Well, we had to hire a private detective last week to figure out what the mystery was. And, incidentally, to figure who did it. The butler was top suspect, or would have been if we had ever had one. Me, I was following the French Maid, I had her figured for doing the deed in the parlor with a riding crop. Well, I had hopes anyway.

But it was not to be, and we are still looking. We have a few clues, a cross dressing yoga instructor wearing a mukluk (and little else) was spotted under the outdoor bar deck, a nepaharious arsonist was seen playing with his limp damp matches, and a catty little burglar was caught on hut cam sneaking thru the second balcony rafters the other night. I don't know what to make of all this, or if any of it means anything, but I am studying it hard over my Kaluha and coffee this morning, and I'm sure something will come to me.

Or to one of us. I may need help here.

The Dues (You thought the title was weird? Ha!)

On to regular business. As you all know, we are renting this place from the owner and former host, and we are each expected to contribute yearly dues, the amount of which is determined by our wherewithal and our conscience. We are also allowed to "work" (wink wink) off our debt with special "favors" (wink wink - ouch! I just got a charley horse in my eyelid). In return we get the use of the Lodge, the bar, the naked volleyball replays, the bungalows, the trailer trash park, the spy cams, the hut cam, and Tribe's Credit card with which we can make all our liquor and fetish purchases. We also get the services of the bald headed monkey bartender, the masseuses, and the cabana boys and girls. And the French Maid. You may not know this, but we also get the morphine that is administered to the Survivor losers when they first arrive to ease the pain and mortification of being booted, and the drugs that are necessary for their subsequent treatment to bring them back to reality. Of course the reality is that they are losers, but that losing is fun and a good thing to be. It goes without saying that that takes a lot of morphine.

So I want all of us to reach into our back pockets with great giving in mind, pull out our wallets….Wait…where is my wallet! I guess I left it in my other pants…but really I do have it, I’ll bring it to the next meeting. Or maybe I mailed it in, Yeah, that’s it, the check is in the mail.)

(Hey…that shifty eyed monkey bartender bumped into me a few minutes ago, I bet he has it…No, he isn’t wearing pants…)

Otherwise, the skies are sunny, the water is clear, the alcohol is free (on Tribe) and flowing, the game of "take off your bikini and throw it in a pile" is going strong, the men are all in blurred Speeddo thongs (except Agman's, he claims his just won't stay up) and the tongues were wagging. Not saying anything, just wagging. It was tongue wagging Saturday, and that’s just what we do.

I think I'll go snorkeling in the bar for a while.