“The delta juke joint jumps—Sven’s moonshine drips, Klausi pelts corks, and Pete twirls blades to the blues. Walburga’s sword hums, Dumbo and Quichotte clash, Kanye raps the beat, and Boredom-Stonewall preaches fire as jazz wails through the smoke!”
List of Characters:
- Sven the Ugly Schmidt: Hacker turned bootlegger, hacking barrels instead of tech.
- Klausi the Shithouse Demon: Mischievous demon, pranking gangsters and preachers.
- Murky Jan: Flamboyant manipulator, charming flappers in speakeasy glitz.
- Crazy Pete the Fish (The Joker): Eccentric schemer, turning shootouts into slapstick.
- Thomas: Drug-addled Prussian, lost in bathtub gin and jazz haze.
- Olaf “I Can’t Remember Anything” Amnesia: Forgetting the password to the speakeasy.
- Ms. Dumbo Bock: Ambitious politician, battling Boredom-Stonewall’s moral crusade.
- Muschi Lie En: Syndicate leader, eyeing Chicago’s rackets for her empire.
- Fritz the Fozzler: Mysterious disruptor, targeted by Boredom-Stonewall’s wrath.
- Dr. Z: Neo-Nazi propagandist, admiring the era’s ruthless control.
- Walburga the Valkyrie: Mythical warrior, her Wonder Sword outshining tommy guns.
- Good Uncle Jochen: Lawyer, citing law in a lawless town.
- Dumb Tom: Tinkerer, rigging stills to explode.
- Dumb Beatrix: Baker, tossing bootleg biscuits to distract cops.
- Godmother Erika: Enigmatic planner, weaving schemes in smoky backrooms.
- Andreas and Edith: Wastepaper moguls, peddling flyers in a gangster’s den.
- Vigo, die Geisel der Karpathen: Sinister figure, aligning with Chicago’s underworld.
- Kanye West: Time-traveling rapper, dropping beats in jazz joints.
- Count Don Robert Quichotte: Dumbo Bock’s foe, clashing with Boredom-Stonewall’s zeal.
- Archbishop Frank Boredom-Stonewall: Fake bigot preacher, a sanctimonious enemy of Fritz, Dumbo, and Quichotte, wielding sermons and sabotage.
(Cue jazzy saxophone wails, the chatter of tommy guns, and the clink of illicit bottles, as the crew leaps from Gettysburg’s smoke into the neon-lit chaos of Prohibition-era Chicago, 1929.)
The Wonder Sword’s flash drowned out Gettysburg’s cannons, hurling the crew from spectral hooves into a new kind of fray. They landed in a rain-slick alley, the air thick with jazz and the tang of bathtub gin. Chicago pulsed—speakeasies glowed behind shuttered windows, gangsters in pinstripes strutted with tommy guns, and a towering figure in a black frock coat loomed on a soapbox: Archbishop Frank Boredom-Stonewall, his voice a nasal drone. “Sinners! Bootleggers! Repent—or face my righteous raid!” His eyes narrowed on Fritz, Dumbo, and Quichotte. “You three—my scourge begins with you!”
Sven, brushing off battlefield mud, fiddled with a barrel tap. “From muskets to moonshine—I’d rather hack a radio!” He dodged a cop’s baton. Klausi, scampering atop a crate, flicked a cork at a gangster. “Oi, tommy, lighten up—demon’s here to dance!” The thug sprayed bullets, missing wide.
Murky Jan, now in a zoot suit, winked at a flapper. “Darling, this jazz is divine—surely I’m too suave to shoot?” A bottle smashed near his feet. Crazy Pete, twirling a stolen switchblade, leapt onto a bar. “Why so preachy, Frankie? This circus needs my cackle—ha ha ha!” A gunshot pinged his hat, and he grinned.
