Thot Slayerearliest post first | most recent post first
The Import/Export Authoritarian Air Authority in Port Nelson is a horrific, terrifying mausoleum. Eyeballs of every size stare back from their jars with hideous curiosity. Racks of amputated wings flutter when your back is turned. Taxidermied tentacles reach out, frozen in mid-air, but the texture of their skin appears pliant, supple, and moist.
I set my box of potentially inhumanely harvested iguana tails on the counter. A grizzled clerk emerged from the shadows and eyed it. He then produced a small maraca, covered with beads, and shook it with a brief intensity over the box.
The box shifted on the table, as if its contents suddenly squirmed.
Ah! A small fee for processing the paperwork. I nodded in understanding and went for my wallet.
The grizzled clerk opened the antique cash register with a kaching!, grabbed a five dollar bill and handed it to me. Then he grabbed the box and took it back into the shadows with him.
I was expecting a medal, but I suppose $5 will do.
I heard on the short-wave about the WonderFly9000 transporting mummified cats. I should warn @Worded about the potential of inhumane practices in the mummified cat industry, so we can help put an end to Zephyr Air Transport's involvement in this abhorrent trade!
Well, I can't say much about the castaways' manners, but I am a bit relieved to have their slimy handprints off all the mahogany and brass.
As soon as we made sight of Port Nelson, it was plop plop plop as they walked straight out the main passenger doors and straight down into the ocean below. I guess they must be good swimmers! I'm afraid I didn't see any of them pop up for air though.
I've gone ahead and docked the Thot Slayer, made sure the drooling, gibbering crew was locked away safely in the hold, and am taking our backpack full of iguana tails directly to the Import/Export Authoritarian Air Authority to turn them in.
I'm sure a medal is too much to ask, but some kind of written commendation? How could they not?
"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!!!