Shockingly Finite, Part Thirteen: Theatre Is Dead

27 Dec

Welcome back to Shockingly Finite, our multi-part analysis of Bioshock: Infinite! And, come on, people! It’s Shockingly Finite! Fie – Night! Not fin – it! Get it straight!


PREVIOUSLYON SHOCKINGLY FINITE: A member of the rebel alliance stole my airship, and unfortunately, she refuses to respect the universal law of ‘Finders, Keepers’. She’ll give it back, but only if Elizabeth and I head down to Finkton and hire a racial stereotype!


With the Handyman’s corpse rapidly cooling at my feet and my erection rapidly wilting in my pants, Elizabeth starts to apologize.

“I’m sorry about what I said at the docks… calling you a thug.”

“Gee, thanks. Would be a bit nicer, of course, if you were to apologize for trying to fucking kill me.”

“Give me a break, I’m new at this.”

“Admitting your character flaws?”


After darting past of a couple of turrets, I find my way to the Good Luck club, where the gunsmith was taken. And according to the sign out front, “BOOKER DEWITT AUDITION TODAY!”.

Thanks for that.

We enter the club, and after a blood soaked robot invites me in (ooh, sounds like my kind of club), Fink chimes in over the intercom. “Ah, DeWitt, my boy! You know, the best kind of interview is one where the applicant doesn’t know he’s being evaluated!”

“Yeah, and the best kind of boot is the one up your ass. Your point?”

“Now now, my boy! I’ve watched you since the other day at the lottery! You’re a brute, and a times like this, I could use a brute!”

“Wait, you’ve been watching me since the lottery? … So, what did Elizabeth do to my unconscious body?”

“Well, my boy, she reached in to your pants, and-”


(These pants, to be specific.)

“Okay, what the hell do you want, Fink?”

“Heh heh, civil unrest it coming! Fitzroy has got the jungle all riled up. A man like me could have use of an old Pinkerton like you…

“… Please don’t say it like that, it makes my butthole pucker with the appropriate amount of apprehension.”

Once in the club portion of the Good Times club, we see bars, tables, multiple stories, Tears, and of course, a big stage. Said big stage then has a gigantic screen with Fink’s face lowered over it. “Now now, DeWitt, you should finish what you started! Our first candidate is a veteran of Peking! What’s that they say about old soldiers, heh heh?”

“Good god, stop laughing at your own jokes, you’re worse than I am.”

“Quite frankly, my money’s on you! He’s something of an old hand at handling explosives! Only man I know who hasn’t- heh, heh- lost a limb working with them!”


The spot light shines on the stage, and the curtains part, revealing a battalion of soldiers and a Fireman. Well. Either that, or Fink just bribed a theatre full of drama students.

“Whoever kills DeWitt gets the theatre budget! 2 dollars should do, right?”

Fortunately for me, the drama students are well versed in the art of acting like I just blew their fucking heads off, including the Fireman, who takes twice as many headshots as the Patriots take. Well, apparently having a helmet not made out of porcelain is a good idea! Who knew!

After mopping up the blood and guts (not literally, of course, unless the brain is a gut), Fink cuts in, and it’s time for round two! “This next young go getter is a former devotee of Lay-dee Comstock, but without the old gal, they don’t quite know what to do with themselves!”

“… My god, you just made the Fraternity Of The Raven sound like a clingy ex-boyfriend.”


“So they already had hollow bones! They didn’t need help sounding completely fucking useless!”

Birdboy flies in, and- oh my god, I just realized, he’s trying to kill me with a damn sword. What, couldn’t you find a nice shoe to hit me with? Maybe a lollipop? Harsh words?

The vague disapproval of a small kitten?

After somehow managing to kill a man with hollow bones trying to hit me with a sharpened piece of metal, Fink calls in again. “Now! Enough of the opening acts! Your true rival is an expert with the automata… Wants to replace all our security with machines!”

“… GLaDOS?”

The big present boxes on stage opens, and the robotic stage hands come out: Two turrets, two flying turrets, and a robotic Ben Franklin. And, just like the last time I went to go see RENT, the entire stage is riddled in corpses in a manner of minutes!

(I’m really not a fan of “One Song Glory”.)

“Congratulations, Mr. DeWitt! You get the job!”

“Oh, please. I want that job like I want Elizabeth: Only if held at gunpoint, poisoned, with a noose around my neck.”


“Bite me, Elizabeth. Now, give me Chen Lin!”

“Oh, Chen Lin? Yeeeeeah… good luck with that!”

And with that, the screen goes blank.

“Well. That’s certainly not ominous.”

The Good Time Club: Surely nothing bad will happen here, right?



One Response to “Shockingly Finite, Part Thirteen: Theatre Is Dead”


  1. Shockingly Finite, Part Fourteen: A Piece Of The World Is Missing | A VERY STRANGE PLACE - January 1, 2014

    […] gunsmith, the key to getting the airship back from Daisy “The Revolution Will Not Be Simplified, And Neither Will The Plot” Fitzroy, has been ferreted away under the Good Time […]

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