Survivor Blogosphere Edition: Outwit, Outpost, Outlast

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Immunity II Entries

Here we go again:

Entry #1:
Well, we lost Jeff during the last tribal vote and I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't a bit upset about it. He seemed like such a good guy. :( I was thinking about Jeff and the tribal vote this morning when I heard "God Bless America" somewhere off in the distance. I was starting to believe that I had imagined hearing when I was hearing things when I looked out, and on the horizon saw a fancy yacht coming towards Blogtiki. Around that same time, the other Survivors caught sight of the vessel and along with myself, made their way down to the shore to meet our guests. Two very large men in dark suits and dark glasses stepped onto the sand and helped a man in a large, floppy hat down from the ship. "Who could it be?", we all wondered aloud as the man slowly made his way up to where we were standing. Suddenly, he took off his hat and there before us stood Presidential candidate John Kerry. Squeals of delight rang through the air as a few of my fellow Survivors saw who it was. I, of course, was not one of them. "Why God? Why?", I asked under my breath as Kerry made his way over to me. The disappointment and boredom must've shown on my face, because Kerry looked down his nose at me and walked away with his small, happy party. One of his bodyguards uttered "Shame on you" as he passed me. There was something about his voice that sounded strangely familiar, but at the time I couldn't place my finger on it.

I made my way up the beach and found that some of the Survivors were showing Kerry around
our little camp. With an evil smile and snotty giggle (Yes! He actually giggled!), Kerry said something about the place missing something, and he sent one of his men back to the yacht. Moments later, he came back with three huge "KERRY in 2004" signs, which they placed in the sand in front of our camp. Vowing to throw the signs back into the ocean first chance I got, I sat on one of the logs with a certain male Survivor who shall remain nameless. Less than enthused with our guest, we plotted how we were going to get rid of him. We couldn't have him stinking up our beach with his stupid signs and evil grin. Well I guess we were talking too loud because a few minutes later, the strangely familiar bodyguard came over to me and shook his finger at us and said "Shame on you...shame on both of you!" as he slapped an "Anybody But Bush" sticker on our chests and stalked off. Thoroughly perterbed by what was happening around us, myself and the Survivor-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless continued our discussion as Kerry, his men, and the rest of the Survivors chowed down on coconuts and fish.

By sunset, the camp had turned into a mini-DNC convention, complete with people singing "Rockin in the Free World" and chanting "Shave Bush! Shave Bush!" The big, burly bodyguard kept coming over and wagging his finger and me and saying "Shame on you! Shame on you! Shame on you!" over and over until I finally snapped. I jumped up from my log and snatched the "Kerry in 2004" signs out of the ground and threw them in the water. Kerry began complaining about "the man always keeping him down" and dispatched one of his men into the water to retrieve them. It was then that the burly bodyguard whipped off his sunglasses and began yelling at me. To my utter amazement, I recognized him as documentary filmaker and all-around asshole Michael Moore! Michael pulled out his camera and began chasing me around the island asking me about my ties to the bin-Laden family and K-Mart. He kept yelling "Shame on you Ms. ****!!! Shame on you!!" I could hear Kerry telling the other Survivors how he liked Moore, but only after he hated him. And he said that he voted to make Blogtiki a part of the US, but only after he voted against it. Then he started talking crazy talk about waffles and ketchup.

Michael gave up chasing me after a few rounds and was finally drug to the yacht by some Survivors and the other bodyguard. Kerry followed suit and made his way onto the yacht. As he turned around and faced us from the top level of the yacht, he touched his professionally coiffed bangs and set off. We could hear Michael screaming "Shame on you! Shame on you" as the ship sailed off into the sunset.

After today, I know that I'm a big target to be voted off next. I mean, nobody likes attractive Conservative women...look at Ann Coulter! *deep sigh* I'm doomed, doomed I say. I don't know if I'm going to be the next to leave Blogtiki, but I do know one thing...liberals are crazy and Michael Moore is one huge, annoying oxygen thief. And if they ever step back on this island, somebody's going down.

