Week Three Assignment: Call It a C

Your first sentence is

There must have been a dozen ways to do it better.

Your last sentence is

"A" for ingenuity, "F" for outcome.

Put fewer than 500 words in the middle, including "ostrich," "magnesium," and "repressed."

This week's little twist: When you send in your entry, also send in the name of your Extra Special Friend. If your Extra Special Friend votes for you this week, you'll receive two votes instead of one, and your Extra Special Friend will lose two votes from his or her running total. Of course, it can't be that simple, so if one player gets more Extra Special Friend designations than any other, they become the Vampyre Overlord Supremo and suck up the votes received this week by anyone who named them ESF. Yes, I probably watch the Sci-Fi Channel too much.

Week Two Tribal Council

Part One. Part Two.

Entries for Week Two

Where we get to see why you got Dooced. Enjoy.

Al Carbon:

Friday

They got me to call Jackson today. I pretended to be his boss, Richard. Richard informed Jackson that his employees had been complaining of erratic behavior and were afraid that perhaps Jackson was overwhelmed in his new position. Jackson totally bought it and started, oh god, crying. The man was crying.

At lunch we went to that one Irish pub downtown and didn't eat anything.

Thursday

Today Todd went outside and called Jackson pretending to be a hospital in Wisconsin and told him that his mother had died. I thought this was going too far. Jackson saw through it immediately and demanded to know who it was and was it the same person who left tacks in his chair yesterday and put chewed gum in his car. Todd hung up and Jackson called his mother.

At lunch we went to that one sushi place downtown and drank sake until Todd puked.

Wednesday

Left tacks in his chair today. Sounds like a cartoon move, but it works. Also threw chewed gum on his office floor. I stole his lunch from the fridge. Brown paper bag with "JACKSON" in marker. Looked like egg salad, some carrots, a bag of chips. Threw it away. Later, saw him eating it in his office. Freak.

At lunch we went to Chili's and got drunk.

Tuesday

Today we got together and decided that Jackson should endure some kind of hazing process to feel a part of the team. We said this "team" thing, but we really just meant that we all really didn't like his awful ties and those stupid workflow charts he pasted around the office.

We started off slow. Todd went outside and called Jackson from his cell pretending to be a pizza delivery guy. I know. Bush league. But Jackson stammered on and on about the twenty pizzas and seemed really upset.

At lunch we went to Fridays and got drunk.

Monday

The new boss' name is Jackson. He told us he would be implementing new workflow guidelines. We're all pretty sure this doesn't mean anything. I mean, my workflow has always consisted of entering numbers into a database. I suppose I could do this standing on my head. While naked? I could enter numbers while naked easier than on my head. Man, my workflow could be so much hotter than it is right now.

Jackson told us all that Frank, our old boss, would be coming around to say hello so we should make sure to eat lunch at our desks so we wouldn't miss him. We all went to Fridays and got drunk at lunch.

Beeyach:

January 27, 2005

It is sooo hard to have an assistant who has OCD. I mean, I ask her to get me supplies from the supply closet, and it takes her literally an hour because she has to check to make sure she got the right amount of pens and white out, like 29 times! She washes her hands incessantly, doesn't step o the black tiles of the bathroom floor, and must end every sentence with the word, "wow."

You know what's really freaky? Even her initials are OCD! What were her parents thinking?? Well, I can't say too much about her mom, anyway, she's the one who hired me. No, I didn't really need an assistant, but what was I going to do when my boss announced that her daughter, who was just back from an "extended vacation" was going to be my new assistant?

Don't get me wrong, OCD is very sweet and all. She means well, but my god, if she hoards any more rubber bands, I will go out of my f******* mind!!

Does anyone ever really read these things? Nahh...it's a good way to let off some steam.

Bob Vila:

9-20-04

Another Monday. Woke up later than usual, and that bitch downstairs used all the hot water again. Took a short cold shower, and after un-shriveling my naughty bits, I got dressed and put on the silk leash that my mom helped pick me out. It occurred to me that I worked 4 hours to afford this goddamn thing and I wish I could burn it. Late to work, missed the opening minutes of the production meeting. Fuck these meetings. Fuck these imbeciles and their pompous holier-than-thou attitudes. Struggled through another day of spreadsheet hell and data compilation, only to be stuck in this shitbarn late so my bukkake-stain of a boss could go to her son's confirmation and graduation from alter boy school. Ha. More like the conformation of an altered boy.

9-22-04

Got to work early to compensate for Monday and Tuesday, but it didn't seem to help much. The bukkake-stain called me into her office to have a 'managerial review' of my performance. She decided that I need a more 'company-minded' attitude, and that I should see the company psychologist. I defended myself, saying that I have avenues to relieve stress without it being a problem in the workplace, and cited foosball, bourbon, pornography research, dendrophilia, and my online journal as examples. Big fucking mistake. She wasn't taken aback by anything I said until I mentioned 'online journal'. She implied that only insecure teenage girls keep diaries, and I again tried to defend myself by calling it a journal, not a diary. She laughed at me. Homicidal tendencies mounted.

9-23-04

Called in sick today. I can't fathom going back and facing that hyena of a woman after the insults and implications of my idiosyncrasies. Spent most of the day researching college girls in leather, trees, and the intricacies of Jack Daniels. Maybe I should get up early for work tomorrow, I'm sure I've got a desk full of bullshit to tackle.

