Ah, Venice! The city of romantic flooding. You’re the famous world traveler Marco Polo, and my, oh my, do you feel happy to finally be back home after being gone for an entire year on a trading voyage to the East.
Your journey was arduous, boring, horrible, bad, and basically everyone died on it except you, but in the end, it was worth it because you brought back to your beloved homeland a treasure from the East that no Venetian had ever before set their eyes on: ketchup.
Yup. Yuuuuuuup. Yeahhhhhhh.
That is it for sure, Marco Polo. That is the red sauce that you almost died trying to haul back to Venice during your year-long voyage on the Silk Road. But it was definitely worth it because now it’s basically all anyone around here eats anymore. They suck it straight out of the bottle, Italian-style. And everybody thinks you’re a fucking hero!
“Hey, Marco Polo, thanks for the ketchup!” shouts one man.
“Marco! The ketchup guy! You fucking rule, dude!”
“Hey, Marco! Big fan. Is it cool if I invent a pool game about you?”
“Awesome, thanks!”
Even the king of Venice wants to talk to you!
“Marco! I have to talk to you. Please, won’t you sit down, or at least squat real low?”
“First of all, I would like to thank you for introducing ketchup to Italy. I am sorry everyone on your journey died except you, but it was definitely worth it. Ketchup is very good. I’m drinking some now out of this mug.”
“But I’m afraid that I need you to go back to China.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. But the fact is that I want a cinnamon roll.”
“It’s a roll with cinnamon in it.”
“I don’t have a fucking clue. And you want to know why, Marco Polo? It’s because we don’t have it yet. We have basically nothing. We just got ketchup, and two weeks before that, we got peanuts.”
The king blinks twice before continuing:
“So basically, what we got right now is peanuts and ketchup, Marco Polo. And tasty as they are when served either individually or together in a kind of chunky smoothie, you can’t make cinnamon rolls out of ketchup and peanuts. You need cinnamon. Now, get your ass out on the Silk Road, and don’t come back until you’ve got your hands on some goddamn cinnamon.”
“Oh no, Marco! Why do you do this to me? I must have that cinnamon roll, otherwise I will fucking kill you. I will do it. I will murder you, Marco. Oh no, Marco. Why do you make me do this? This is so sad!”
“Yay! Marco, that’s such good news! I’m so glad I don’t have to kill you. That would have been so weird. But I definitely would have done it. Okay, well, I can’t wait to eat some cinnamon, whatever the fuck it is. So long, friend! Go say goodbye to your family, and then head on out.”
Well, the king killed you because you refused to go get some cinnamon for him. You’re dead now. But hey, at least you still did that ketchup thing. Nice!
“Awesome! I can’t wait to eat some cinnamon, whatever the fuck it is. Well, so long, friend. Go say goodbye to your family, and then head on out.”
You break the news of your imminent departure to your wife, Lucia. You barely make it through telling her without bursting into tears. She is clearly despondent.
“Okay, sounds good!” says your wife, clutching your infant sons who will surely grow up in the time that you are gone. “See you in, like, 20 years or so, I guess. Oh, and don’t worry about the kids. William will help me take care of them while you’re gone.”
“Yeah, Marco. I’ll make sure to keep your wife and kids company while you’re gone. It’s really...no problem at all.”
“Thanks, William. I really appreciate it!” says your wife. “See you later, Marco!”
“Bye, Marco.”
All right! You’re all packed and ready to go. It’s almost time to set out on a super long journey that you’ll probably die in the middle of. But before you go, you have to assemble a team to accompany you on this great trek. How do you want to find people to join you on your cinnamon-chasing suicide mission to China?
You whip this poster up real quick and slap it on a big pole in the middle of town.
Immediately, a bunch of people show up.
“I’ll go with you.”
“Sure, I’ll go.”
“Me too.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Sounds good.”
“Fine.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Sure, fine.”
“All right.”
“Yes!”
“Both of us will go.”
“Yeah, I’m going.”
“I guess I’ll go.”
“I’m going, and I’m bringing my dog.”
“You know what? Sure. Why not.”
“Okay.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, yes.”
“Fine.”
“Yeah!”
“Yes. Okay, sure!”
“Take me on your journey, Marco Polo.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yup, sounds good.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, yeah.”
“Let’s go!”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go.”
“My name is Michael, and I’ll go as well.”
“Okay, I’ll go.”
They all shout at you.
You set out on the Silk Road with your many companions. The sign to your right says “China: 5,000 miles.”
Fuck, that’s far.
