Feeling Bogged Down

It’s safe to say that Desmond and I got off to a rough start. I showed up at a bad time in his life (guys in underwear were attacking him) and helped him out because everyone one else would’ve killed me immediately. Well, tried to. It was just easier to help Des, and they all seemed like dicks. But then Desmond decides the first thing he will do is to just ask me for MORE help. Look dude, I helped you once. If you don’t know where that chick is just say so and I will go about my business. But no, it’s the fuckin’ runaround.

He wants me to go some cathedral where the tribals are and “infiltrate them.” I guess I am the first person to ever show up at his house that could potentially sneak their way into a goddamn church. “Oh they won’t take just any recruit.” Uh yes you will, you’re a religion.

I go there and pretend like I’m really into their whole “being out of it, playing with fruits” thing and they HAPPILY INVITE ME IN. I’m told that to fully join them I need to go to some sacred fucking BOG and good lord, I will kill ALL of you soon.

I get to the bog and find some sacred plant and go to pick its seeds. Suddenly everything goes black and then I wake up and am seeing WEIRD SHIT. Oh what the hell, Reddy S. Gogh does not have time for fucking hallucinations. Giant bobbleheads are mocking me, as are the Nuka-Cola Quantums that explode every time I approach them.

See, I love Quantums because I love Nuka Grenades. The sight of one gives me tunnel vision and I dart immediately towards it with no regard to my surroundings whatsoever. If someone REALLY wanted to set a trap for me, they would just put a Quantum around and I would run to it gleefully. Or apparently you can also just ASK me to go something I don’t even actually want to do and I will follow the arrow on my map like a goddamn SHEEP.

THERE’S ANOTHER WAY TO TRAP ME. FUCK.

Anyway this hallucination, there’s dead bodies of people from DC and weird sawing and sewing and oh, the skeleton of my mom. Is my wasteland brain really this fucked up? I blame all the Jet and Buffout. NOT MY PRECIOUS WHISKEY THOUGH. IT GIVES ME MY POWER.

One of the bobbleheads reads, “Dead mother, life in a post-nuclear Wasteland and not a friend in it. Yeah, you aren’t exactly blessed.”

I stare at it.

Not a friend in it? Not a friend in it?

What about the bestest goddamn friend a person could wish for: Fawkes, the badass super mutant.

I have plenty of friends! Fawkes, Dogmeat, Gob, uuuh, Wadsworth, ummm, my dad who is dead…

Look, most of the people I meet are stupid.

I finally awake from my weird, apparently self-deprecating dream somewhere outside of the bog. My hat isn’t on anymore and I feel like shit I’m sure. Whiskey will cure this. I drink some. A bottle. Three bottles. And some vodka. Ooooh and I have bubblegum, that calms the nerves.

I head back to the church and find that not only is my hat off, but there’s a big ass scar on my head! BECAUSE SOME ASSHOLE CUT INTO IT. AND TOOK OUT SOME OF MY BRAIN.

Well, I almost burned down the building right then. But I felt it was important to find a way to get my hat back on and I feel now that they trust me and I should wait a little longer before gunning them down mercilessly. It seems like it would be…sweeter somehow that way.

In the church, I find Nadine who I guess is the girl I was looking for in the first place. She helps me out with the head thing and explains that she gave up looking for treasure and decided to just pick fruit with fuckheads instead. Good second choice, lady. You were fucking looking for treasure?

God why did I ever get on that boat?

TO BE CONTINUED YET AGAIN

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