Waffles!

Entry #2

It's been another interesting week here on the island of Blogtiki.

We've had our First Immunity Challenge and voted off our first Survivor.
I'll miss Jeff. He was such a good listener. We used to have these long,
long conversations where I'd just talk and talk. He'd just listen
quietly. It was almost like he wasn't even there. But now he's gone and
I'll miss him an awful lot. And I have to remember to thank him whenI
see him at the end for keeping his shelter clean. It made it a lot
easier to put it up next to mine so I can now have a double-wide.
Ahhh.....sweet comfort.

I was thinking about just that thing - the decadent luxury of my new
spacious island hovel - and singing a song a couple of us had written
about the island:

Blogtiki! Island with six people from far and wide.
Blogtiki! You can run from the voting but you just can't hide.
It's a tropical wonder.
This island down under.

Blogtiki! Tropical palms sway in the breeze.
Blogtiki! Warm ocean waves can put you at ease.
Beauty is never far.
Look, it's Miguel (Raaaaah)!

A walk isa great way to clear your mind. You just strike out on a
footpath and enjoy the jungle footpaths with the warm sunlight cut in
gleaming streams by the leaves of the canopy overhead, the distant cries
of tropical birds, the bright rainbow of colors from the flowering
vegetation contrasting with the warm white sand of the beach and the
black suits of the Secret Service agents.

Secret Service agents? Here??

Why would Secret Service agents be here, on our island, with theie
powerboats and their high-powered weaponry, and their apparently welcome
frisking of our fellow islanders (and I'll have to remember to make sure
they all have their handcuffs with them when they leave because, you
know, kinky island neighbors and all...)? We haven't been able to get
correspondence off the island, so there couldn't have been threatening
letters. Our blogs have been...well....quiet. It's June, a few months
from the...the...

Oh no. The election. The Presidential Election.

I wanted to run, but I couldn't. LIke Chekhov seeing the Botany Bay, I
was frozen in horror. Even though I had fled halfway around the world,
the election had found me. And there they all were, disembarking from
the yacths that had pulled aside the dock: President Bush and Sentor
Kerry came ashore first. But then there was a veritable horde of others:
Libertarian, Green, Socialist, and Dennis Kucinich gamely hanging on to
his few electoral votes. It was like a swarm of smarm befouling our
beloved beach. I was hoping it wouldn't last very long.

The politicking didn't take long to start. As soon as Bush and Kerry saw
us, they steered our way, their festive sandals kicking up litle
roostertails of sand. Bush actually looked fairly comfortable in his
Hawaiian flowered shirt and shorts. You get that way working on a ranch,
I suppose. Kerry, on the other hand... Well, I can't say he looked
uncomfortable but it's not every day you see a guy in shorts who's also
wearing a shirt, tie, and jacket. I wanted to tell him to loosen up a
bit but I got the feeling that this was his absolute "Wild and Crazy"
limit. With any luck, the sun would do him some good. Natural light is a
lot better for you than the tanning lamps I've heard he uses.

I actually met the Senator first. Consistent with campaign finance laws
he greeted me by saying, "I'm John Kerry, and I approve this island
visit". Once that was out of the way, he started telling me about all
the things he could do for me as President. To be honest, I had heard
them all before and I interrupted him politely. He looked sort of hurt
that he couldn't lay his rap on me so I suggested we take a walk through
the jungle. He had to have read my weblog because he looked nervous
about being alone in the trackless wild with me but I assured him that
he was perfectly safe. I didn't like his politics, but I didn't mean him
any harm. That crack about the skiing accident was just a joke, you know?

So off we went, trailed discreetly by two agents. We walked silently for
a while, enjoying the day. After a few minutes, though, he sort of
cleared his throat and said, "You know, this reminds me of Vietnam. You
know I served there. Got wounded. Three Purple Hearts."