After walking for countless days and nights, you come upon a fellow merchant you recognize from your previous journeys.
“Greetings, Marco Polo! Remember me? I’m Gussley, the Rock Merchant. Thirty years I’ve carried this godforsaken rock on my back and no one has bought it. You don’t have any interest in buying my big-ass rock, do you?”
After running for countless days and nights, you come upon a fellow merchant you recognize from your previous journeys.
“Greetings, Marco Polo! Remember me? I’m Gussley, the Rock Merchant. Thirty years I’ve carried this godforsaken rock on my back and no one has bought it. You don’t have any interest in buying my big-ass rock, do you?”
After somersaulting for countless days and nights, you come upon a fellow merchant you recognize from your previous journeys.
“Greetings, Marco Polo! Remember me? I’m Gussley, the Rock Merchant. Thirty years I’ve carried this godforsaken rock on my back and no one has bought it. You don’t have any interest in buying my big-ass rock, do you?”
“What the fuck is cinnamon?” asks the Rock Merchant.
“I don’t know, but you need it to make cinnamon rolls,” you reply.
“All right,” sighs the Rock Merchant. “I’m off then. So long, my friend.”
“What would you be willing to trade for it?”
“I have heard stories of ketchup, but never have I actually tasted the mysterious red sauce that is okay to eat entirely on its own. I’ll take it!”
“Brian!” you shout. Brian, by far your worst companion, comes forward carrying a cooler filled with mosquitoes.
“Hi, Marco Polo. I brought mosquitoes because I thought we were supposed to bring mosquitoes.”
This guy is such a fucking idiot. You’d be much better off with a huge fucking rock than Brian.
“Yeah, sure,” says the Rock Merchant. “I guess I could use a subpar companion for my travels.”
“Sounds good!” says Brian.
Jesus Christ, what an idiot.
“Wow, what an inspiring image. I’ll take it! Finally, I am no longer Gussley, the Rock Merchant! Now, I am Gussley, the merchant of the drawing of an anthropomorphic human leg making out with an anthropomorphic human arm. Thank you, Marco Polo! Here is your rock!”
Cool! You have a big-ass rock now. You never know when it might come in handy.
You walk for months and months. And then you walk some more.
You walk for months and months. And then you walk some more.
You walk over a goddamn mountain. Ten people in your party fall to their death. Another guy gets a sore throat and has to go back home to Venice. Morale is low. But you journey on in search of cinnamon.
You walk over a goddamn mountain. Ten people in your party fall to their death. Another guy gets a sore throat and has to go back home to Venice. Morale is low. But you journey on in search of cinnamon.
After traveling for, like, five years, you’re still not even close to your destination. Dang, you wish you had an airplane so bad. This would be so easy with an airplane. It would still be a pretty long flight, but it would be astronomically shorter than this journey. Plus you’d just get to sit down in a chair. Maybe read a book. Or just sleep through it. Fuck, it would be nice if you had an airplane.
After traveling for, like, five years, you’re still not even close to your destination. Dang, you wish you had an airplane so bad. This would be so easy with an airplane. It would still be a pretty long flight, but it would be astronomically shorter than this journey. Plus you’d just get to sit down in a chair. Maybe read a book. Or just sleep through it. Fuck, it would be nice if you had an airplane.
Finally, you arrive at an ancient city. Perhaps you will have some luck trading here.
Finally, you arrive at an ancient city. Perhaps you will have some luck trading here.
You encounter a gentleman at the city gates.
“Greetings, Marco Polo,” says the man in a language that you evidently understand. “What brings you to our noble city?”
You encounter a gentleman at the city gates.
“Greetings, Marco Polo,” says the man in a language that you evidently understand. “What brings you to our noble city?”
“Says it on your shirt.”
“Oh, right,” you reply. “I forgot I was wearing that.”
“So, what business do you have in our city?” he asks.
“Says it on your shirt.”
“Oh, right,” you reply. “I forgot I was wearing that.”
“So, what business do you have in our city?” he asks.
“You are in luck! We have Cinnamon!” exclaims the man.
You can hardly believe your ears. Is it possible that you could return home with cinnamon early and still catch the last five years or so of your sons’ adolescence? That would be incredible!
“Yes, we have Cinnamon! But Cinnamon is very important to us. The only thing we would be willing to trade Cinnamon for is a big-ass rock. Like, just a massive honkin’ son of a bitch of a rock. We need it so that we can drop it on a bug. You don’t by any chance have a rock that would fit that description, do you?”
