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RMS Humbug and
Chatterbox: Inkwell
RMS Humbug and
RMS Humbug and RMS Tiny Invite You To Their Maiden Voyages!
On September 22, a day that looks, smells, and tastes like any other day – which, for that matter, it probably is – an “ordinary” person much like yourself (maybe even yourself?) finds in the back of their cupboard a five-year-old mayonnaise jar. The nutrition facts label reads as follows:
Vitamin B12 – 2%
Vitamin Z564 – 26%
You, random but lucky person, are invited to the maiden voyages of the RMS Tiny and the RMS Humbug, two cruise ships belonging to the Ridiculous Management of Seagoers (RMS) Company! Isn't that awesome? It starts on October 10, so you have lots of time to pack! Isn't that even awesomer! And it's completely FREE*! Please RSVP by October 5. Anyone who wishes to join after October 5th but before October 10 has a lot less chance of making it onto the ship on time. Anyone attempting to board the ship after October 10 will find that the ship has already left, and I am afraid that under no circumstances can we pick up latecomers.
Cheesiness – 41%
Corniness - 22%
Good Old Random Humour – 5555555555%
Logic - (-111%)
Vitamin A+ - 4.67%
The person squints to read the fine print (the finest print they've ever seen) at the bottom of the label:
*This may or may not include certain expenses, including but not limited to: food, accommodation, extreme trauma counselors, staff, my new billion-dollar fridge, etc. NOTE: Some of these expenses may seem entirely unrelated to the subject at hand, but let me assure you that, when viewed from a holistic point of view, they are all completely necessary.
-Your Future Captain,
The Ominous
ANOTHER NOTE: Any complaints, questions, forwarded expenses, or wishes to sue may all be sent to John F.Q. and CaptainRead of the Cricket Chatterbox!
ANOTHER NOTE: We here at RMS Co. believe that there are two possible reasons why the Titanic sank. One is that it had such a huge, grand name that the sea serpents got angry and told the iceburgers to “let 'em have it broadside!”. Of course, as you all know, iceburgers don't have very good aim, so instead of “having it broadside”, the Titanic was rammed from the front, causing the deaths of millions. The other is that everyone thought it was unsinkable, and so we all jinxed it and of course it just had to sink after that. This is why we have built the RMS Tiny and the RMS Humbug. The former ship will be completely unsinkable because of its unassuming name, and the latter will be a test to see if we were right. The RMS Humbug has been equipped with all the sorts of things that superstitious sailors think contribute to the angering of sea serpents and the sinking of ships, and it will probably be sunk almost immediately.
AND ANOTHER NOTE: When everyone has boarded the RMS Tiny (no one will want to go on the RMS Humbug, we are certain), their names will inexplicably appear in Pandora's Fedora, owned by your captain, The Ominous (that's me!). A “murderer” will be drawn out of it, and the game will begin! From then on, those whose names are drawn out of Pandora's Fedora will “disappear”, unfortunate “victims” to the will of the hat.
YET ANOTHER TEDIOUS NOTE: This was inspired by T.O.N.'s Ski Lodge Murder Mysteries(TM), and we here at RMS Co. sincerely hope that it is different enough to avoid any copyright issues. To be sure of this, there is a rather severe plot twist that we can't tell you a single thing about. We will not use the Ski Lodge, nor any of the characters from it, and we will attempt to use our own style of writing, no matter how much we may be unconsciously influenced into doing otherwise because of the sheer awesomeness of the Ski Lodge. "Days" will be written whenever possible during the busy schedule of The Ominous, and you can hope to expect from one to three of them per week. Everyone who signs up may post their view of the "day," but please wait until you've read whatever The Ominous has written before doing so, and because of the severe yet unknowable plot twist, your memories will be wiped once you die, so there are unfortunately no ghosts. If you really want to, dreams or hallucinations are allowed.
The person snorts dismissively. “Some silly, outdated advertisement or conspiracy meant to get more people to eat mayonnaise! Well, it certainly didn't work very well...” They think, staring at the uneaten mayonnaise jar for a few seconds, and then throwing it over their shoulder into a garbage can and inadvertently causing a snowstorm in Italy.
DINGALING! DINGALING! The phone rings. You pick it up, wrenching your gaze from the scattered tea leaves in front of you that had just produced the story above. “Hello?”
“Good evening. This is Super Mayonnaise Incorporated, business partner with RMS Co. We have been looking through our records, and it has come to our inattention that the five-year-old mayonnaise jar you just now allegedly threw over your shoulder was never sold, stolen, or even brought into existence in the first place. It does not exist, and neither does your house, no matter how real it may appear. Furthermore, you do not exist. We deny everything, and have lawsuits in place to make sure you do not claim otherwise. In fact, I am talking to thin air right now, because you do not exist. Neither does your telephone. Goodbye, thin air, and thank you for your co-operation.”
Before you can speak, the line goes dead. Now thoroughly mystified, you decide to thwart reason and pack your bags to wherever it was that the ships were supposed to leave from. Not that there had been a location mentioned anywhere in the story your tea leaves just told you, but you still think you have an idea of where to go. You hope.
submitted by The Ominous, age unknown, mysterious
(September 22, 2014 - 7:25 pm)
(September 22, 2014 - 7:25 pm)
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(December 31, 2016 - 3:23 pm)
Oh my. This is quite the cruise (or desert adventure, it depends how you look at it). My condolences to Bookbug. Good luck Curio! And all the other adventurers who may or may not be part of the story. And rest in piece tardis for we all know that in the hands of George, it will blow up!
(January 1, 2017 - 3:05 pm)
Welcome to the Chatterbox, Agent K - I mean HipsterUnicornCat. *looks from side to side surreptitiously* No, I definitely did not call you Agent K, I have absolutely no idea who you are, whatsoever. Only that you might possibly have some affilitation with UniKitty Inc.?
And, forgive me if this is rude, but you seem to be having somewhat of an identity crisis - I've heard of Hipster Unicorns, Hipster Cats, and UniCats/UniKitties, but never of Hipster Unicorn Cats . . . are you sure you're not in disguise?
A mysterious moustachioed individual who is definitely not The Ominous (note the moustache... :3).
P.S. I do hope I didn't confuse you, but George is supposed to be in the RMS Tiny's engine room, not that of the TARDIS. But you are right, if George were in fact to hammer on the TARDIS's engines with Thor's Hammer, it is very probable that it would blow up, and we would all be trapped in a different sort of multiverse, forced to wear bowties and speak backwards - unless of course this was prevented by having an Improbabilty Drive somewhere close, which there is.
P.P.S. Curio and Everinne (or one of them, at any rate) will need that luck!
(January 13, 2017 - 12:30 pm)
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(February 1, 2017 - 4:09 pm)
ONE LAST MINISODE
The New Secretary looked down the empty corridors nervously. Where was her office? Where was her new employer? Where had she left her marbles? She reached a hand into her pocket – good, they were still there. Though what condition they were in she didn't know... after all, she had heard that the last Secretary here had resigned rather suddenly, yelling something about guinea pigs and excessively dramatic old men, and any properly cautious person would have turned down the job after hearing that.
A hand touched her shoulder. She froze, and then turned around slowly. There, his hand still outstretched to touch her shoulder, stood an excessively dramatic-looking old man wearing a cloak, with crazy eyebrows and a long tangled beard. In his other hand, he held a mop.
“Run, you fool!” He whispered intensely. The New Secretary hadn't known people could whisper so fiercely, but you learn something new every day, right?
Then, from the corridor behind the old man, there came the sound of the clattering of extremely shiny shoes, and the sound of buzzing, as if from expensive leather briefcases rubbing together.
The old man said, “They're coming!” And without wasting any more time, dragged the New Secretary down another corridor.
They ran down more corridors, and the New Secretary had time to gasp out that she was the New Secretary, and did this sort of thing happen often here, and who are you anyways, before the old man turned a corner and ran through a wall. The New Secretary blinked, ran after the old man, and was through the wall before she realized what had happened.
“Did I just run through a wall?”
“Yes.” Said the old man, answering most of the previous questions. “I'm Gandalf.” He answered the other question as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the room.
The New Secretary looked around. There was a desk, and a window – no wait, that was just a trick of the light – a door that was definitely not a trick of the light, and at the desk sat a familiar face. The Editor had hired her, The Editor would know what was going on.
