Stranded on a desert island

To Lone Wolf, in answer to your question: "What one thing would you want if you were stranded on a desert island?"

One hundred and thirty-three kegs of beer. Brand wouldn't matter, but it'd better be dark, by God.

And we'd need Bro there, too.

You, me, and Bro with one hundred and thirty-three kegs to knock back.

We'd be fucking the local monkeys by the end of number thirteen!

Around keg fifty, we'd discover our inner beauty. We'd fuck that inner beauty around the sixtieth keg. That's because we'd have gotten tired of the island monkeys always telling us no, not tonight, I'm tired, my ass hurts, I have lice, can't you see the lice!

Around keg seventy, we'd construct crude topless dancers out of palm leaves and coconuts.

You and I would give them all our money, but they'd go back to our cave with Bro. Go figure.

Kegs eighty through one hundred would be a naked blur.

After the century keg, one hundred, we'd take a day or two to sober up while we lashed the empty kegs together with vines and what's left of our underwear, forming a seaworthy raft. You'd try to smuggle on a couple of monkeys; you'd say they were for the trip home, but Bro and I would say we're tired of the monkey-loving, leave them.

Taking the leftover thirty-three kegs, we'd make a long trip around the southern tip of South America (I assume we started out in the southern Pacific, around Hawaii, maybe stranded on Maui or something), land in New Orleans in time for Mardi Gras, sell the monkeys you stowed on board anyway, and use the money to pay for some real strippers.

All the girls would go back with Bro, but what the hell -- it beats coconuts!


- Saul Mighty