“You are in luck! We have Cinnamon!” exclaims the man.
You can hardly believe your ears. Is it possible that you could return home with cinnamon early and still catch the last five years or so of your sons’ adolescence? That would be incredible!
“Yes, we have Cinnamon! But Cinnamon is very important to us. The only thing we would be willing to trade Cinnamon for is a big-ass rock. Like, just a massive honkin’ son of a bitch of a rock. We need it so that we can drop it on a bug. You don’t by any chance have a rock that would fit that description, do you?”
Looks like you screwed up. You could have gotten your hands on some cinnamon if you had traded the Rock Merchant for his rock. But you didn’t. And now who knows where the Rock Merchant is. Overcome with regret, you drown your sorrows by consuming a lethal amount of ketchup and die shortly thereafter. What a disaster.
“Awesome! We have wanted to squish that bug for a long time, and now we will finally be able to do it with this massive rock. Very well, then. Give me the rock, and I will give you Cinnamon.”
“Here he is!” the man exclaims as a pig emerges from a nearby shed. “Our beloved Cinnamon. Well, so long, friend, you belong to Marco Polo now.”
“Yeah, Marco Polo. The pig’s name is Cinnamon. Is this not what you meant when you said you were looking for Cinnamon?”
“No, man,” you reply. “I meant ‘cinnamon.’ Like, the thing you make cinnamon rolls with.”
“What are cinnamon rolls?” he asks.
“Fuck if I know, man,” you reply. “But what am I supposed to do with a stupid pig?”
“Perhaps you will be able to trade it for some cinnamon,” he says.
“I’m sorry about the miscommunication. Good luck finding the non-pig kind of cinnamon.”
You leave the city and find yourself in a desert. The scorching heat of the sun threatens to bake you alive. What’s left of your party look pretty down in the dumps. You promised them a suicide mission in search of cinnamon. And it’s starting to look like the suicide part might come before the cinnamon part.
You leave the city and find yourself in a desert. The scorching heat of the sun threatens to bake you alive. What’s left of your party look pretty down in the dumps. You promised them a suicide mission in search of cinnamon. And it’s starting to look like the suicide part might come before the cinnamon part.
“Well, my lady was—” you start to belt in a piercing falsetto, but you are immediately shushed by the entire group.
Oh well. It was worth a try.
“Well, my lady was—” you start to belt in a piercing falsetto, but you are immediately shushed by the entire group.
Oh well. It was worth a try.
After years of wandering in the desert, you finally make your way up into a mountain range that you know is notorious for the many bands of robbers who ambush travelers on the road. Coincidentally, it is also notorious for the many mysterious beasts who roam the mountainside looking for prey.
After years of wandering in the desert, you finally make your way up into a mountain range that you know is notorious for the many bands of robbers who ambush travelers on the road. Coincidentally, it is also notorious for the many mysterious beasts who roam the mountainside looking for prey.
You are immediately attacked by a horrific beast with red armor and gigantic claws. It immediately kills five people in your party just by causing them to have heart attacks because of how terrifying it is. And now it’s coming for you. What are you going to do?
You are immediately attacked by a horrific beast with red armor and gigantic claws. It immediately kills five people in your party just by causing them to have heart attacks because of how terrifying it is. And now it’s coming for you. What are you going to do?
Suddenly, God emerges from the heavens.
“God!” you shout over the sound of what must be a thousand heavenly trumpets. “Thank you for answering my prayers! Please save me from this wretched beast!”
After a moment, God speaks to you in a clear and resonant voice:
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help right now. Maybe some other time? I am really tired right now and need to go lie down. I need a little nap. Naps are so nice. You should try taking a nap. Bye-bye!”
And with that, God recedes, the heavens close up, and the beast approaches...
Suddenly, God emerges from the heavens.
“God!” you shout over the sound of what must be a thousand heavenly trumpets. “Thank you for answering my prayers! Please save me from this wretched beast!”
After a moment, God speaks to you in a clear and resonant voice:
“Sorry, but I can’t help you.”
And with that, God recedes, the heavens close up, and the beast approaches...
Well, there’s no easy way to say this: You got eaten by a beast. Sorry.
Well, there’s no easy way to say this. You got eaten by a beast. Sorry.
“Please do not hurt me or my friends,” you scream at the terrifying beast.
“Glaaaaaaaaaasshhhhhhhhhhh,” barks the beast. “Glash glashhhhhhhhhhh!”
“Let us make a deal. I am Marco Polo, the famous world traveler and trader of things. I would gladly trade you a pig that I recently acquired, if you’d be interested. Its name is Cinnamon.”
