Thot Slayerearliest post first | most recent post first
"God, that hand! The window! The window!"
These castaways just can't keep their hands off the windows of the ship.
"Please, everyone, keep your hands off the windows. And please wash the mud off. You can use the crew locker room down the hall and to the right."
While the original crew of the Slobodkina dries out in the cargo bay, gibbering, I offered to take the others I found back to civilization. They're a curious bunch, with distinct features that I can't quite place. Glassy, bulging eyes, shockingly wide and flabby lips, webbed hands and feet... British maybe? Not to make stereotypes. All are welcome on the Thot Slayer, just like it says in the Leading Through Caring Guidelines, which I wrote, and now that the rest of the crew is incapacitated it's up to me to enact them.
Now it's full steam out of the Bermuda Triangle and on to Port Nelson in Rum Cay, where I'll be turning in the iguana tails to the authorities. We have no way to tell if they were harvested humanely, and in the spirit of the Leading Through Caring Guidelines the Thot Slayer can not participate in their transport.
Depending on the frame of mind of the crew, I might just be in a position to chose our next economic endeavor. But I feel like we should get out of commerce and look into relief work--something with real, lasting social value.
Three days I'd traveled on foot across the vast, undulating plain. The ground had dried out significantly, and the unfortunate sea life left on it had begun to putrefy, rotting in the burning sun each day. I assumed it had been thrust up from some kind of tectonic activity, a vast bulge heaving the sea floor towards the surface, creating a new island. Where was the crew headed through this wasteland--a whole ecosystem suddenly ripped of its atmosphere?
Just beyond a greasy butte, a great chasm opened up. Deep at the bottom the trench there was still water--a gash so deep it must have lead to the interior of the Earth itself. At its shore stood a great white monolith, carved symmetrically, and inlaid with a kind of hieroglyphs made of sea creatures--fishes, eels, octopuses, crustaceans, mollusks, whales, and the like.
And gathered around that temple, weakened from dehydration and some kind of compelling madness, I saw the crew of the Thot Slayer--babbling, weeping, drooling, and worshiping an ancient, fish-brained god.
Apparently it wasn't Port Nelson where the Thot Slayer had docked. Something has played the havoc with the ship's navigational systems, and instead we've come to a dead stop in the center of a large, muddy, seaweed strewn plain, somewhere in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. Perhaps it's a kind of sandbar or atoll, which, during times of low tide, seems to stretch endlessly in all directions, devoid of all life but the occasional starfish covered rock.
I can see foot prints leading from the ship across the muddy ground--apparently the entire crew headed off to the northeast, over the undulating ground and past the horizon. I assume they'll be back soon... what happens when the tide returns, and they're not on board? Don't tides work on some kind of... schedule? Frankly I'd been concentrating more on methods for creating social justice guidelines in quasi-military hierarchies than such mundane topics as tides. And winds. And weather. And though I do think I could helm the ship solo, what if they return to find it missing?
I feel I have no other alternative but to set off after them on foot.
I've reported the obviously immoral if not illegal job we've taken transporting iguana tails to the Bermuda Triangle that @Hugo accepted on the ship's behalf, and I can't get anybody to care! I'm in direct communication with Joy, the HR paralegal representative they've assigned to me on a very wide range of topics and have been sending her close to 15 emails a day noting potential infractions of the Leading through Caring guidelines that I've submitted, as well as a number of suggestions not mentioned in the Leading through Caring guidelines about how the ship could be operating more efficiently, on a karmic basis, but this particular message I clearly marked URGENT in the subject line, which I only reserve for the most pressing "front burner" priorities we need to be concentrated on as a crew. It got the same autoresponse as all the others.
So I took a saunter up to the HR deck to find Joy and see where she was with my requests, and the whole department is on shore leave in Port Neslon! In fact, now that I look around, the entire crew is! Why didn't anyone tell me?
Guess I'll need to get to shore if I want to continue our program of continuous improvement.
I accept the job
My presentation didn't go over as well as I thought it would. Why did they even invite me if they weren't interested in post-colonial fashions and trends? Looking at all those old white grumpy faces in the audience I knew they weren't down with it, but I didn't think they'd pull the plug on my mic. And projector.
Luckily, however, I have such a big twitter following that they couldn't just disappear me, so instead they've sent me back to the Thot Slayer with my own personal handler, who's there to report on my activity and I assume actually stop me from doing anything they don't want me doing,
Which is why I am officially releasing my manifesto on ████ at exactly ████████.
Job claimed by Hugo 2019-01-16 20:17:06
Good day, maties!
It would be of great gratitude and honor to anyone who would be able to ship five pounds (5 lbs.) of iguana tails to Port Nelson in Rum Cay. If I am not mistaken it is in the Bahamas, right along the Bermuda Triangle. I would need it shipped in the next 10 decades or so, but feel free to take your time! I hear the Bahamas will beautiful this season, at least in my timeline.
Well lucky me! Guess who's headed to the Colonial Symbolism Symposium and Colloquium? That's right! ME! I mean, and the crew of the Thot Slayer. They're apparently on this big diversity kick, and word of my progressive attitudes (not to mention snazzy new uniforms) seems to have gotten around. So, I'm getting my deck ready, and practicing all my TED Talk hand gestures.
I'm just so happy that a formerly stodgy old place like the Colonial Symbolism Symposium and Colloquium is interested in hearing about new ideas. Because I'm just full of them.
Full steam ahead! TO THE COLLOQUIUM!!!
First day of the new, gender neutral uniforms! Inez, the ship's seamstress, was happy to work on the project, and actually had designs that she'd been sitting on for years! I guess their time had come. Plus, the old uniforms were looking pretty ratty after being repaired and resized for so long.
Anyway, we ended up using the drapes lining the curved stairwell on the observation deck. I don't know why they even had the drapes, as it was blocking such a beautiful view. Now the entire crew has been fitted out in sharp looking yet highly functional gray jumpsuits, with reinforced shoulder pads on top of a triangular padded breast-plate, and plenty of pockets for all those airship tools. Even a hoop to hang that airship ball-peen hammer! I swear this will make a huge difference not only in our operational efficiency, but in how we're perceived as we go about our work as Ambassadors of the Air!
What goes completely unaddressed is the entire male-centric aspect about the whole thing. Military order, uniforms with officer hats that have no room for your hair... when they let women in I swear it's just because they get off on seeing them dressed up like SS officers or something. The only way to play along is with a riding crop and an attitude and just indulge all their male fantasies, even if they don't realize it's exploitative or weird. To them it's just how it is--the whole popular airship culture. Well I've had it, and I'm going to do something about it.