The State of The Loser Island Union.

My fellow Loserians from the proud state of Loser Lodge, I’m proud to say that the State of our Loser Island is good.

We are free, drunk, as naked as we wish to be, indulging in acts of self gratification to the extent that makes each of us comfortable, and we have all the legal medicinal Marijuana we need to recreate.

Although we began this season in the depths of a Stalag too creepy to describe here, we made the most of it and even managed to make and use the jail jungle juice with which lifted our spirits. We actually had fun there. We demonstrated once again that we are an unstoppable force for lewd and lascivious behavior and will resist any attempts to tame our unruly instincts.

Yes, it is good. And I am proud to be among you. Very proud indeed.

When we left the Prison, we wandered in the wilderness for 40 minutes, a trek that almost sobered us up. But thanks to the ingenuity, desperation, and sticky fingers of Agman at the drive thru liquor store, we managed to keep our high going with the gallon boxes of wine he liberated.

When Bystander came off the mountain of empty beer cans with two tablets (he also had a story of a burning bush that can’t be repeated here, and that we didn’t really believe), we unselfishly divided them up and tried to get high. Unfortunately, what was written on them was “Bayer. 10 mg.” That was good for the cheap wine headaches, and allowed us to drink even more. Finally, when the promised Loser Lodge land was visible on the far bank of the Red Sea (actually it turned out to be a garden fountain that Jazzy named the Red Sea after throwing up her spiked Kool-Aid into it), we knew we were back home again.

The escapade of the Rats was embarrassing, but we now have our old loser lodge bungalows plus a summer cottage in a trailer trash park. Life is good for Cabana boys and for the Cabana women, and for the Loser Island Trailer Trash. They watch us in awe, and maintain a betting pool for something.

I am proud to announce that the men won Dakota’s beach volleyball play offs. The women scored more points, but in a game of naked beach volleyball, men are always about 6-12 inches ahead. So in reality, every one wins. And the reward for all was the much enjoyed beach orgy that followed. I hope everyone had as much fun as Dakota, but I will have to say that she won that after-game celebration. Handily, IYKWIM.

Wallflower and Survivor Maniac supplied the special and secret Loser Lodge punch for the post volley ball game party. No one seems to be able to recall exactly what happened, but fortunately they took pictures. Unfortunately they want lots of money to erase those pictures, but what the hell, that’s what us losers like best, to pay extortion. Viva libertad!

And CT’s Halloween week was a unmitigated success. Sure, one could say that with the women all coming as chocolate and whipped covered cream Sundays with “lick me” signs, and the guys having fake “candy bowls” strapped on just below their waists, we could have had a bit more variety. Somehow we still managed to have more fun than the law allowed. Which is a story for another time. If it hadn’t been for Kermie and Qwerty doing their Dance of No Veils on the roof of the Lodge, with their tails shaking and responding to pleas for encore after encore from us, the Dowagers Church Morality League probably wouldn’t have called 911. I have to thank Byoffer for his inspired “Charge of the Lance Brigade” that dispersed that group. Well played, B.

Moley’s hastily improvised (or "borrowed") catapult also helped in that regard, and in solving the problem of what to do with the rapidly growing pile of empties. Now “Dead Soldier Chunking” doesn’t have the stigma it used to have.

JuneBug has been kind enough to keeps us from drowning in debris, (special hand for Jbug) as well as serving up the wholesome and nourishing family style meals that have sustained us and provided fodder for our vomiting contests (congrats to Tribe for his mastery being able to miss the bucket from directly over it, and for winning the gallons per minute title, no one can spew like our Tribe), so Moley's contraption has helped her out quite a bit.

So, what more can you ask for?

A Contest you say? Well, thanks to Suzzee, this weeks competition and last week's scores are on the way. The check is in the mail.

Life is good.

Tribe