Friday, December 28, 2007


John, Bill, and Mischa were at the docks, trying to find a ship that was going to Denmark. They didn’t expect their hunt to last long, as there were only two ships there. Both, incidentally, were going to Denmark.

Their logic for traveling by sea as opposed to flying, which was much quicker, was that Josiah probably had bribed and coerced most airlines into obeying his orders, and they didn’t want to deal with another Captain Arousing. So it's not a plot hole.

“Well, this free luxury cruise ship leaves in an hour, but I don’t feel like waiting that long. Let’s hitch a ride aboard that garbage vessel,” said John, as Bill and Mischa nodded.

The three gathered up their possessions (nobody had brought anything, so this didn’t take very long) and set off for the garbage ship, a good thirty second walk away. Twenty minutes later, they arrived.

Walking up the boarding ramp confidently, they attempted to gain entry into the ship but were stopped by a burly security guard, who told them that nobody but trained garbage men were permitted to enter.

“I’m a garbage man!” said Bill. “I’m Bill Williams.”

The security guard did a double take, spitting out his water in surprise which, in turn, greatly surprised John and Mischa, as he hadn’t been drinking any water.

“The Bill Williams? The famous Bill Williams? The Bill Williams who once crashed a garbage truck into the White House because he thought it was a giant ice cream truck for some reason? WOW! I never thought I’d meet you. This – this is the greatest thrill of my life! Welcome aboard!” he gushed, standing aside so Bill could walk in.

John and Mischa attempted to follow, but the guard moved back into position, blocking them.

“Sorry boys, Bill’s a garbage man – hell, he’s the garbage man! – but you gentlemen have to go back,” he ordered. “There are things on this ship you wouldn’t be able to handle. Mostly garbage.”

“I’ll have you know that I am a US postal worker!” argued John. “I’m more than qualified to board this vessel. If you let that idiot through, I demand you allow me to pass.”

“Yes, and I am a Russian immigrant, with low self-esteem!” added Mischa. “So…let me pass too!”

“No and no. I hate the postal service and I have an unnatural fear of Russians. Leave before I beat you,” commanded the guard, pushing John and Mischa back.

He let go of them when they were back on the dock. Then, turning around, he walked up the ramp, boarded the ship and sealed the entrance shut, welding it with his heat vision. John and Mischa were stuck.

“What do we do now, Comrade?” asked Mischa dejectedly.

“We’ll have to sneak in somehow,” said John. “But I don’t see how we…ah ha! I have an idea. Just follow my lead, Mischa.”

One minute later, John (dressed to perfection in his mailman uniform) and Mischa (who hadn’t changed anything) marched up the solid oak ramp and knocked on the door, which the same burly security guard answered.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I need to deliver a package,” said John. “And, uh, so does my assistant.”

“All right then, come on through,” said the guard, moving aside for them to pass.

“That was easy,” remarked John as he took off his hat and set it down on a nearby table. “Now we need to find Bill and prepare for what lies ahead.”

“And what would that be, Comrade?”


No comments: