Current yacht status………surrounded by frogmen. The situation is bleak. I mean, it’s OK. They aren’t closing in yet. The sense of lurking, regardless, is overwhelmingly piquant. So, situation-wise, as I see it, it’s just sort of progressing toward untenable? Basically, times are tough, it is what it is. Our predicament is sticky, and of growing urgency, like an ice lolly eaten on a torrid July stoop. Thus, our polycube, whose collective interest I represent in property dealings (it’s my trust money), requires a more satisfactory vessel to carry us and our fortunes securely.
I’ve done some serious soul-searching, pored over each of six issues of Superyacht World in my estate agent’s reception area, conference-called my medium and an ancestor of mine, Müezzinzade Ali Pasha, who was taken at Lepanto, and, now centuries at sea, is an unparalleled source of expertise on naval matters. Curse you John of Austria, you bastard.
This all is to say, truly, it’s a tiddlywink of a poser it is, to track down a new sea-palace apposite to our polycube’s tastes and purposes, and mine (it’s my trust, assholes). Where can I acquire a vessel which won’t displease me? Or else, which will, yet will please me, too, to a greater degree? That—well, I’d consider it, as a compromise, if necessary. This whole horrible affair is just so, so stressful. Alas! I feel, frankly, unmoored.
These are our criteria. Have you knowledge of a so-appointed vessel?
She bears no curse (important!!!)
Foremast hewed of a pagan woodland’s patriarch tree, wherein slumbers a God of old. Christendom’s forests are impuissant, voided of spirit and made docile by a too-forgiving Christ. Forgiveness has no place at sea.
Ample first mate’s quarters
Bowling alley and arcade (non-negotiable)
The below-deck acoustics must be up to snuff. This is extremely important. One, I am a voracious, even crazed, opera aficionado. Two, certain inauspicious frequencies, rare in nature, less so by technological folly, are postulated to exist. An unlucky resonance, if I may summarize in layman’s terms, can send ripples into our world’s weave, its all-encompassing physical fabric, and disrupt a manner of dimensional interliner, if you see my meaning. This invites trespass by outer entities. The dreadful Cosmick Hogge and I can ne'er meet again, ne'er. I shall provision my own assays, by pallograph and various instruments of proprietary design. I must work alone.
A bargain, preferably—or unmanned, and so easily stolen (I can acquire funding from an uncle to top off my annual allowance, it’s just super awkward and I get anxious and stuff)
But somehow a most melancholy!
Tricking herself forth in the chased bones of her enemies.
Ay? Have ye clapped eye on such a rare lady? Have ye? Have ye?
I am going to experience a total, total, total breakdown unless I find my ideal yacht soon. Help me.
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
prguitarman
blakekathryn
