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Votes for the final round are due Monday, June 12th, at 9 p.m., US EST. All players except the finalists are eligible to vote.

Still Stranded:2006: j f m a m j j a s o n d
2005: j f m a m j j a s o n d
2004: j f m a m j j a s o n d

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The Merch
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ATOM FEED

Friday, June 16, 2006

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Season Six: Final Round

We have reached the proverbial home stretch. Dee Dee and Thrackazog, in an imaginary steel cage deathmatch to see who is the last imaginary survivor on my imaginary island.

Everyone who played this season, except Dee and Thrack, is eligible and encouraged to vote. So send me your vote for the best of the best, the sole survivor. And lots of nasty editorial commentary. Votes are due Monday, June 12, by 9 pm, US EST.

Dee Dee Myers: Seductress:
Chloe walked into the kitchen and threw a pile of mail onto the table in front of her husband, Barth.

"Those fucking Andersons are at it again. There was another copy of Awake! in our mailbox. Fucking Mormons!"

"Jehovah's Witnesses."

"What?!!"

"Jehovah's Witnesses. They publish Awake!. The Mormons have big families and believe that a resurrected Jesus promised them a higher level of Heaven. Besides, how do you know it was the Andersons?"

"They wrote a fucking note on the front of it! 'Dear neighbors, hope you find something enlightening in here. Best wishes, the Andersons.'"

The Andersons had recently moved into the townhouse next door to Chloe and Barth, but the two couples had hardly spoken to one another.

"So," said Barth, "did you want to report them to the Homeowners' Association?"

"No." Chloe grinned mischiveously. "I've got a better plan. You think their bedroom shares a wall with ours?"
Gary and Constance Anderson were reading in bed at 9 o'clock when they started hearing the noises through the wall. Gary put down his Bible. "Is that the Clarks? Again?" Constance didn't respond.

The couple remained quiet, listening passively to the sounds coming through the wall. What started as a slight banging turned louder and faster. Soon, a rhythmic moaning was added, followed by shrieks and cries of "Oh, God" and "Faster . . . FASTER!." Gary stared straight ahead. Constance shook her head.

"Godless heathens," Constance muttered.
The next morning, there was a knock on the door. Chloe wasn't surprised when she opened it to find Constance standing in front of her.

"Hi . . . Chloe, was it? I was wondering if you had a couple eggs I could have. I'm baking, and I didn't realize we'd run out."

Chloe took the charade in stride. "Oh, certainly. Would you like to come in?"

Constance nodded. "Of course."

Chloe left Constance in the living room while she walked to the kitchen to check the refrigerator. She smilingly noticed that he eggs had expired, carefully taking three of them out and wrapping them in a paper towel. She returned to the living room.

"Here you go. Hey, did you want something to drink? I was just getting ready to make one for myself." Chloe thought a suggestion of alcoholism might inspire more religious propaganda, but she wanted to appear as decadent as possible. And maybe personable, too.

"No, thanks," Constance replied. She looked around sheepishly and continued. "I wanted to ask you about last night."

"Were we being too loud?" Chloe had prepared herself for an assault, and this seemed too easy.

"Well, yes," said Constance. "But I wanted to ask what exactly you were doing."

"Besides having sex?" Chloe hoped her tossed-off response had offended Constance.

"No," Constance replied firmly. "What specifically?"

Chloe's mind was racing. She had been looking for a way to attack Constance and here she was asking for more. At first, Chloe hesitated because she wasn't sure how sincere Constance had been in her request, but then she started rattling off a list of things she and Barth had never done, and never would do. Golden Showers, Cleveland Steamer, Jelly Doughnut, Tossed Salad, Rusty Trombone . . . Chloe couldn't resist taking it over the line with such enthusiastic detail. When she'd finally run out of the deviant sexual acts she could even remember, she stopped. Constance was wide-eyed, her face as white as a sheet.

"Oh, I see," Constance stammered. "Thank you." She promptly got up and walked out the door, forgetting the eggs.
After her husband left for a church retreat in Deakle Beach, Constance went upstairs to prepare for bed. All day she'd been thinking about what Chloe had said to her earlier. She was sure that the details of that discussion would keep her up pretty late into the night.
Chloe was just drifting off to sleep when she started hearing voices throught the wall---a loud murmuring. A minute later, she heard what sounded like a bed squeaking in a slow rhythm. Chloe shook Barth awake.

"Hey, I think the Andersons are screwing."

"Wow, that's a first," Barth replied. "Maybe they're trying out something new, something Constance learned from you."

Chloe had told Barth all about the discussion she'd had that morning, which she reflected on as the squeaking from next door started to pick up and grow more intense. And the murmuring became louder and more decipherable. She could only hear what sounded like Constance's voice above the squeaking, sometimes moaning, sometimes talking loudly.