I chuckled. "Yes, Sir. I know. You've not exactly been shy about it."

He nodded. He almost looked said. "I wasn't going to really say anything
about it, but it does look a lot like Vietnam. Jungles look a lot alike
no matter where you go."

"Really?", I replied. "You've been to a lot of jungles?"

"No". He shook his head. "Just this one and that one. But they do look a
lot alike. That's why I mentioned it".

I nodded. "That makes sense. Look, do you mind a little bit of advice? I
mean, you have to know I won't be voting for you, but still. It might be
useful".

"Sure", he said, swatting at a cicada that had buzzed his
perfectly-sprayed hair.

"Lay off the Vietnam thing. We all know you served and it's a good
thing. But it doesn't look good that you served then came back and
trashed the guys who served with you."

"But it was an immoral war! Guys were dying for nothing, really!"

"Yes, well, that may well be. No one thinks you didn't believe that.
But, still. Today, I don't think you'd stand behind what you said back
then. And it really hurt a lot of good men who didn't do anything but
what their country told them they needed to do. Like you."

He sighed and stopped walking a moment. "I know that. In my heart I do.
But you don't understand - this is politics. I don't always get to say
what I reallywant to say. I have to say what my experts say I need to
say. It doesn't matter what I believe or not."

"Well, we don't really know what you believe, right? You say one thing
one day, then another thing the other. Like that SUV thing, remember?"

"Yes. I know. But it only makes political sense to say you're for SUVs
when you're in Detroit and against them when you're talking to
environmentalists. That's politics. You don't say what you want to say.
You tell people what they want to hear."

"You mean, people like me?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Just like you. What would happen if someone said
what he thought instead of what people want to hear?"

"Well, maybe we'd have politicians people can trust. It's important to
people that they know their President stands for something inside
himself and not because he's following the latest poll. That's why we
all love Reagan still. He wans't perfect - who is? - but he spoke his
mind and when you looked into his eyes, there was a real man looking
back". I picked a couple mangoes from a low-hanging branch and offered
him one. "They're good".

He took the fruit, bit into it, and smiled as he chewed. "This is good.
I need to take a few of these back with me".

"Help yourself. They're everywhere."

He nodded again and wiped a little juice from his chin. "Look, let's say
I did start saying what I really thought. Would you vote for me then?"

"No", I chuckled. "But I'd definitely respect you."

He was quiet as he finished his mango. Dropping the pit into a little
hollow on the trail, he shuffled some dirt over it and tamped it down.
"That would be just as good, I believe".

We walked back to camp in silence. I didn't like John Kerry very much,
but I figured that if maybe he could campaign on his conscience, he
really could be a politician I'd respect.

----------------------

The next morning, I woke to the sounds of laughing. Peering out of my
tent, I could see where someone had strung one of our fishing nets
between two poles. There was a spirited volleyball game going on between
the candidates and my fellow islanders. Even John Kerry was out there
and, as I watched, Kucinich fed him a beautiful set and he spiked it
down hard between two diving Blogtikians. He pumped his fist into the
air, laughed, and high-fived the Socialist candidate. I smiled. I never
really knew he could loosen up that much.

I was about to duck back in and catch a few more minutes of sleep when a
voice form my right said, "Want some breakfast? Some bacon and eggs
left". I knew that voice - had heard it a hundred times before and,
besides, there's no way to mistake that Texas draw.

"Mr. President?" Sure enough, it was. He was sitting on a camp stool in
front of the low fire with his feet up on a piece of driftwood.

"Call me George, please. We're gonna eat breakfast together. Might as
well me on a first-name basis."

I stood up, stretched, and ran my fingers through my hair, hoping it
didn't look quite as rats-nesty as it usually does. He handed me a plate
when I made my way over there and I spooned some eggs onto it and
grabbed a couple pieces of bacon. "Sorry we didn't have more. I wanted
to bring some coffee from the boat, but they said I couldn't. It was
against the rules."

