Teenie returns to Gris' bedroom at three in the morning, having received a truckload of clothing I refuse to waste time describing from the Black-Jowled Man, who she claims is a Spanish Duke who just married the Sultan of Morocco's sister and repaid her with those gifts after Teenie taught his new wife how to perform oral sex properly.
Boy oh boy, what an amazing story. Could any of it be true. After all the lies Teenie has told already. Guess we'll just have to keep reading to find out what fun.
Boredom aside, there's a point to all this (punishing Gris), but it's going to be awhile before the payoff, such as it is, arrives.
When Gris shakes off the hash and marijuana the next morning he learns that they're headed to Marseilles, because Madison wants to know how much of the Count of Monte Cristo is true and what was invented by some Napoleonic PR master. Because a fictional character in a story loosely inspired by a case the author pieced together through police reports counts as an "outlaw." I'm sure there's been dumber reasons to go to France, though I can't think of any right now.
They go to Marseilles and try to dock. It's stupid.
Through an interpreter, for none of us spoke French, the port director told us that if we weren't terrorists, he had no right to let people from the yacht wander around the town or harbor. There was a slim chance, though. If we could prove we were heroin smugglers, the port was wide open to us.
Maybe this all would make sense and be very funny if it was still the 1980's.
So it doesn't look like they're going to be able to land, which means that they'll spend another night on the boat, which means that Teenie will probably want to cuddle in bed with Gris and listen to some new records she bought! The thought is so terrifying that Gris is inspired to whip out his "Rockecenter Family Spi" badge, and because Rockecenter is the world's drug mogul, the port authorities prostrate themselves before His representative. The directer even invites Gris over for dinner and to use his wife and daughter for his pleasure, and since refusing would be a deadly insult to French national honor...
All in all, Marseilles was a terrible experience. I left sharing wholeheartedly the opinions of my steward about the French.
I.e. "I personally consider the French a bunch of pigs."
The wife was fat and the daughter had a harelip.
Things like that tend to color your attitude.
Maybe Gris could kill Mission Earth by writing a report about how thoroughly unpleasant everyone on Blito-P3 is, to try to convince the Voltarian government that the planet's not worth conquering. Why do they even want it, anyway? No technology, no resources (except drugs), and the ideal option is to have it as some sort of protectorate - oh, right. The sacred Invasion Timetables drawn up thousands and thousands of years ago that the Voltarian civilization has decided to follow. Guess you don't need to come up with a believable motive for an alien invasion if you make your extraterrestrials that mindless.
Turns out The Count of Monte Cristo is in the public domain. It's regarded as a masterpiece revenge story, so we should probably all read it, and thank Hubbard that his crappy story was nice enough to suggest alternative books to spend our time with.
Back to Chapter Two
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