Do wah do wah do wah ditty, talk about your girl from CT City.."
We have emerged. We have emerged at last. Weíre dirty, muddy and happy. Kermies's impressive tail wafting in the breeze, Wallflower's immaculate rendidion of Burning Batcave of Fire leading us into the light, and and we shuck those well made (thanks to Survivormaniac) pink chains, some of us will keep them in memory of our little chain games, and we emerge from the coal mines and dungeons of our brief incarceration with a new lease on life, and a new dedication to losing at whatever life should toss our way.
Despite her wish, Suzzee was persuaded by CTGirl and her dislike for damp, musty, unsunshiney caves of the Stalag to come along, we promised her that there would be a moat and a dungeon on Loser Island for her to play in. CT's incentive was whips, chains, and a feather torture chamber, her digs will become a popular hangout I predict.
For we are the losers, my friend. And weíll keep on losing to the end.
But the Gulag experience had made us into a as unified a bunch of total losers as the world has ever seen. For the moment. Until Moley starts with the gaseous emanations again. Remembering those sulfurous fumes when we were in the confines of the tunnels, and we think, wow, I didnít know that moles ate dead buzzards. Or maybe thatís mole gut reaction to roach soup. In any case we are still unified even through our final of olfactory torture.
The Stalag Challenge is over, Susie led us all thru the labyrinth of tunnels, thru bat guano and spiders nests and forests of stalagmites and man-eating newts, all the way back to the surface. We emerged from the old abamdoned well at our old Lodge, in Loser Bay, on Loser Island, with the Loser Jungle on one side and the sandy Loser beach on the other.
Already setup are the volleyball net, bystander's judging chair (with built in beer taps/kegs), the water slip and slides, the well stocked bar, the talent stage, the S&M studio, the multilevel deck with coconut palm trees and potted palmetto plants, and a lively population of land crabs.
We each get 62.3 points for winning the challenge, which would be very important to anyone but us, all we care about is naked volleyball fun, cold beer, fancy fruit drinks, and sunshine on a hot summerís day. Jbug is chasing down one of the island's Free range chickens, I think she may have something in mind to chase the taste of the roach soup from our palates. Whooee, look at her go, they don't call her legs for nothing.
And, of course, a resident artist, Crabman, is busy with his paint spattering impressionist versions of us getting all likkered up and...well...doing stuff. That Crabman, he certainly has a wild imagination, doesn't he. Where does he come up with that stuff? Probably thinks it up while we are all in church or going door to door collecting food and clothing for poor people.
And entertainment. We take very seriously our responsibility to torture losers with demeaning tasks and to build up our egos on their misfortune. No one escapes this, olebies and newbies alike have to suffer whatever low down embarrassing tasks that are thought up for us with a smile and while whistling the Mayberry theme in ĺ waltz time. Fishing poles are not mandatory but are recommended, because, you see, there are fish in the ocean.
Special Treat? All this isn't enough? You want More? OK, here it is...
10 points for anyone who can remember the name of the long time host of this phabulous place...(no really, I've forgotten, and I need to forward a credit card bill to his new address, so any help...?)
Now go to it. Tell us about your day on Loser island. Fantasy? OK. Sex? OK too. Perversion? OK, for animated characters and inanimate objects. However, a wise person doesnít fall in love with anything he might want to BBQ later on. Nor does he mix tears with his basting sauce unless he's writing a C&W song.
So wadda ya think? How can we improve this place. What did you think of the trip here, and where are the Pina Coladas?