Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

True

False

I DO NOT ACCEPT YOUR PETTY DUALITIES

Chips

[Kilojoule Proton]

Put on a mitre hat, and move to innsmouth massachusetts.  Declare yourself the fishpope of father Dagon, the Mesopotamian deity of crop fertility.

+1

+1

[Superdorf]

"Glub", you say. "Glub, glub. Glub. Glub! Glub glub! Glub!"

Your mind twists wildly. Might you be a fish with the body of a man? No-- you were at the bar with Johnson just last Tuesday. You're pretty sure fish don't drink at bars. What sort of a fish-head is this anyway? You glance again to the wall-mirror: it looks to be the head of some sort of tuna? Maybe? You don't know fish. A telephone. A telephone for the clue to open the clock to find the shells to-- what were you doing again?

Your panicked reverie is broken by the clicking of a door-handle. A nurse strides into the room, clipboard in hand; her eyes widen, at the sight of your fishy cranium. The two of you regard each other, flabbergasted.

You… start laughing. Laughing. This is absurd. Life is absurd.

"Well!" you say, your voice a rich (and startlingly human) baritone. "What a conundrum. My eyes don't lie, and I cannot avert my eyes from the truth no longer. I am indeed, a man with the head of a fish. Holy mackerel, how will I explain the whole situation to Johnson?!" You laugh again, and rise. "Hmm. Speaking of: what day is it?"

Not waiting for an answer, you stride past the shellshocked nurse into the hallways. Clad in naught but a hospital gown, you call through the halls as you wander: "A newspaper! I must have a newspaper!"


You lean against the hospital masonry, reading your newspaper under the light of a bright summer sun.

The Daily Drivel - Recounting the World's Absurdities since 1823
August 5, 2028
MAN HIT BY TRUCK-- DANGEROUS CARGO SPILL

In a freak accident on the corner of Broadway and Stillwater Avenue this Thursday, Bangor native Wilson Cummerbund was struck by a speeding semi-trailer truck carrying (against all reason) 31 tons of radioactive fish. The Bangor Fire Department has taken the scene, in a race against time to clear the spillage.

"They're glowing," stated fire chief Jacob Higgins to the press. "Five thousand pounds of dead, stinking fish, and they're all glowing. We're out there in hazmat suits and shovels, trying to clear things out-- we're all just hoping it doesn't rain any time soon--"

A representative of the burgeoning "Hardy and Clive's Nuclear Seafood Plant" declined to comment on the unfolding situation. Legal investigations continue into recent actions of the H&C, which came under fire last month under suspicion of exporting its waste products to local seafood joint… [cont. on page 6]

Your left eye twitches slightly.


"Good day, sir," you say, striding up to the checkout counter of the Books-A-Million book store. "I should like to purchase this atlas."
The man behind the counter flaps his mouth at you, thunderstruck. You flap your mouth back in a genial sort of way.

Swallowing, the man takes the atlas and runs it under a scanner, handing it back to you in a little "BAM!"-marked baggie. He mumbles a price, and you proffer a twenty-dollar bill-- he returns to you $5.54 in change and your receipt, and (ritual of transaction fulfilled) you take your leave.

A pleasant sort of place, you think to yourself. Lots of plushies for sale.


You thumb listlessly through your new atlas, lounging on a convenient street-bench nearby the bookstore. Your newspaper rests precariously on your fishy head, folded up into a crisp mitre hat.

Try as you might, you can't find Innsmouth on the map of Massachusetts... you swear you remember reading somewhere that that's the place for an aspiring fish-pope to be. Maybe they just didn't put it on the map?

What now?

Spoiler: Inventory (click to show/hide)

- A newspaper mitre hat
- A cheap suit and necktie
- Hanes® brand socks and boxer shorts
- An old pair of loafers
- A wallet ($33.57 USD)

[VoidSlayer]

I guess what any good old American fish person would do.

Find a personal injury lawyer and sue.

[Kilojoule Proton]

Seek converts among the nearest swimmers and beachgoers and apply for tax-exempt status for the local branch of the Church of Dagon.

[Maximum Spin]

Catch a gecko in a cup. Attempt to become the gecko through witchcraft.

It's called "Samsara Room".

[Demonic Spoon]

I guess what any good old American fish person would do.

Find a personal injury lawyer and sue.

Seek converts among the nearest swimmers and beachgoers and apply for tax-exempt status for the local branch of the Church of Dagon.

Both of these! +1

[VoidSlayer]

Yeah that was my thought, having money can really help kick start a cultsmall business.

[King Zultan]

I guess what any good old American fish person would do.

Find a personal injury lawyer and sue.

Seek converts among the nearest swimmers and beachgoers and apply for tax-exempt status for the local branch of the Church of Dagon.

