it to me! I'm Billie Billet, Airship Ticket and Check in Agent for the Golden Stone. And I'll need to see your child's birth certificate.
How many bags are you checking?
Are they filled with gold?
Will you be bringing a carry-on bag?
Did you bring a warm wrap for the cold?
I'm afraid that bag exceeds the size by double.
Give me the gold in it now, and I'll make sure you have no further trouble!
What do you mean you won't give me your gold?
Do you see this large stick in my hand?
Would you like a wheelchair?
You'll board at Gate 7.
Gold Level Members like to travel in style, and keep their style cool in the chilly winds that blow through our refrigerated halls. And who keeps their golden locks in place while traveling the gilded skies? Don Blair, flying stylist of the air!
Our passengers have special needs, being so terribly rich with gold has made them old, their hair limp and unhappy, just like their lives. So it's up to old Donny to spruce them up, with a spritz and a spray to keep things perky and in place, while they pose for each other with their poodles.
It's really not their fault they are in the 1%. Just born that way, I guess! So it's important to do our best to provide them at least a bit of joy in their otherwise hum drum lives.
We keep your gold locked up in the hold, where it's cold, so that gold will stay froze. It's secured with ropes and tethers and is perfectly safe should the ship run into a bit of bad weather. But what if you're along for the ride? Who's going to keep you safe and secure and slightly inebriated?
Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign. If you haven’t already done so, please stow your carry-on gold underneath the seat in front of you or in an overhead bin. Please fasten your golden seat belt and make sure your seat back and golden trays are in their full upright position!
That's right, it's me! Flight attendant Mindy. And if you're good I'll bring you a little bottle of Goldschläger once we're underway!
Oh... maybe you'd like a blanket?
Sometimes our passengers’ pets can catch the sniffles and sneeze (while we’re transporting their gold in our deep freeze) and who can they turn to in their time of need? Me! Wanda McDervish, veterinarian of the air!
Poodles, persian kitties, wolfhounds and cockatiels—remember, the Golden Stone is kept quite cool to ensure your gold suffers no fissures and cracks while en route, and your little partner could use a cloak or a sweater for the entire time they’re on board.
But if they show a sniffle, or a shiver, it may be distemper or even rabies, so feel free to drop by any time!
Who irons the golden arm bands? Me, of course! Ben Satisfaction, Golden Armband Ironer. What's with the armbands you say? A little creepy and militaristic? Not at all! Oh ho ho ho. Not at all.
You see, the Golden Armbands are only worn at special occasions, by special people, for special reasons. There are members of the crew who are members of The Royal Society of Gilded Gleaners, and as such must perform the appointed Rituals of the Golden Ones at the appointed times. You've seen them as a small child, in their white suits and golden armbands, walking down the hall and looking in at you through the wire glass in the door.
That misty fog that surrounds them can make the armbands curdle, so you've got use lots of starch.