“What's going on?” asked The Editor.
Gandalf was already running towards the door. “No time to talk, it's only a matter of time before they break down the wall. Hurry now, to the broom cupboard!”
The Editor sighed knowingly, then grabbed a pile of papers marked “Spam- I Mean FAN Mail”, shoved them into the New Secretary's arms, and then picked up a large file marked “TOP SECRET: sponsored by M.U.R.D.E.R.O.U.S.”, and ran after Gandalf.
The New Secretary rushed after the two of them, spluttering. “What am I supposed to do with these papers?”
Gandalf and The Editor scrambled through a small doorway, the New Secretary hurried in as well, and the door slammed shut behind her. It was very dark, and very cramped. Gandalf and The Editor were suddenly very quiet, and The New Secretary's breathing was suddenly very loud. She tried to breathe more quietly.
* * *
Here we would like to insert a brief pause, so the audience can catch their breath as well.
END OF PAUSE
* * *
The New Secretary caught her breath, checked that her marbles were still in her pocket, and then turned to where Gandalf and The Editor were probably standing in the dark cupboard. “What's going on? And what am I supposed to do with all these papers?”
“Sort them,” said The Editor, “and if there's anything other than guinea pigs or spam, bring it to me immediately in my office down the hall.” The Editor glared at where Gandalf probably stood in the dark cupboard. “Alright now, what's going on this time?”
Gandalf whispered intensely, “Copyright lawyers.”
As if on cue, there was a huge crash as the wall in The Editor's office gave up it's case.
The Editor grumbled, “I suppose it's because of the engine's antics in that last day, with all those characters getting loose... but it's not like it's our fault, we're just transcribing the ship's log, which is probably the truth.”
As she finished speaking, the lawyers rumbled past the broom closet door. A few seconds after them a chicken's claws skittered past, and the chicken screeched, “We'll find you! You'll rue the day you used my line! No-one says the sky is falling without my say-so!”
Gandalf gulped. “Not that I have anything against lawyers, of course. Atticus is a lovely man, and that legal beagle owned by Mr. Brown is rather good too, but the ones chasing us aren't... entirely sane.”
“Are you sure we're entirely sane, though?” The New Secretary asked, checking her marbles again. “This is just crazy!”
“Exactly my sentiment.” said The Editor.
“At least it's not as bad as the Blu-Ray incident. That was a fiasco, it was.” Gandalf muttered under his breath.
“Sometimes I think I'm in some sort of reality TV show, my life is so strange...” said the New Secretary.
The Editor nodded. “Yes, exactly – and whoever is filming us must have a huge budget for cameras, otherwise we'd see them.”
“The Ominous didn't monkey around then... His hand was forced, and he had to deal firmly with that clerk who sued him.” Gandalf continued talking to himself, taking on a wise tone, as if explaining the story to some short young fellow with hairy feet.
The Editor and the New Secretary ignored Gandalf. The New Secretary sighed. “But what really is normal? How can we know if we're sane or insane?”
“Well, we all have half our sanity here, to be able to work for The Ominous...” The Editor nodded sagely.
Gandalf stared off into space, his mind faraway. “It was quite the test of his skill, and he needed M.U.R.D.E.R.O.U.S. to knit the socks for him, but he did it, yes, he did it! The Ominous turned that clerk into a sock monkey!” Gandalf looked down at a mop bucket. “Remember, Gollum searches for it even now. His heart pines after the ring, it is his one desire. Keep it secret. Keep it safe.”
The New Secretary asked, “Does Gandalf always act like this when danger looms?”
The Editor frowned. “No, not usually this strangely.” The Editor turned and tapped Gandalf's shoulder. “Can we have some light in here? It's no fun talking in the dark.”
Gandalf jumped, and looked up startled. Then he blinked and shook his head. “No, no. Too much dust, we'd explode.” He looked down at the glowing rune on his mop, and then his expression brightened. “Ah yes, that's what I couldn't remember! Here's your hall pass.” He took a small card out of his hat and handed it to the New Secretary.
In the distance, a lawyer shrieked. The New Secretary jumped in surprise, and her marbles fell out of her pocket.
END OF MINISODE
(February 1, 2017 - 8:14 pm)