Both of these! +1

+1

[delphonso]

I guess what any good old American fish person would do.

Find a personal injury lawyer and sue.

Seek converts among the nearest swimmers and beachgoers and apply for tax-exempt status for the local branch of the Church of Dagon.

Both of these! +1

+1

+1

Seek a nearby billboard for lawyer information

[wierd]

Cover other options; Make discrete phonecalls to various fisheries and canning plants, asking if they would be interested in hiring a unique actor to serve as a corporate mascot.

[Funk]

I guess what any good old American fish person would do.

Find a personal injury lawyer and sue.

Seek converts among the nearest swimmers and beachgoers and apply for tax-exempt status for the local branch of the Church of Dagon.

Both of these! +1

+1

+1

Seek a nearby billboard for lawyer information

+1

[Nakéen]

I guess what any good old American fish person would do.

Find a personal injury lawyer and sue.

Seek converts among the nearest swimmers and beachgoers and apply for tax-exempt status for the local branch of the Church of Dagon.

Both of these! +1

+1

+1

Seek a nearby billboard for lawyer information

+1

+1

[Superdorf]

As you flip through your atlas, a mighty epiphany descends upon your piscene noggin.

You're not just any man with the head of a fish! You're a proud, upstanding American citizen with the head of a fish! And what does an American citizen do when he gets hit by a speeding truckload of noxious, mutative fish corpses?

He files for personal injury, and drowns his sorrows in sweet sweet cash!

Filled with righteous indignation, you beeline for the nearest bus stop. Those godless whoever-they-ares will pay for what they've done to you. Literally.
In large bills.


"Exact change, please," says the bus driver, as you solemnly deposit $1.50 into the waiting receptacle. "Thank you."

The bus door slides shut with a happy little "hiss"; you settle down into an open seat, and the bus whirs to life, wending its merry way through the streets of Bangor. You hum contentedly to yourself, watching the world roll by. The other passengers try very hard not to look at you.


Back at your apartment, your old Dell laptop comes creakily alive, fans grumbling along for all they're worth. You wait for the booting process… type your way through the login screen… run "startx" through the terminal shell, 'cause you messed up the automatic GUI somehow awhile back… wait some more… fire up Google Chrome… wait…

…

A few minutes of web-surfing later, you've got a list of law firms to try. You search up the IRS legal requirements for religious tax exemption, while you're at it.

https://www.irs.gov/charities-non-profits/charitable-organizations/organizational-test-internal-revenue-code-section-501c3
https://www.irs.gov/charities-non-profits/charitable-organizations/exempt-purposes-internal-revenue-code-section-501c3

That done, you indulge your curiosity with a brief foray into varieties of tuna. A couple Wikipedia searches later, you decide your head to be (based on its size and shape) most like that of a northern bluefin… surprising, that. You'd expect a nuclear fish truck to be carrying mackerel or something.


"This is Timothy Merton, of Harvey & Merton Personal Injury Law Firm. Can I help you?"

"Hello, Mr. Merton. My name is Wilson Cummerbund, and I wish to file a claim against Hardy & Clive's Nuclear Seafood Plant for damages to my person. By the actions of one of their truck drivers, I have been--" you affect an injured tone of voice-- "rendered most unjustly into a man with the head of a fish."

"...come again?"

Patiently you explain yourself, answering as best you can the questions of the lawyer-- the memory returns to you as you speak. You were walking home one night, perhaps a little drunk at the time, when a thunder of light and sound filled your eyes and ears. You heard the blare of a horn, the screech of tires-- something struck you, hard. You blacked out, a dreadful fishy stench filling your nostrils.

(Yes, you are that Wilson Cummerbund. The one from the news article.)

You woke in hospital, five days later. You were a man with the head of a fish. You learned the truck had been carrying dangerous piscene waste products through a residential portion of Bangor-- improperly secured, most likely. You seek recompense.

Yes, you are otherwise unhurt.
Yes, you were charged for the hospital stay. The insurance covered it.
Yes. No. $5,317. Probably, yes. You don't know.
What? No.
Yes.

"...and would you say you have undergone some amount of emotional pain and suffering, from this incident?"
"I expect I will, Mr. Merton. It will be rather lonely, you know, to have the head of a fish."
"Of course."

It's an interesting situation, says the lawyer. Your inebriation would have made you unusually careless that night, and you are (to your knowledge) physically unhurt-- but the truck was well over speed limit, by the sound of it, and your fish head ought to file nicely under "permanent disfigurement". He figures he can land you... oh, perhaps a $20,000 settlement? Before legal fees, of course. He'll prepare a claim for you.