"Did she just say 'Fuck me?'" Barth asked.

"That's impossible. There's no way . . ."

Suddenly, Chloe was cut off by a series of high-pitched screams mixed with low grunts. The squeaking stopped momentarily and then started again. "Yes!" Constance implored through the wall. "Harder! HARDER! Keep fucking me! Don't stop!" It sounded like the Andersons' headboard was banging into the wall, threatening to break through. "Oh, yes. YESSSSS! Fuck my ass! FUCK IT!" There was some low, muffled murmurs. Then, unmistakeably, Constance announced, "That's right, I'm going to suck it off and lick my shit off your balls!"

The production next door continued, and continued down that fetish-laden path, for hours.

Three days later, Chloe and Barth were moving their things out of the townhouse.

Thrackazog:
The Good Neighbor

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't pull this trigger and make wallpaper out of your brains."

Frankie Harlow stood tense, eyes fixed not on the barrel of the gun, but on the index finger of James Farrow. There was no doubt that the man would pull the trigger.

"I swear to you, I wasn't looking to sleep with your wife. She said things to me. Confided in me. I'm weak," Frankie tried.

"So you're saying my wife is a whore," James grumbled.

"I'm saying she said things to me. And I'm saying I couldn't resist," Frankie barely breathed.

"She is a whore. She is. But you should keep your fucking hands off of a man's wife," James stated in an ominous rumble.

"I know I should. I know that now. I knew it then, but she said things. Told me things," Frankie stated again, trying to repress a stream of urine.

"How long we been neighbors, Frank?" James asked, gun still level.

"Dozen or so years, I guess," Frankie quickly calculated.

"In all that time, did we ever argue? Ever fight? Did I give you any reason to start a?a feud?" James squinted, looking for comprehension.

"No. I've always thought you were a decent guy, James. I'm telling you, I didn't mean for this to happen. I really didn't. It sneaks up, is all," Frankie whispered, voice cracking.

"See, that's what I don't get, though," James began, his own voice taking a harder edge, "I don't think this kind of thing sneaks up. It's?it takes thought. You thought about it. She thought about it. That's what makes me crazy."

"James, I swear. It was just out of the blue. I'd catch her looking at me mowing the lawn or washing the car and maybe she just got thoughts in her head. But I really never thought about it. And then there was a weird moment, an awkward silence, a look ? I can't explain it," Frankie struggled.

"So, of course, none of this was your fault?" James scoffed.

"Obviously I'm guilty too. But it came out of nowhere. I tried to get her to just go back home. But she wouldn't leave. And then she said things?"

"GODDAMN IT! Stop saying that. Nobody can say something to convince you to do anything you don't really want to do. Nobody!"

The gun started to shake in James' hand. He flicked the safety off with his thumb.

"James, please?" Frankie cried.

"One chance, then. What did she say to you that made you ruin all of our lives?" James nearly screamed.

"She said she'd always wanted to be with a woman. Said she couldn't ever tell anyone before. Said she was living a lie," Francine whispered, closing her eyes.

The gun fell to James' side.

The feud was over.
Saturday, May 20, 2006

Assignment for the Final Round

OK, it's down to Dee Dee and Thrackazog, so in keeping with the theme of one-on-one conflict, write a story about a feud between neighbors. Keep it under 1,000 words. This assignment is due Monday, June 5th, at 9 p.m. US EST. Good luck!

Other players: please remember that the jury this week will be made up entirely of folks who have been voted off.
Monday, May 15, 2006

Monday, May 08, 2006

Round Three

See what you get when you loosen up the deadlines? 100% participation. This round, our writers were asked to come up with an interview of a third rate celeb by a third rate media outlet. Did hilarity ensue? You be the judge.

All players, including those who've been voted off, are eligible to send me their rankings and nasty comments by Friday night, May 12, at 9 pm, US EST. And anyone can send in snippy comments. You send me comments, I'll read them at Tribal Council. Unless it's stupid. beverage at mistercrunchy duhot kawm.

Christina Nipplegate:
Hello America, this is Star Jones. I'm here with my hit TV show 'The View' to delve a bit deeper into the Terry Schiavo case. We've received permission from the Schiavo family to conduct an exclusive interview with Ms. Schiavo herself. So without further ado, lets get started:

Star Jones the Blowhard from The View : Terry, what's it like to be the center of all of this media attention?

Terry Schiavo: nnngngagnngngngggaaaa

SJtBfTV: I see, I see. Very interesting Terry ? now, how would you like to see this case end?

TS: [blink]

SJtBfTV: Okay Terry. I'm with you 103 per cent on that one. After all of this controversy surrounding your case, do you think you'll be able to lead a normal life?

TS: ngggganaahaahhhaaaaa [gurgle]

SJtBfTV: Hahaha? ooh Terry you sure have a positive outlook on this. One final question for you and we'll let you get back to your busy life ? how is your family, both your husband and your overprotective money-hungry bottom-feeding parents taking this?