"But, you're the President", I said as I sat down and forked a piece of
egg into my mouth.

He laughed his little Muttley laugh. "Yeah, that's funny. You make it
all the way to President and you still have to follow the rules."

"That's not what they say about you. They say you break all kinds of rules."

He looked at me. "What do you think? Do you think I break the rules?"

I thought for a second. It was a heck of a question and I really don't
think all that well early in the morning. Or late in the morning either.
"Sure you do. Sometimes you have to break rules to get things done. But
there are important rules and there aren't."

He nodded. "So which ones do you think I break?"

"The ones that aren't - the silly ones. You have rules that really mean
something and rules that are just there because folks thought it was a
good idea to make a rule so they did."

"Yeah, that's what I think sometimes about them too. Silly's a pretty
good word"

I chewed on a piece of bacon and took a drink of water. "But you're
getting beat up a lot for breaking any of them."

He smiled, kind of sadly. "I sure am. I'm trying. It's hard to get a
message out most of the time."

I shrugged. "I could believe that."

He squinted up into the sun and pushed the cowboy hat back on his head.
"I like it out here. It's quiet. I don't get a lot of quiet anymore."

"No, Sir. I wouldn't think you would", I chuckled.

"All the press after me all the time. The protestors. Calls from foreign
leaders. I don't get much time to myself, or to be with my wife." He
looked sort of sad as he said it.

"So why are you running again?"

He paused a minute, then looked at me again. "Because I have to. What
we're doing in the world is really important. We can't just stop doing
it. I really think I'm saving lives. I think we're proving that
America's a noble place and we can be a force for good in places that
need it."

"Now you sound like a campaign ad", I said. But I really wasn't sure
about that.

"No. I mean it. This is a good country and there are a lot of people who
want us to go away. They want to destroy us. They tried to break our
spirit on September 11th and they didn't. They'll try again. The only
way to stop that is to hunt them down and to give them no good place to
rest. We can't stop now after we've come so far."

He really meant this. He wasn't kidding about it. "So, Mr.
Pres...err...George. Why don't you just keep saying that? Don't worry
about the speeches people write for you. Keep it simple and say just
what you said to me."

"Because it's not that easy. People want a President who makes good
speeches. They want to hear strength and conviction - like Ronald Reagan
or John Kennedy."

I shook my head. "Maybe they just want a President who can talk to them
honestly and beleivably. I think maybe they'd forgive you for messing up
a word or two once in a while."

He smiled a crooked smile. "You think so?"

I nodded again. "You used to do it. That's why people trusted you after
nine-eleven. You didn't make many big speeches. You talked straight to
people and told them just what was happening and what we were going to
do. That's what people want - a genuine person, not a politician".

"Hmmmmm....could be that's right. I used to do that, you know."

"I do. I'd like to hear it again, myself."

He stood up and brushed some breakfast crumbs off his lap. "I'll think
about it. But right now, they need another person for volleyball and I
used to play pretty good back in my day." And he jogged off to join the
game.

--------------------------------

The visit didn't last very long - shorter than I thought it would. Or
maybe it just seemed short because I stopped dreading these guys,
looking at them like politicians and started treating them like normal
people. Which I suppose they are in their own ways, except for Kucinich.
He's definitely some sort of alien or intelligent monkey.

This was certainly an odd Challenge. I suppose it could have been worse,
though. They could have made me eat bugs.

Entry #3

I have to get this all down while it’s still fresh in my mind. Not that anyone is going to believe this, but today was one strange day on our bloggy little island. After Jeff was shipped out to sea, we all sat back to relax and get some sun only to hear another boat rapidly approaching Blogtiki. We were half expecting Pylorns to arrive with a new challenge, reward, or possibly hygiene supplies, (my cohorts really stink!). But it was none of these things. On board this lovely vessel were the American Presidential Candidates. Actually, just Bush and Kerry…Apparently Nader missed the boat.