"I would be most grateful, Mr. Merton."
"We'll be in touch."


"Hello, you've reached Happy Harbor Seafood."
"Yes, hello. My name is Wilson Cummerbund, and I am seeking employment as a company mascot. I am, you see, a man with the head of a fish."
…
"...a man with the head of a fish."
"Indeed, ma'am. Over the past five days, my head has come to bear an uncanny similarity to that of an Atlantic bluefin tuna."
"Ah."
...
"...Please hold."

Eight minutes pass. A rather nice rendition of Si'bheag, Si'mho'r drifts from the phone line, looping after awhile and starting again.

"Hello, this is Todd Maxwell of the Happy Harbor employment division."
"Yes, hello. My name is Wilson Cummerbund, and-- as I told the lady who picked up-- I am seeking employment. I am a man with the head of a fish, and I believe I can offer unique service as a company mascot."

"So I'm told… quite unusual, you know. It's not very often, that we get a man with the head of a fish around here."
That startles you. "You've had offers like this before?"
"Only once. Nice fellow, head of a northern pike-- we don't deal in freshwater fish, you understand. Had to turn him down."
"Ah. Most regrettable."
"Most regrettable," Todd agrees. "Normally we just get calls from fish with the heads of men."
"I see."

…

"Look, Mr. Cummerbund... why don't you drop by our office tomorrow for an interview? I'll bet the folks in marketing would be right tickled, to have a man with the head of a fish to work with."
You'd smile, if you still had the lip muscles for it. "I would be delighted, Mr. Maxwell."

"Great--" Todd gives you an address, and a time: 8:30 AM. "We'll see you soon, alright Mr. Cummerbund?"
"Of course. Thank you, Mr. Maxwell."

Your next five fishery calls get you variants of "we're not hiring right now" and "you're pulling our legs"-- one lady simply hangs up. You do manage to land a meeting with "Johnny's Fish and Lobster", next Thursday at 4: a backup, for if the Happy Harbor thing doesn't pan out.


Content with the morning's proceedings, you place one more call…

"Hey Will. What's up?"
"Johnson! How'd you like to swing by Jenkins Beach after work for a bit?"
"Jenkins! I dunno, Will... that lake's gonna be crawling with the tourists, you know?"
"It'll be fine, Johnson. I'll bring a six-pack."

There's one place in life for a man with the head of a fish, you reckon: religion! Where better to pick up schmucks for a fish-church than the bustling summer lakefront?


You kick your legs, thumbing through an old H.P. Lovecraft compendium for tips as a Yann Tiersen track plays on your laptop. Pretty sounds... somewhat ill-suited to your choice of reading material, perhaps.

It's... 12:30 PM. You've got a few hours to kill, before Johnson rolls up in that jalopy of his.

Do you do anything in particular to pass the time? How will you go about converting people, once you arrive at Jenkins Beach?

Spoiler: Inventory (click to show/hide)

- A newspaper mitre hat
- A cheap suit and necktie
- Hanes® brand socks and boxer shorts
- An old pair of loafers
- A wallet ($32.07 USD)

[delphonso]

I suppose we should work out the details of fishchurch.

Perhaps we have some texts on theology that might be useful. Wilson seems the type to have a dusty book of comparative religions holding up the end of the sofa.

[Kilojoule Proton]

I suppose we should work out the details of fishchurch.

Perhaps we have some texts on theology that might be useful. Wilson seems the type to have a dusty book of comparative religions holding up the end of the sofa.

+1

Read up on how the Esoteric Order of Dagon was regrettably disbanded by force and take a few pages from successful modern cults during the wait. The short of it is that we'll need a nice circle of loyal cultists to assimilate further recruits and displace their existing support networks to avoid deprogramming. It would probably be easiest to build something like this up by first recruiting the most gullible and impressionable and riding a wave of peer pressure until enough skilled specialists are in the organization to have a proper inner circle, so let's begin planning an MLM-ish spiel offering untold wealth (from the deep), freedom to breathe (underwater), and true love (with fishfolk) in exchange for loyalty and a token amount of secrecy (because we'll probably end up using social media to expand eventually). Maybe something like this but less clichéd:

If wishes were fishes, would you believe in fishes?

No: Thank you for your time. Have a nice day!
Yes: Would you wish for, I don't know, money or love?

No: Thank you for your time. Have a nice day!
Yes: Would you like to hear the good word of Dagon?

No: Thank you for your time. Have a nice day!
Yes: (Insert blu(r)b about Dagon and undiscovered shipwrecks/true love and loyalty/secrecy)

We'll need a front of some sort too, but maybe that can wait until after the interviews. Infiltrating an existing company is probably a lot easier and cheaper than creating one out of whole cloth in this economy.