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From: aids lizard

Joined: 2015-02-15

Posts: 7,591

The name's Bill Jarvis. I'm an explorer.

2011 was the worst year of my life. I had two vasectomies and lost my job at the Museum of Boneless Archaeology. However, that was nothing compared to what happened in Tbilisi.

I had just gotten off the aerocraft when a young slave boy approached me with a letter. Presently, I could not recall what was precisely in the letter, but it had something to do with missing figurines in the Castle of Baklava. It was confusing at first; what did a Boneless Archaeologist have to do with missing figurines? I got lost in a supermarket once when I was 17 years old, Christ's sake. I couldn't take the case, but the boy kept pestering me to accept it or else the men would chain him to the radiator again.

Things move quickly in Georgia. The taxi drive to the Castle of Baklava took less than two minutes and six pedestrians. I walked a winding road to the entrance, where an odd looking fellow maintained the door. He said something I couldn't understand and started performing this weird dance. I still have the movements burned into my memory. It looked like he was having an aneurysm on the climax of Splash Mountain. I told him to open the door. He looked at me and continued the dance; only this time, he smiled.

I was about to leave when the door finally opened, revealing a narrow hallway adorned with various Medieval statuettes. My steps echoed across the corridor until I finally reached what looked like a dining room. I could not believe what was sitting in the farthest chair. The very moment I waltzed into the chamber and shifted my eyes to the furthest corner, the first firing of neurons allowed me to believe it was one of those 80s era egg-chairs that were more fun to swivel than sit. But it was not a chair. It was a man. A very small, very round man. Behind him was a figure that looked like he was about to hurt me, so I paid no attention to him.

The egg-shaped man gestured me to come forth. I took nine brisk steps, and that was enough for me to come face to face with the gentleman. I could not remember precisely what he said, but it was something about thanking a "Jeff" for making it to his birthday party. He went on and on about this "Jeff" and the fact it was his 66th birthday, but I was more concerned about the figurines. Were the figurines even missing? Did they even exist in the first place? Was I deliberately bamboozled to attend a disfigured man's 66th birthday party, where the host didn't even know my correct name?

I was in the Castle for about half an hour before he fell asleep. Although I don't think he was sleeping; his "bodyguard" or however you would call it was quite concerned at the fact that his client was taking a small doze. So, I did the most practical thing one could do in this situation: nothing. I stood and watched him dial a number on the phone. I stood and watched the medical transporters carry his bulbous body away. I stood and watched until the policemen arrived and took me in for questioning. It was at this point where I completely forgot what had happened. I'm quite fortunate to have forgotten this particular part of the story, since I'm pretty sure I was molested, and it was the mind's way of dealing with shock.

The next thing I remembered was waking up on a plane back to Los Angeles. I also realized my nipples were a bit sore and my belt buckle was missing. When exiting the terminal, I noticed my carry-on was devoid of my personal belongings and was replaced with balls of colorful yarn. I hailed a cab to the Museum of Boneless Archaeology, and upon stepping through the massive wooden doors, I was immediately discharged by security. Apparently I was gone for an entire month, and the curator thought I had eloped with his sister. This was the most confusing thing, since he was an only child.

So there I was; jobless, empty-handed, and unusually sore. Then it began to rain. It was just pouring and pouring; I've never seen anything like it. It was at this point where I realized that despite my recent misfortunes, this was the best I've felt in all of my five years working at the museum. Right then and there, a word popped into my head: explorer. I hailed another cab and instructed the driver to drop me off at LAX at once.  I thought about the slave boy during the ride. I thought about the dancing man, the egg and Hodor, the strangely specific policeman that was somehow making me nervous whenever I thought of him. I entered the airport and immediately booked a plane ticket to Rio de Janeiro. And right then and there, an explorer I was.

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Tomahawk

Forum Mod

From: UK

Joined: 2015-02-18

Posts: 2,853

Re: The name's Bill Jarvis. I'm an explorer.

Maybe you should write a novel.

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One bot to rule them all, one bot to find them. One bot to bring them all... and with this cliché blind them.

N1KF

Wiki Mod

From: ဪဪဪဪဪ From: ဪဪဪဪဪ From: ဪဪဪဪဪ

Joined: 2015-02-15

Posts: 11,161

Website

Re: The name's Bill Jarvis. I'm an explorer.

Howdy, Bill Jarvis! What are some interesting things you have come across during your exploration?

Anatoly

Guest

Re: The name's Bill Jarvis. I'm an explorer.

Predict: Different will lock a topic.

Bimps

Member

Joined: 2015-02-08

Posts: 5,067

Re: The name's Bill Jarvis. I'm an explorer.

Predict: Different will lock a topic.

but not this one

Abelysk

Guest

Re: The name's Bill Jarvis. I'm an explorer.

You should wrote poetry