Now, the guy who cuts my hair has a great rule abut never discussing religion or politics with strangers…Divisive nature, etc., etc. Up until this point we had all been doing pretty well at this. As the candidates got off the boat and surveyed their surroundings, we got into a huddle and anxiously discussed how to handle this situation. None of us wanted to hear any political propaganda so we devised an ingenious plan. We approached Bush and Kerry and presented them with the following ultimatum:

“Rather than listen to the two of you split hairs over who is more patriotic or a better war veteran or a better war-time leader, we propose that the two of you enter into a WWF-style wrestling match and the winner will get all of our votes.”

Bush: “What’s more American than the WWF? I love America. Mr. Kerry is ashamed of America. What you gonna to do when the leader of the free world runs wild on you? Build us a wrestling ring and I’ll do it!”

Kerry: “I stopped bullets with my teeth in Vietnam! You’re not half as tough as my best friend, John McCain. I can take you old man, you’re on!”

So with that, we frantically started building the finest bamboo, wrestling ring ever made as the candidates hung their suit jackets on coconut trees and debated Canadian foreign policy. (The structure turned out to be surprisingly sturdy in the end and is now used as our shelter. Thanks for the motivation guys.)

In true patriotic fashion, they wasted no time and got right down to business. Both Bush and Kerry entered the ring wearing identical “Bush Rules!” t-shirts.

Bush: Hey, you’re wearing my campaign shirt! Does this mean I can count on your vote come election day?

Kerry: You’ve got to be kidding. I got this shirt from Clinton…He got lucky with it, maybe I will too.

So the match was on. Unfortunately, for us, each wrestling move was preceded by an explanation of the move and what it represented for the American electorate. (Honestly, the whole thing smacked of over-preparation and badly written scripting…I think they were a little too prepared for this event.) Bush seemed especially fond of The Forearm of Foreign Policy move but Kerry had his own secret weapon, The Vietnam Monkey Flip.

About ten minutes into the match, it seemed that Kerry was poised to take the victory. As Bush lay at his feet, battered and bruised, Kerry paused and surveyed his audience with a serious look on his face. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Conch? We don’t need no stinking conch!”.

We figured it was all over but just as we were preparing to make good on our bets, Dick Chaney came running out of the bush swinging a steel chair. Poor guy, he had almost made it to the ring when he collapsed complaining of chest pains. Then Kerry bent down to apply his finishing move, The NAFTA Neck Breaker.

All of a sudden, we heard a plane overhead. As we looked up, a huge crate fell from a U.P.S. plane and landed directly on top of both Bush and Kerry. Sure enough, from inside the crate we heard the voice of Ralph Nader:

“Did I miss the debate? There can be no daily democracy without daily citizenship! Man, I’m hungry…I hope you guys saved me some buffet. Vote Nader!”

Like I said, it was one weird day. Oh, and the candidates? We sent them to Mexico. They should have a lot of fun there, once they recover from their internal injuries, that is. ;-)

Entry #4

My original submission started to run about about eighteen pages, which was a bit long. I suppose there’s something to be said about a story of a reasonable length...instead, here’s the synopsis:

Lemur Girl watched in surprise as a horse-faced man in a dark suit emerged from a group of patchouli-scented, unbathed hippies. Unimpressed, she tried to figure out who he was, what he was doing there, and why no one with him had bathed; meanwhile, Ralph Nader’s right-hand hippies (Sun, Myung, and Moon) declared the air on Blogtiki was “seriously polluted” when the meals Pylorns had supplied to the Survivors (beans, broccoli, and non-dairy creamer) had a slight effect on Victor.