TS: gnah ffnaeefnngg graafannaggghh [blink]

SJtBfTV: well Terry, its been a real pleasure. I think America loves you just about as much as they love my hit TV show 'The View'. What do you mean I'm getting replaced? I'LL EAT YOU ALL! rawr.

TS: beep beep beep beep beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...

Your Sharona:
In this month's "Holocaust Deniers Weekly" we got a chance to sit down with one of Hollywood's best and brightest. Sometimes, we can't get celebs to talk to us directly, so we occasionally use our sister publication, "Cute Puppies Quarterly" to get some of our questions in. Regardless, this week, all you hateful Holocaust denying retards are in luck. We were able to sneak a few questions in to David Hasselhoff, of Baywatch and Knight Rider fame.

Q: So, David, you are a huge celebrity in Germany with your musical career. Has German culture ever had any influence on your choice in pets?

Hasselhoff: Actually, being a dog lover and the super keenest German celebrity that has ever lived, has had a lot of influence on my pets. I have a German Shephard named Kaiser and he responds to all kinds of German words.

Q: That's really great. Do you have any plans to get any other dogs?

Hasselhoff: I would love to have more dogs some day.

Q: Why? To help you research the Holocaust and debunk it? What a great idea. So moving on, what projects are you working on?

Hasselhoff: Wait, did you say, debunk the Holocaust?

Q: Focus Mr. Hasselhoff. Any upcoming projects?

Hasselhoff: Well, not right now, although we are thinking of another Baywatch reunion show together assuming Hobie stops taking all those drugs.

Q: Wow that should be exciting. When it comes to Cute Puppies, don't you think they really brighten up the world with their cuteness and soft fur?

Hasselhoff: Well, puppies are cute if that's what you are getting at.

Q: Cuter than all those bitching Gypsy's and Jews with their lies, but anyway, do you think there will ever be another dog named after Germany other than the German Shephard?

Hasselhoff: I don't know, but what did you say about the Jews and Gypsy's? This interview is very strange and . .

Q: There's nothing strange going on here. Moving on, what are the top three reasons that the Holocaust never happened?

Hasselhoff: What are you talking about? The Holocaust never happened?

Q: Did you get that on tape? David Hasselhoff just said the Holocaust never happened.

Hasselhoff: No I didn't! I was questioning what you said!

Q: But you said it. David Hasselhoff said that the Holocaust never happened and if he says otherwise he is a liar. No, you can't have that tape. We have to go now. That is all from Cute Puppies Quarterly and Holocaust Deniers Weekly.

Hasselhoff: You will give me that tape. Holocaust Deniers Weekly? I thought this was Cute Puppies Quarterly! The Holocaust didn't happen, indeed!

Q: He said it again! This is the greatest day of my life.

Hasselhoff: I said indeed. I said indeeeeeeeed!

Dee Dee Myers: Seductress
TUCKER CARLSON, HOST: Thank you, Joe. And thank you viewers at home for tuning into to The Situation. I'm your host, Tucker Carlson.

Tonight we're going to discuss commerce on the internet with my guest, Heather Armstrong. Heather, welcome.

HEATHER B. ARMSTRONG, MOMMY BLOGGER: Thank you, Tucker.

CARLSON: So, let's jump right in. You've been blogging for several years, but now you're being criticized for posting ads on your page. A lot of your readers have been reacting strongly to that. Does that trouble you?

ARMSTRONG: Not at all. In fact, I welcome their opinions.

CARLSON: Which is why you've opened up your comments again.

ARMSTRONG: Yes.

CARLSON: How many emails do you get each day?

ARMSTRONG: Hundreds.

CARLSON: You don't really go out of your way to play up the idea that you lost your job because of your blog a few years ago. But now that you're blogging for a living, and your husband has quit his job, do you feel like you're locked into this? I mean, when does this become less like fun or more like a job?

ARMSTRONG: Well, Tucker, Dooce dot com has always been about my expression. Just like Blurbomat dot com has been Jon's.

CARLSON: Right, but where do you go from here? I mean, are you going to be 35 and trying to sell a publisher on a book about how you got fired for your website? A story, I might add, that's been told countless times.

ARMSTRONG: I think I have a lot more going on than just my website. I have a new column at Alpha Mom.

CARLSON: Do you think your daughter, Leta, is going to grow up feeling pimped for ski trips, multiple iPods, and new shoes?

ARMSTRONG: Oh, now wait--

CARLSON: You had a serious and expensive plumbing disaster recently, but then you spent hundreds of dollars on new shoes.

ARMSTRONG: I got a really good deal on those.

CARLSON: Do you think the well's going to dry up soon? That people are going to get disgusted with you diving headlong into commerce?

