November 4th 2017

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Ah, Venice! The municipal of romantic flooding. You’re the prominent world traveler Marco Polo, and my, oh my, do you feel happy to finally be back home after being moved for a whole year on a trading voyage to the East.

Your journey was arduous, boring, cruel, bad, and mostly everyone died on it except you, but in the end, it was worth it because you brought back to your beloved homeland a wealth from the East that no Venetian had ever before specified their gazes on: ketchup.

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Even the prince of Venice wants to talk to you!

“Marco! I have to talk to you. Satisfy, won’t you sit down, or at least squat real low? ”

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“First of all, I would like to thank you for introducing ketchup to Italy. I am sorry everyone on your excursion vanished except you, but it was clearly worth it. Ketchup is very good. I’m boozing some now out of this mug.”

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“But I’m afraid that I need you to go back to China.”

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“I know, I know. I’m sorry. But the fact is that I require a cinnamon roll.”

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“It’s a bun with cinnamon in it.”

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“I don’t have a fucking clue. And you want to know why, Marco Polo? It’s because we don’t have it hitherto. We are essentially nothing. We just got ketchup, and 2 week before that, we got peanuts.”

The king blinks twice before persisting TAGEND

“So basically, what we got right now is peanuts and ketchup, Marco Polo. And delicious because this is when helped individually or together in a kind of chunky smoothie, you can’t oblige cinnamon reels out of ketchup and peanuts. You necessitate cinnamons. Now, get your ass out on the Silk road, and don’t am coming until you’ve got your hands on some goddamn cinnamon.”

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“Oh no, Marco! Why do you do this to me? I must have that cinnamon bun, otherwise I will fucking kill you. I will do it. I will assassinate you, Marco. Oh no, Marco. Why do you build me do this? This is so sad! ”

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“Yay! Marco, that’s such good report! I’m so glad I don’t have to kill you. That would have been so weird. But I clearly would have done it. Okay, well, I can’t wait to eat some cinnamon, whatever the fucking it is. So long, love! Go say goodbye to their own families, and then leader on out.”

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Well, the tycoon killed you because you refused to go get some cinnamon for him. You’re dead now. But hey, at least you still did that ketchup concept. Neat!

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“Awesome! I can’t wait to eat some cinnamon, whatever the fucking it is. Well, so long, friend. Depart say goodbye to your family, and then honcho on out.”

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You break the news of your imminent divergence to your spouse, Lucia. You scarcely make it through telling her without bursting into rips. She is clearly despondent.

“Okay, sounds great! ” says your bride, clutching your infant lads who will surely grow up in the time that maybe you proceeded. “See you in, like, 20 years or so, I predict. Oh, and don’t expresses concern about the children. William will assist me take care of them while you’re gone.”

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“Yeah, Marco. I’ll make sure to keep your wife and kids busines while you’re vanished. It’s really…no problem at all.”

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“Thanks, William. I really appreciate it! ” says your bride. “See you afterwards, Marco! ”

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“Bye, Marco.”

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All right! You’re all jam-pack and ready to go. It’s approximately time to set out on a super long tour that you’ll possibly succumbed in the middle of. But before “theres going”, you have to assemble a team to accompany you on this large trek. How do you want to find people to join you on your cinnamon-chasing suicide mission to China?

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You whip this posting up real quick and swipe it on a big pole in the middle of town.

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Immediately, a cluster of beings show up.

“I’ll go with you.”
“Sure, I’ll go.”
“Me too.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Sounds good.”
“Fine.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Sure, fine.”
“All right.”
“Yes! ”
“Both of us will go.”
“Yeah, I’m going.”
“I guess I’ll go.”
“I’m moving, and I’m introducing my dog.”
“You know what? Sure. Why not.”
“Okay.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, yes.”
“Fine.”
“Yeah! ”
“Yes. Okay, sure! ”
“Take me on your journeying, Marco Polo.”
“I’m “re coming with” you.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yup, sounds good.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, yeah.”
“Let’s vanish! ”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go.”
“My name is Michael, and I’ll go as well.”
“Okay, I’ll go.”

They all shout at you.

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You set out on the Silk Road with your numerous assistants. The indicate to your freedom says “China: 5,000 miles.”

Fuck, that’s far.

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After stepping for innumerable periods and lights, you come upon a fellow merchant you accept from your previous expeditions.

“Greetings, Marco Polo! Remember me? I’m Gussley, the Rock Merchant. Thirty times I’ve carried this godforsaken stone on my back and no one has bought it. You don’t have any interest in buying my big-ass boulder, do you? ”

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After leading for endless eras and lights, you come upon a fellow merchant you recall from your previous journeys.

“Greetings, Marco Polo! Remember me? I’m Gussley, the Rock Merchant. Thirty years I’ve carried this godforsaken boulder on my back and no one has bought it. You don’t have any interest in buying my big-ass rock, do you? ”

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After somersaulting for innumerable epoches and darkness, you come upon a fellow broker you distinguish from your previous journeys.

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“What the fuck is cinnamon? ” asks the Rock Merchant.

“I don’t know, but you need it to prepare cinnamon buns, ” you reply.

“All right, ” exhales the Rock Merchant. “I’m off then. So long, my friend.”

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“What would you be willing to trade for it? ”

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“I have heard floors of ketchup, but never have I actually savoured the mysterious blood-red sauce that is okay to snack entirely on its own. I’ll take it! ”

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“Brian! ” you holler. Brian, by far your bad companion, comes forward carrying a cool filled with mosquitoes.

“Hi, Marco Polo. I produced mosquitoes because I thought we were supposed to generating mosquitoes.”

This guy is such a fucking idiot. You’d be much better off with a huge fucking rock-and-roll than Brian.

“Yeah, sure, ” says the Rock Merchant. “I guess I could use a subpar comrade for my travels.”

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“Sounds good! ” says Brian.

Jesus Christ, what an nerd.

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“Wow, what an exciting image. I’ll take it! Ultimately, I am no longer Gussley, the Rock Merchant! Now, I am Gussley, the seller of the paint of an anthropomorphic human leg making out with an anthropomorphic human forearm. Thank you, Marco Polo! Here is your rock! ”

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Cool! You have a big-ass rock now. You never know when it might come in handy.

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You saunter for months and months. And then you walk some more.

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Youre Marco Polo On The Route To China. Can You Get Your Hands On Some Cinnamon?

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Youre Marco Polo On The Route To China. Can You Get Your Hands On Some Cinnamon?

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