On the other side of the island, Lynn and Dizzy Girl were trying to figure out why Jeff had been such a stick-in-the mud, when the door to a landing craft slammed open, the strains of “The Horst Wessel Song” started playing through loudspeakers, and Lyndon LaRouche, accompanied by his most loyal lieutenants from the LaRouche Youth Movement (Hans, Jan, and Ralph), escorted the frail, bald man onto Blogtiki. LaRouche looked around and started addressing a coconut tree as “Juanita.”

In the meantime, Lemur Girl told Nader he was on the island of Blogtiki and would he please get his smelly hippies out of here? Sun, Myung, and Moon kept asking, “Where’s the nearest Starbucks?” and “Where can we score some?”

Lynn and Dizzy Girl tried to escort the old man to a comfortable rock, but Hans, Jan, and Ralph wouldn’t let anyone touch him. Lynn and Dizzy Girl asked the LaRouche Youth what business they had on Blogtiki; after assuring the three blond, square-jawed young men they were not spies, they finally found out LaRouche was on the island for the upcoming Presidential debates, which was a bit of a shock to Lynn and Dizzy Girl. When they turned around, the only sign of Lyndon LaRouche were his footprints, leading into the jungle…the unexplored jungle…

Back with the unwashed hippies, Lemur Girl and Victor were discovering that Nader, too, was on Blogtiki for the upcoming Presidential debates. This was as much a shock to Lemur Girl and Victor as it was to Lynn and Dizzy Girl. Lemur Girl suggested Nader might have been told a little white lie to get him out of the way, but Victor poo-poo’d that idea since the leaders of the DNC could hardly pick their own noses, much less come up with a plan to keep Nader out of the presidential race.

Jimmie finally made his appearance, when it was discovered he’d been guarding the keg of Heineken. Suddenly, he heard something stumbling around in the jungle. Assuming it was The Great Cthulhu, he screamed like a girl and ran.

Hearing a strange voice screaming in fear, Nader screamed that they were under nuclear attack, and fell to the ground with his hands covering his head. Sun, Myung, and Moon also fell to the ground, complaining about the lack of coffee and dope. Lemur Girl and Victor looked at each other, shrugged, and ran off toward the sound of the screaming.

Hans, Jan, and Ralph had tied Lynn and Dizzy Girl to a tree and kept asking them what they had done with LaRouche. In spite of their protests that they had been talking to the three of them when he disappeared, and in spite of the footprints leading off into the jungle, Hans, Jan, and Ralph insisted the two ladies had something to do with his disappearance. In desperation, Dizzy Girl told the three Aryans they thought LaRouche looked hungry, so they had escorted him to their secret stash of wienerschnitzel. Realizing they, too, were hungry, Hans, Jan, and Ralph followed the footsteps into the jungle, leaving the two young ladies tied to the tree. Dizzy Girl looked at Lynn and told her, “Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”

Victor and Lemur Girl ran toward the screaming, and were passed, at a high-rate of speed, by Jimmie. Lemur Girl asked Victor if they should try to stop Jimmie; Victor answered that saving the keg was more important.

Lyndon LaRouche looked the keg, dropped trou, and sat on it, since he’s an old man and doesn’t have quite the control over his bowels that he used to have.

Nader picked himself off the ground, brushed off his clothes, and jumped back as Jimmie, still screaming like a girl, ran past him and into the water. “See him?” he yelled at Sun, Myung, and Moon. “Do what he’s doing-you guys stink!” Ralph then followed Lemur Girl’s and Victor’s footprints into the jungle.

Lemur Girl and Victor stared in horror at the old man, pants down around his ankles, sitting on their keg. Suddenly, Hans, Jan, and Ralph burst into the clearing where the keg was stored. They stopped, looked at each other, then at Lemur Girl and Victor, and asked, “Where’s the wienerschnitzel?”

Nader burst into the clearing, and recognizing the old man sitting on the keg, exclaimed, “LaRouche!” So did LaRouche, but Victor set the record straight and introduced the two dark-horse candidates to each other. The two men shook hands and LaRouche said they could still have a Presidential Debate on the island, right after he finished going to the bathroom. Victor kicked the keg over into the small lagoon. LaRouche, not seeing the keg anywhere, said, “Welp, I must be finished,” and pulled up his pants.