The beast waits a moment and then finally says, in a high-pitched growl, “Glashhhhhhhhhhhhh....”
It’s pretty unclear what that means, but it isn’t attacking you, so that’s good.
“Please do not hurt me or my friends,” you scream at the terrifying beast.
“Glaaaaaaaaaasshhhhhhhhhhh,” barks the beast. “Glash glashhhhhhhhhhh!”
“Perhaps we can make a deal! I am Marco Polo, the famous world traveler and trader of things. I would gladly trade you my rock for something of value!”
You take out the rock, but the beast thinks you’re trying to attack it. “Glashhhhhh!” screams the beast. “Glashhhhhhhh glash!”
Oh no. This isn’t good.
You shake hands with the beast as one of the people in your party fetches Cinnamon.
“Glash,” says the beast.
“Glash,” you reply. The two of you appear to have reached some sort of understanding. The beast climbs on top of Cinnamon and rides him effortlessly into a nearby cave.
Once you’re inside the cave, the beast gestures to a trophy of some sort.
“Is this what you wish to trade me for Cinnamon the pig?” you ask.
“Glash,” says the beast.
You pick up the trophy and read its inscription: “Los Angeles Lakers: 2010 NBA Champions.” It means very little to you. Happy to be alive, you thank the beast, bid adieu to Cinnamon, and leave the cave.
You are immediately ambushed by a robber.
“HELLO! I AM A LOST VIKING, AND MY NAME IS KLECK ANDERSON! I FELL OFF MY VIKING BOAT BECAUSE I LEANED OVER TOO FAR TO LOOK AT A COOL FISH IN THE WATER, AND EVER SINCE THEN I HAVE BEEN LOST! PLEASE LET ME ROB YOU!”
“THANKS!” says the robber/Viking, making off with all your belongings and several of your companions. Now you’re sort of fucked. Oh well.
But you are immediately ambushed by a robber.
“HELLO! I AM A LOST VIKING, AND MY NAME IS KLECK ANDERSON! I FELL OFF MY VIKING BOAT BECAUSE I LEANED OVER TOO FAR TO LOOK AT A COOL FISH IN THE WATER, AND EVER SINCE THEN I HAVE BEEN LOST! PLEASE LET ME ROB YOU!”
“OKAY, WELL, I’M STILL GONNA ROB YOU,” he says.
With only the massive rock to defend yourself, you attempt to hurl it at him, but to no avail. You’re simply not strong enough to lift it, even with the help of your surviving companions. You have no choice but to let yourself be robbed. Sorry, but your journey ends here. What a shame.
“THANKS!” says the robber/Viking, making off with all your belongings and several of your companions. Now you’re sort of fucked. Oh well.
“OKAY, WELL, I’M STILL GONNA ROB YOU,” he says.
But just then, Cinnamon charges at the robber at a terrific speed, running him off into the distance. You knew that pig would come in handy. Nice!
“AH MAN, THIS PIG IS GONNA KILL ME FOR SURE!” he shouts, his voice receding into the distance. “FUCK THIS! FUCK! GODDAMMIT, FUCK! SHIT, MAN! AH, HELL. AH, CRAP. FUCK! FUCK.”
Well, you escaped the robber. But you also lost Cinnamon, which was the last non-ketchup item you had left to trade. Suddenly, a strange glimmer in a nearby cave catches your eye.
Inside the cave, you find some kind of trophy: “Los Angeles Lakers: 2010 NBA Champions.” This might be worth something. You pocket the spoils of your victory and set out on the road.
Well, that was a close one. But you emerged unscathed and even managed to get a piece of treasure. Your good spirits are quickly dampened, however, when you look at the road sign. “China: 1,000 miles,” it reads. Goddammit, that’s still so far away.
You gave up. You didn’t make it to China. You didn’t get your hands on some cinnamon. But who can blame you? The deck was stacked against you. Rest in peace, Marco Polo. The world will just remember you primarily for ketchup now.
Looks like the red dotted line is only about halfway there. Why not speed this up a bit?
Very good. Keep going.
Hey, this is a great idea! Nice work!
You’re almost there! China is pretty close now!
You made it! Wow! You’re in China! That was fast!
You finally made it to Beijing, the seat of power for the great Mongol Empire. This is China, my friend! And now it’s time to get some goddamn cinnamon!
“Hey, I couldn’t help but notice you shouting and yelling about cinnamon. Are you looking for cinnamon?” asks a man.
