As the ghost of a roguish sea captain who perished in a slave revolt on his ship back in 1829, I've been able to meddle with history for nearly two centuries. During the Second World War, Caleb's Island allied with Nazi Germany, which in hindsight proved to be a big mistake. I foolishly enlisted in the Waffen SS, and found myself participating in the Ardennes counter-offensive against you Americans in 1944...you know it as the Battle Of The Bulge. We were kicking ass for a few days, then we ran out of fucking gas! Yes...gasoline, or more aptly, the lack of it, cost us the battle...and ultimately the war.
Little Trayvon accompanies me everywhere I go, though he's gotten me into a little hot water over the years..like the time he threw his feces at the bartender at Sal's Pizza & Adult Video, or when he jerked off on that old lady in K Mart. Despite these unfortunate mishaps (which resulted in a costly lawsuit by Sal's bartender, and being banned from K Mart), I still love the little guy like a furry little family member. Trayvon shares my right-wing philosophy, and I've taught him to hate libtards...one day I may unleash him at a Trump rally and let him chew off Jim Acosta's face on live TV.
During the intense fighting, I was riddled with .50 caliber machine gun fire after throwing myself on a live grenade, and spent the rest of the war recuperating in a field hospital in Douchenkuntten. When I returned home to Caleb's Island in 1945, I suffered from flashbacks and nightmares about the war...my psychiatrist and some drinking buddies suggested that I get an emotional support animal. Through a shady monkey-dealing friend, I managed to acquire a young chimp, and I named him Trayvon...it just seemed a fitting name. My simian companion has been a Godsend...the flashbacks and nightmares are gone, and I've gained a great friend.