Screw Hamburg

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Screw Hamburg

Post by Solice on Fri Jun 28, 2013 2:56 am

Hamburg, Germany; November 28, 1891; SS Furst Bismarck

Once upon a time, there was young man named… … … fuck. What was his name? Tray? Troy? Tom? Tank? Ferg... … Ferg? That’s not even close! Who the fuck is Ferg? As Solice thinks to himself as he looks around. This guy I’m eatin’ taste kinda’ gritty. Like sandpaper. Like sandpaper on a purple afternoon. I wonder when the boat to New York leaves… I’m getting’ sick of this place. Germany sucks!

It was raining out, not that it really mattered to Solice. Not that ‘Solice’ is even his real name. It’s been so long since he could remember it. Like 20 years. It’s been 20 years since I knew my own name. Why do I even go by that name? Guess I’ll have to take solice in the fact that… solice… I GET IT NOW! I take ‘Solice’ in the fact that I… I… Sigh “FRICHEN!”

Nearby walking meals jump a little, and walk away wearily. “Oh! I get it now… YOUR name is Ferg! You should know you seem to be suffering from mild anemia. Not that it will matter, but thought I would be polite.” As Solice takes another bite, he could see the confusion in Ferg’s face. I suppose it’s not every day that a ‘normal’ person gets to see what music is. Ferg begins to grow limp. Seriously, who names their son Ferg? Sounds like Ferb. What’s a Ferb? And what’s a Finneas? And what’s that infernal ringing?

The bells from the ship begin to chime, signaling all potential passengers that it’s boarding time. Solice takes one more sip, and tosses the woman aside. Oh… that makes more sense. He was actually a She! That would explain the large boobs.

He walks out of the alley, and heads toward the ship. It was a large, beautiful ship. The SS Furst Bismarck. Has a nice ring to it. Looks like the entrance is pretty well guarded. Time to climb the anchor.

The ship its self was absolutely gorgeous. Immaculately carved wooden sculptures. Beautifully sewn tapestries, and so many delectable people.

The trip was long, and annoying. But at least dinner can’t run here. Nowhere to go.
Where am I gonna hide until we’re out? OH LOOK! A Preacher! Haven’t had one of those for… I think it’s been… 3 years? Or has it been 30? Fuck it.

Most of the trip is a bit hazy, but one thing stuck out. Preacher John Gantenbein was tasty. Is that all I remember from that journey? Why are the soldiers passing out pamphlets? WHO CARES? I’m in the BIG APPLE! Where’s the apple? “Who do I have to kill to see the apple?” Did I just say that out loud? Woops. Here come the soldiers… time to RUN!


*Changed Date from 1981 to 1891.
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Solice

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