“Hell yeah, I am!” you scream in his face politely. “I’m Marco Polo, and if you don’t believe me, read my T-shirt. I came all the way over here from Venice, Italy just to get some goddamn cinnamon for my king. Do you have any cinnamon, whatever the fuck that is?”
The man smiles. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he says. “For I am the emperor himself, Kublai Khan!”
You approach a guy who looks pretty chill. He is just hanging out and smiling.
“Cinnamon!” you scream in his face.
“Hey, are you looking for cinnamon?” he asks.
“Hell yeah, I am!” you scream in his face. “I’m Marco Polo, and if you don’t believe me, read my T-shirt. I came all the way over here from Venice, Italy just to get some goddamn cinnamon for my king. Do you have any cinnamon, whatever the fuck that is?”
The man smiles. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he says. “For I am the emperor himself, Kublai Khan!”
“It’s true,” he says, growing red in the cheeks. “I am actually that guy. I am Kublai Khan. And I have so much cinnamon that I don’t even know what to do with it.”
“Your majesty,” you say, kneeling before him as the surviving members of your party do the same. “I would be most pleased if you could trade with me.”
“We might be able to work something out,” says Kublai Khan. “What do you have to offer me?”
“Ketchup?” he guffaws. “We already have ketchup. Man, didn’t you get ketchup from here in the first place? Come on. What else do you have?”
The emperor inspects the object.
“What the fuck is this?” he asks. “‘2010 NBA Champions?’ What does that even mean? This is worthless to me. Man, I don’t really know what to tell you. I think you’re out of luck.”
You are almost about to burst into tears of despair when, suddenly, a loud noise erupts from behind you.
It’s Cinnamon! He must have somehow tracked you down!
“Cinnamon!” you shout jubilantly. The emperor looks on in confusion.
“This is not cinnamon,” he says, scowling. “This is a pig.”
“No, I know,” you explain. “He is a pig named Cinnamon. And he saved my life.”
But just as you reach out to pet Cinnamon, the pig begins vomiting up these long brown sticks. He’s really hacking them up, and it’s super gross.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Khan,” you apolgoize. “This is super gross. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“It’s cinnamon!” he shouts.
“Yes, this is the pig named Cinnamon,” you reply, unsure why he seems so excited about the pig’s name.
“No!” he shouts, pointing at the pig’s vomit. “That’s cinnamon!”
“The pig is throwing up cinnamon!” the emperor exclaims.
“So THAT’S cinnamon,” you say, staring at the stuff that the pig just threw up. “That must be why they named him Cinnamon! Because sometimes he throws up cinnamon! Wow, what a world.”
Everyone sighs the kind of sigh you sigh when you have reached the end of a thing. Now that you have cinnamon, you can finally go home!
Ah, Venice! It’s fucking fine. The city of...well, to be honest, you can’t remember much about it now. You’ve been gone for, like, 50 years. Everyone in your party died on the journey back, and you’re an old man yourself. You don’t even know what year it is. Might as well finish what you started, though.
But when you go to see the king, it’s a totally different king.
“The old king drowned, and now I’m the king,” says the new king. “What do you want?”
After a long pause, he finally speaks:
“Meh. I could take it or leave it.”
You go to say hello to your wife and find out that she’s been dead for, like, 20 years.
“Hello, Father,” say your two sons. “We have grown old in the time since you left to go get cinnamon. But we still love you, Father.”
“That’s okay. William took good care of us while you were gone.”
“Hello, Marco,” says William, his taut and relentlessly exfoliated skin hardly a day older than when you last saw him. “Nice to see you again. Had a great time hanging out with your boys while you were in China looking for cinnamon. They’re great kids. Say, did you find any? Cinnamon, that is.”
“Well, that’s really neat,” says William. “It’s good to have you back. You see, we’re a family now. And since you’re back, you’re part of it too. Sure, it won’t always be easy. And yeah, we’ve got some catching up to do. But if we work together, we can all live together and help each other grow. So, what do you say?”
“...”
For the kids, you tell yourself. Do it for the kids.
“Okay, I guess this will be fine,” you mutter.
Your sons erupt in cheers.
“That’s great to hear, Marco,” says William. “All right, hands in, gang. Three cheers for the Polo Boys! Hip, hip...”
“Hip, hip...”
“Hip, hip...”
Congratulations! You got your hands on some cinnamon and returned home to your family safe and sound. Sure, you have to spend your final years with William, who your kids love and you hate more than anyone, but you still did it. Awesome!