🤡✌”Plague Pandemonium: Boredom-Stonewall’s Pestilent Profit”

“London’s plague pulses—Sven brews, Klausi taunts, and Pete spins masks in the rot. Walburga’s sword cuts miasma, Dumbo spars with Quichotte, Kanye raps over the dead, and Boredom-Stonewall profits as pestilence reigns!”

Episode: “Plague Pandemonium: Boredom-Stonewall’s Pestilent Profit”

List of Characters:

Sven the Ugly Schmidt: Hacker turned apothecary, brewing cures from scraps.
Klausi the Shithouse Demon: Mischievous demon, pranking plague doctors with glee.
Murky Jan: Flamboyant manipulator, charming survivors in tattered finery.
Crazy Pete the Fish (The Joker): Eccentric schemer, turning death into delirium.
Thomas: Drug-addled Prussian, lost in plague wine and fever dreams.
Olaf “I Can’t Remember Anything” Amnesia: Forgetting if he’s infected.
Ms. Dumbo Bock: Ambitious politician, debating Boredom-Stonewall amid corpses.
Muschi Lie En: Syndicate leader, eyeing London’s ruins for her empire.
Fritz the Fozzler: Mysterious disruptor, prime target of Boredom-Stonewall’s blame.
Dr. Z: Neo-Nazi propagandist, admiring the plague’s ruthless purge.
Walburga the Valkyrie: Mythical warrior, her Wonder Sword cutting through miasma.
Good Uncle Jochen: Lawyer, citing law in a lawless pestilence.
Dumb Tom: Tinkerer, rigging plague carts to collapse.
Dumb Beatrix: Baker, tossing bread to distract the dying.
Godmother Erika: Enigmatic planner, weaving schemes in the fetid air.
Andreas and Edith: Wastepaper moguls, peddling indulgences in a doomed city.
Vigo, die Geisel der Karpathen: Sinister figure, profiteering with corpse-robbers.
Kanye West: Time-traveling rapper, dropping bars in a plague-ridden square.
Count Don Robert Quichotte: Dumbo Bock’s foe, clashing with Boredom-Stonewall’s doom.
Archbishop Frank Boredom-Stonewall: Fake bigot preacher, now a doomsday prophet, enemy of Fritz, Dumbo, and Quichotte, peddling salvation for profit.

(Cue the toll of a death knell, the groan of the afflicted, and the creak of a plague cart, as the crew leaps from Petrograd’s snow into the grim miasma of London, 1348.)

The Wonder Sword’s blaze swallowed the Russian blizzard, hurling the crew from revolutionary chaos into a dank new horror. They landed in a muddy London alley, the air thick with rot and the wails of the dying. The Black Death ravaged—corpses piled in streets, plague doctors in beaked masks shuffled past, and Archbishop Frank Boredom-Stonewall, now in a tattered robe and wielding a censer, stood atop a cart of bodies, preaching. “Sinners! Plague-bearers!” he crowed, glaring at Fritz, Dumbo, and Quichotte. “God’s wrath spares none but my flock—pay or perish!”

Sven, shaking off snow, stirred a pot of herbs. “From rifles to rats—I’d rather hack a cure!” He dodged a doctor’s staff. Klausi, scampering through the muck, flicked a bone at a beaked figure. “Oi, bird-face, cheer up—demon’s here to plague!” The doctor stumbled, cursing.

Murky Jan, now in a patched cloak, flashed a grin at a survivor. “Darling, this death’s divine—surely I’m too fine to fester?” A cough answered him. Crazy Pete, twirling a stolen plague mask, danced on a barrel. “Why so sickly, Frankie? This doom’s my delight—ha ha ha!” A rock flew past, and he grinned.

Thomas, swaying from sour wine he’d swiped, slurred, “This… this is judgment? Or just bad grapes?” Olaf Amnesia, beside him, stared at a corpse. “Did I catch this? What’s a plague?” A mourner shoved him aside.

Ms. Dumbo Bock, in a scavenged shawl, faced Boredom-Stonewall. “Your scam’s a sham—I’ll save this city!” He waved a relic, snarling, “Heretic!” Count Don Robert Quichotte, cloak muddied, drew a dagger beside her. “Your dirge bores me, priest—and Bock’s mine to bury!” She elbowed him, earning a hiss.

Muschi Lie En, eyeing a loot stash, whispered to a looter. “Join me, and London’s ours—syndicate style!” Fritz the Fozzler, ducking Boredom-Stonewall’s pointed censer, muttered, “From Reds to rot…” The prophet thundered, “You’re the devil’s blight—pay!” Dr. Z, clutching a vial, nodded. “Such cleansing chaos—a purger’s dream!”

Walburga, her Wonder Sword glowing, faced a doctor’s scalpel. “Your pestilence’s no match—I’ll cut this gloom!” Boredom-Stonewall pointed, “Witch!” Good Uncle Jochen, dodging a cart, shouted, “Under medieval—ow!—we’ve rights!” A shovel silenced him.

Dumb Tom, rigging a cartwheel with a stick, grinned. “Break the cart, dodge the pile—done!” Dumb Beatrix, tossing bread from her sack, called, “Eat this, not death, you fevered fools!” Andreas and Edith, clutching fake indulgences, whimpered, “We’ll sell your grace—spare us!”

Godmother Erika, calm in the stench, murmured, “This rot’s our riddle—solve it.” Kanye West, bold in a square, rapped: “I’m Kanye, plague king—beats hit harder than your doom, bling!” Vigo, cutting a deal with a corpse-robber, smirked. “Death or deals—I win either way.”

Boredom-Stonewall swung his censer, his voice a wail. “Buy salvation—smite the damned!” The mob surged, coins clinking, cries rising. Pete’s mask spun, Sven’s brew sparked, and Klausi tripped a preacher into a ditch. “Now!” Walburga roared, her sword slashing air, light bursting as chaos flared. The Wonder Sword pulsed, and the crew vanished—miasma swirling, Boredom-Stonewall’s rant fading into plague-ridden silence.

They landed in a heap, rot replaced by a sharp wind, mud now stone. Sven groaned, “Where now?” Klausi sniffed, “Smells like ash—and iron.” Pete grinned, “New plague, same play—bring it on!”

Call to Action: “Cure Boredom-Stonewall’s Plague Ploy!”
“The crew’s choking in London’s death—Sven’s cures fizz, Klausi’s pranks rot, and Pete’s turning plague into jest! Walburga’s sword needs YOUR light to slash us free from Boredom-Stonewall’s pestilent profit. Back our break from this pandemonium—or we’re festering in the filth!
Join the plague escape: patreon.com/berndpulch
Drop a penny to dodge the preacher: berndpulch.org/donation
Save us from the Black Death bash—support now, or it’s a pestilent pyre for all!”

(End scene with the clang of a death bell and the shuffle of a distant cart.)

Call to Action:

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What You Get:

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Together, let’s defy the miasma with art that knows no bounds. Support Bernd Pulch now and experience the pandemonium like never before!

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