That night, with a fire roaring on the island, Nader and LaRouche debated the issues. What they were, no one can say, since, like any other Presidential Debate, no one was paying any attention. Hans, Jan, Ralph, Sun, Myung, and Moon spent the time pointing at each other’s hair and laughing, while passing around a doobie made up from banana-peel scrapings. Jimmie was the happiest man in the world, since Lemur Girl and Victor said he could have the entire keg to himself as a reward for protecting it from The Great Cthulhu. Victor cooked up lots of fish for everyone to eat, and Lemur Girl played the perfect hostess, making sure everyone was taken care of. As both the debate and the fire wound down, Jimmie staggered over to where Victor and Lemur girl were sitting and asked the question that, up until that moment, had been on no one’s mind: “Anyone seen Lynn and Dizzy Girl lately?”

Entry #5

I was standing in the sea when I first heard it. The distant rumble of a helicopter getting ever closer. As it approached I realised that it was possibly the biggest one I had ever seen and it was sporting some serious weaponry. Looking past it you could see an enormous yacht drifting slowly towards us. The yacht was so impressive that at first I failed to notice the smaller boats accompanying it and the big men with even bigger guns.

I was rooted to the spot, watching in fascination as a man dressed in little more than a sarong and shades stepped down from the yacht into one of the smaller power boats and cruised towards the shore. He stepped off, wind fluttering his hair, and turned on me with a hundred watt grin.

“Hi!” he says, beaming.
“Um… hello.” I reply, feeling the colour begin to work it’s way into my face as I realised I was still wearing the seaweed crown I had made earlier. I hastily removed it and chucked it behind me on the beach so that I could pick it up again later. I looked back at the man in front of me.
“I’m John!” I swear this grin was painted on. It was like one of those ones you only ever see in hollywood. I was half expecting one of his teeth to go *ping*.
“Right, nice to meet you and your big men with even bigger guns…”
“I’m running for president!”
“President of what exactly? And why do you need so many guns?” I know I shouldn’t have said it but I was developing a kind of fascination with these men and their dark suits. I wanted to push one in the sea just to see what would happen.
“Why, President of the all American swimwear company is what! And I like the guns, they make me look important.” And with that he threw the sarong to the floor revealing a very tanned, very muscular body. I flushed even further.
“So!” he says, “waddya think?!”
“…”
“I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that!”
“very good” I mumbled, wishing that he would just leave me alone.
“I take it I can count on your vote? This company needs real men like me”
I’d never met anybody who could actually speak in bold before and it was quite impressive. But his grin was starting to irk me somewhat.
I found my voice.
“Look, buddy, in case you haven’t noticed, this is a very small island with a grand total of 5 human inhabitants, one bull and a lot of other creatures that we haven’t even found yet. How in God’s name do you propose that we manage to vote for something that is going to take place very far away?”
His grin faltered… I steamed on.
“It’s not as if we don’t want to it’s just, well, we can’t really be bothered. We’re quite happy here thank you very much and aren’t going to go gallivanting off just to up the ego of a model. But if you’d like to leave us one of the guns it could prove very useful in our hunting abilities. I know you took time out of your schedule to come see us but now you’re done I suggest you go away again. You’re standing on a jelly fish by the way.”
He screamed, jumped a foot, started to cry like a baby and was escorted back to the boat my one of the big men, who gave his very big gun to me. It’s amazing what a few choice words can do.

As I watched them depart I felt a little bit sorry for him. It’s tough being an airhead. But I picked up my crown, shouldered my new gun and skipped off up the beach without giving them a second glance. Looks like it’s hunting season!

Let the voting commence:

Posted by Pylorns at June 14, 2004 01:55 PM | TrackBack

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