Thomas, swaying from gin he’d swiped, slurred, “This… this is prohibition? Or just bad swill?” Olaf Amnesia, beside him, scratched his head at a speakeasy door. “What’s the password? Was it ‘gin’?” A bouncer shoved him aside.
Ms. Dumbo Bock, in a flapper dress, faced Boredom-Stonewall. “Your crusade’s a sham—I’ll regulate this city!” He waved a Bible, snarling, “Heretic!” Count Don Robert Quichotte, fedora tilted, drew a pistol beside her. “Your sermons bore me, priest—and Bock’s mine to end!” She elbowed him, earning a scowl from the preacher.
Muschi Lie En, eyeing a liquor stash, whispered to a mobster. “Join me, and Chicago’s ours—syndicate style!” Fritz the Fozzler, ducking Boredom-Stonewall’s pointed finger, muttered, “From cannons to cant…” The archbishop thundered, “You’re the devil’s tongue—silence!” Dr. Z, sipping hooch, nodded. “Such moral steel—a puritan’s dream!”
Walburga, her Wonder Sword gleaming, faced a gangster’s tommy gun. “Your lead’s no match—I’ll cut this night!” Boredom-Stonewall pointed, “Blasphemer!” Good Uncle Jochen, dodging a raid, shouted, “Under Volstead—ow!—we’ve rights!” A billy club silenced him.
Dumb Tom, rigging a still with wires, grinned. “Blow the booze, dodge the bust—done!” Dumb Beatrix, tossing biscuits from her apron, called, “Munch these, not us, you gin-soaked goons!” Andreas and Edith, clutching soggy flyers, whimpered, “We’ll print your bans—spare us!”
Godmother Erika, calm in the storm, murmured, “This vice is our gold—shape it.” Kanye West, bold in a jazz joint, rapped: “I’m Kanye, Chi-town king—beats hit harder than your guns, bling!” Vigo, cutting a deal with a mob boss, smirked. “Sin or sermon—I profit either way.”
Boredom-Stonewall slammed his fist, his voice a screech. “Raid the dens—purge these fiends!” Gangsters and cops surged, bullets and bottles flying. Pete’s switchblade spun, Sven’s tap sparked, and Klausi tripped a preacher into a barrel. “Now!” Walburga roared, her sword slashing air, light bursting as lead whizzed. The Wonder Sword flared, and the crew vanished—jazz fading, Boredom-Stonewall’s rant echoing into silence.
They landed in a heap, speakeasy replaced by a cold wind, streets now stone. Sven groaned, “Where now?” Klausi sniffed, “Smells like ash—and trouble.” Pete grinned, “New gig, same stakes—roll ‘em!”
Call to Action: “Bust Out of Boredom-Stonewall’s Bash!”
“The crew’s snared in Chicago’s gin-soaked mess—Sven’s barrels fizz, Klausi’s pranks flop, and Pete’s turning raids into riots! Walburga’s sword needs YOUR kick to blast us past Boredom-Stonewall’s sanctimonious sting. Back our dodge from this bootleg bust—or we’re preached into the clink!
Join the speakeasy scramble: patreon.com/berndpulch
Drop a dime to defy the sermon: berndpulch.org/donation
Save us from Chicago’s chicanery—support now, or it’s prohibition purgatory for all!”
(End scene with the clatter of a tommy gun and the wail of a distant siren.)
Call to Action: “Jazz Past Boredom-Stonewall’s Bust!”
“The crew’s tangled in Chicago’s hooch haze—Sven’s stills sputter, Klausi’s gags misfire, and Pete’s turning tommy guns into toys! Walburga’s sword needs YOUR juice to slice us free from Boredom-Stonewall’s preachy raid. Back our break from this bootleg brawl—or we’re locked in his sermon slammer!
Join the gin-joint getaway: patreon.com/berndpulch
Toss a coin to dodge the preacher: berndpulch.org/donation
Help us outfox Chicago’s chicanery—support now, or it’s dry prayers for the posse!”
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