ARMSTRONG: Okay, let's talk about you. Having CNN cancel your show and you metriculate over to MSNBC where they give you a prime time slot. And when that fails, and they bump you to 11 p.m. in favor of Rita Cosby, who they imported from Fox News, and you trade in your bowtie for that frumpy, dangerous look. But you're still the [expletive] that Jon Stewart said you were.

CARLSON: Nice one. Coming from one who dabbles in the world's oldest profession, I should take that as a compliment.

ARMSTRONG: Just remember that you're a whore, too. Blogging is a very recent phenomenon, Tucker, you douche. And the internet was created in our lifetimes. By Al Gore.

CARLSON: Okay, I was wrong to say that. I'm sorry. I should also say that I read your site every day. I've even commented under then name "mediaguy74."

ARMSTRONG: Wow, you are sad.

CARLSON: Are all of your readers sad people?

ARMSTRONG: No, just you.

CARLSON: Well, okay. Coming up next, we're going to discuss Mormonism and defecation. Heather, do you have an opinion on either of those?

ARMSTRONG: I'm sure that I don't, [expletive].

Thrackazog:
Ring His Bell

Actor Dustin "Screech" Diamond is famous for his work on the 90s children's television series "Saved By The Bell" as well as his ongoing efforts in the area of douchebaggery. Dustin spends much of his time these days on the comedy club circuit, pretending that people now care, or ever cared, that he was once on television. In his free time, Justin enjoys laughing at his own jokes and pretending that his friends like him for anything other than the free blow that he occasionally scores for them.

Douchebag Monthly sat down with Dustin on the set of his upcoming lunch at Subway.

DM: So, Screech, tell us what you're?
Screech: Please, call me Dustin.
DM: Okay, Screech. Tell the readers of Douchebag Monthly a little about what you've been doing in the last say, ten or fifteen years since "Saved By the Bell" was ripped from your life.
Screech: Douchebag Monthly!?? I was told you were from Entertainment Weekly!
DM: Wow, really? Because we're not. We're pretty sure you have to be in entertainment or do something in a week to be in Entertainment Weekly.
Screech: Well, fuck! I'm not going to sit here to talk to some asshole from a magazine called Douchebag Monthly!
DM: We'll buy lunch.
Screech: A double meat Subway Club?
DM: Jesus, sure. I guess.
Screech: Okay then. But you only have until I finish it.
DM: Whatever. So tell us what Screech has been doing with his shitty life since his star fell from the Hollywood night.
Screech: Seriously asshole, you better start calling me Dustin.
DM: Okay, settle down, Dustin (coughscreech). It seems like you're avoiding our question. What have you been doing since that horrible nightmare of a show blessedly left the airwaves?
Screech: First, that was a good show. People love that show. They come up to me all the time, still, and tell me how much that show meant to them.
DM: Are these homeless people?
Screech: No, dick. These are just regular people. Hot chicks, sometimes.
DM: Do you think that maybe they're just saying that because they can't think of anything else to say? And maybe they're trying to think of a way to get away from you?
Screech: No. I don't think that.
DM: Huh.
(Screech shoves the rest of the first half of the Subway Club into his mouth.)
DM: How many nights do you lay awake praying to Jesus Christ that they'll do yet another "Saved By The Bell" TV movie, just so that you can sniff the panties of fame one more fantastic time?
Screech: I'm Jewish, so I don't pray to Jesus. And I resent the?
DM: Well, then, Allah or whoever the fuck it is that you people pray to.
Screech: Well, I'm not religious at all, actually, so I don't even pray. I am more of a believer in Karma, honestly.
DM: Wow. Deep. You watch "My Name is Earl".
Screech: Fuck off.
DM: Careful Screech, the Karma Police wouldn't like that language.
Screech: (Flips the finger.)
DM: So, again, we would like to know what you've been doing in the last ten years? Should we check the box next to A) Crackhead, B) Drunk, C) Male Prostitute, D) Masturbating Furiously to Showgirls or E) All of The Above?
Screech: I live a clean life, asshole. I do some weed occasionally and I drink now and then, but mostly?
DM: My bad, that does sound like a clean life.
Screech: Fuck off.
DM: So the CD skips back to our original question: What do you do with your life?
Screech: Man, I got gigs. Comedy. Some voice work. I do shit, okay? I've got a life.
DM: Impressive. So how much do you charge for a tug and gulp?
Screech: 75 dollar?hey WAIT A MINUTE! Don't you print that. That's off the fucking record!
DM: Well, if you wolf down cock anywhere near as well as you do a Double Meat Subway Club, it's worth every penny.
Screech: Asshole! Don't you print that! I'll get my lawyers all over you!
DM: Thank you, Screech, for your time. It's been a pleasure.
Screech: GODDAMMIT, I TOLD YOU TO CALL ME DUSTIN!!