Bad Soup
by Dmitri Rostropovich
I hope everyone appreciates my crossover fan fiction combining elements of the great film Battleship Potemkin and the website Absolutely Reliable News & Rumors. This story has as it's basic thought the idea that some of the sailors on the Potemkin were writers for ARN&R. Kind of historical fiction with some fantasy thrown in.
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Word had reached the sailors that food would be arriving shortly. The Dimetriefov, Editor-in-Chief of Absolutely Reliable News & Rumors reflected on this fact as he swabbed the gun casing, his duty for the afternoon. He also reflected on the fact that the food was unlikely to be good. The last batch of deep-fried crisco had been tainted, and several less hardy souls had spent the better part of the next three days in the head, screaming that they were shitting their brains out. Sailor Guryevich had been three seconds late for drill the next morning and was forced to swab all the excrement-filled bathroom floors and walls with his toothbrush. It could be worse, thought the Editor-in-Chief. But not much. And things were coming to a head, because that rabble-rouser Vakulinchuk was urging mutiny in the barracks on a nightly basis. The Editor-in-Chief disapproved of such talk, because he believed in diplomatic solutions, but he had to admit that the tide was turning, much as the Potemkin was turning in its own tides on the water below him.
His shift over, the Editor-in-Chief headed toward the barracks. Vakulinchuk was already at it. A new recruit named JCK Dosvidanya had been beaten and harrassed by a petty officer, whose title was certainly not ironic. All he had done was give the officer a "funny look," which was difficult since he had been sleeping when the officer walked through. He was crying like a little bitch, which despleased the Editor-in-Chief, but he was reassured by fellow sailor MMS Potopenkotarkoff that the beating had been severe, and the recruit was also going to be assigned to gravy-making duty for the next three weeks, which noone liked.
The Editor-in-Chief understood the pain the man must be feeling, and had more sympathy suddenly. Of course, he had once had potato-peeling duty assigned to him for misbehaviour on ship, and had managedto nurse a disgusting fungus along on his ring finger in order to get out of it. In fact, he was still nursing that fungus, just in case he was ever caught slacking off and therefore he could avoid kitchen tasks that would force him to talkto fatass sailors who tried to swipe extra jars of Libby's Potted Meat Food Product from ship storage.
His attention was soon focused on Vakulinchuk, though. The man was screaming and pounding his fist in his hand as usual.
"Attention, comrades!" Vakulinchuk, shouted. "Are we to continue taking this treatment? This man has been attacked by his petty officer for nothing. And we work long hours and the officers take home all the money and get all the pussy! The food also sucks and we don't have buffets! We must not stand for this abuse!"
The Editor-in-Chief spoke up. "It's true things are unfair. but revolution is not the answer. Revolution will lead to death and more restrictions, fellow sailors. We must be peaceful and accept our conditions while continuing to negotiate and discuss better terms with the management. By remaining calm and talking in a civilized fashion, we will surely be able to acquire better wages and conditions."
This made sense. Some supported Vakulinchuk wholeheartedly still, while others thought the Editor-in-Chief had a better plan. Vakulinchuk agreed to hold off his mutiny for a few days while negotiations were carried out.
But then the new shipment of meat arrived the next morning, and all shit broke loose.
"This meat is filled with worms and maggots!" said Sailor CSB Prokofiev.
"I see piles of rabbit shti on this beef flank," said Sailor MEC Daniyelovich.
"And this one has been gnawed on by members of the American Coaster Enthusiasts!" yelled Sailor FMB Vukeyovekayovich.
But the ship's doctor told the sailors the meat would be fine after brining. Soup was made. The men refused to eat. And they were summoned to the foredeck, where the captain stood forth and demanded who enjoyed their soup. When only officers came forward, along with a few pussy-whipped sailors, the captain sent a group of rabble-rousers to the far end of the ship, put a tarp over them, and ordered their execution.
"Who are you killing!" yelled Vakulinchuk. "think waht you are doing!"
And the soldiers thought, and did not fire. And that was when it all dawned for the mind of the Editor-in-Chief. There was no way to fight the officers and the Tasrist oppression of Russia by negotiation and compromise. The only way to gain freedom and equality was to embrace the glorious revolution of the people against beaougois oppression.
"Revolt!" the former pacifist screamed. He leapt onto an officer and was pleased to hear the officer's neck bones snap like twigs. The officer pawed futiley at the Editor-in-Chief as the air gurgled form his broken windpipeand blood spewed violently from his mouth.
The Editor-in-Chief stood over the corpse of his disgusting filthy foe, screaming, "I live in the future....and I would love to live for the impossible in the possible!!!!!"
The glorious fight of the people had begun. Long live the workers! Death to the Tsar!!!!!!!!!