9-24-04

Friday. Finally. Forgot the alarm last night, didn't wake up until well after 11:00. Still went to work, unshaven, un-bathed and unkempt. I didn't bother with the usual shirt, tie and blazer. Instead I substituted a wifebeater, tie and robe. I assume as long as I'm wearing a tie I should be ok. Bukkake-stain calls me into the office within 15 minutes of my arrival, before I even got my first cup of coffee down. Whore. She had a discerning look on her face. The conversation went:

"Bukkake Stain?"

Uh oh. Time to think fast.

"What are you talking about Jen?"

"Don't be coy with me, Craig"

"Coy? Me? What's going on here?"

"I believe the term you 'bloggers' use is dooced"

"You're firing me over something I wrote on personal time? Isn't that against company policy?"

"No. But insulting your superior is"

"Who said you're superior to me? I think that all women are inferior."

"GET OUT. NOW"

So without further ado, I dropped my own deuce on her desk and left the building.

Buck Nasty:

All of you guys who work in my office and read my blog... well, you know I like practical jokes. Don't use the hand soap in the mens bathroom. I just couldn't resist with the soap being that color.

Worried? Who me? Who here at "Spreebok" would ever guess who I am? Bunch of losers.

Cher:

Nov 1, 2000.

Have I mentioned today how much I hate my job? That little dickhead (emphasis on little) sent me out today for a decaf mochachino with exactly 2 inches of foam.When I brought it back, some of the foam had dissolved, so there was only an inch left. He had a hissy fit. What's next, pulling the green M&M's out? I hate being a personal assistant.

Nov 3, 2000

Pulled out all the M&M?s EXCEPT for the green ones. Ugh.

Nov 5, 2000.

I hate him. "Just Shoot Me"? I'll shoot you - you shrimp. Mr. big-time movie star, you were in Tommy-Boy? Big deal, so was I. I was only Steve the factory worker, not Farley's sidekick. Thanks to you, I have a new nickname! My name is David, not "Skippy", Mr. Funnyman. I do NOT look like that kid from Family Ties. Now everyone calls me Skippy. Many thanks, Little Man.

Nov 10, 2000

Today I went out to buy Mr. Important black sneaker laces. They had to be just the right length. I must have gone to 15 stores to find laces that were EXACTLY 20 inches long. It must be tough too wear those itty-bitty sneakers. I look forward to the day I need to go shop in the boys department for his pants.

Nov 15, 2000.

I'm getting near the end of my rope with you, Mr. Dennis Finch. You?re all upset Because the box office take from "The Emperor?s New Groove" sucks. No surprise, since the movie sucked. What do you expect with Eartha Kitt in a starring role? Americans are stupid, but apparently not THAT stupid. FYI, personal assistants are not verbal punching bags.

Nov 23, 2000

I?m falling in love with my roommate. You may remember her from ?Buffy the Vampire Slayer? and ?The Chase?. I really loved her in ?The Phantom? too. She?s so beautiful, and I love watching her when she?s asleep. Oh, Kristy, Kristy. I watch her for hours, but she doesn?t know it. When she goes to work I watch her movies over and over, between inane errands for my stupid boss. One of these days I?ll get up enough nerve to tell her how I feel. Then I can quit being the personal assistant to someone who plays a personal assistant on TV.

Nov 27, 2000

Kristy is going to dinner with me in two days. I think that this will be the perfect time to tell her how I feel about her. I?m going to ask Shrimpy-boy for the day tomorrow. I can have a whole marathon day of watching her movies and memorizing her every line. Kristy, I love you so much.


Nov 28, 2000.

No day off. Short Stuff had me sorting his tiny shirts alphabetically, by designer.


Nov 29, 2000.

I took Kristy to Spago for dinner tonight. It started out magically, with a crisp Sonoma Chardonnay and lovely conversation. I was about to tell her how I felt when my tiny employer showed up. He berated me in front of her, and said I was a horrible assistant. He called me Skippy and then she laughed at me with him. I have never felt so humiliated. As I ran out I saw David take my seat.Hey Shorty, I have the keys to your house and a TASER. I?ll be seeing you early tomorrow morning. We?ll see how funny you are with 50,000 volts running through your body!

Lucy Lawless:

www.clampdown.com

5/15/05
I am posting this on behalf of my brother who is unable to access the Internet. He is in serious need of cash. Please send donations to:

Michael Smith Legal Defense Fund
P.O. Box 512
New York, New York 02110

Mike also requested that you write to the Nassau County District Attorney in New York to request Internet access rights for those incarcerated in minimum security prisons.

1/25/05
Okay, I have to fess up and admit that I was actually fired my job. I was canned because my boss has been lurking on this web site for months. This morning I received this letter from Legal:

Dear Mr. Smith,

According to your employment agreement, which you signed of your own free will on October 25, 2001, you agreed that you would in no way publicly harm, defame, or slander Pace, Horgan Bank (the "Firm".) Furthermore, this agreement spells out legal actions that the Firm may, at its discretion, take against you.

Since it is not in the best interest of you or the Firm to pursue such legal actions, we would like to offer you the following alternative: publicly admit that you were fired, retract your statements, and offer a simple apology to the Bank.

If you have any further questions, please contact me, and I will be pleased to further review this offer. Please note that your response is subject to review by Outside Legal Counsel. If your performance is deemed insufficient, we reserve the right to pursue the aforementioned legal action.

Sincerely,


William H. Farley
Senior Inside Counsel

My admission is above. And I apologize. I sincerely regret that I have informed the public that Pace has been screwing them for years. (Simple enough?) Oh, and I retract everything I wrote on 12/15/2004. Pace's credit card late fees are legit. You need to mail in your payments 7 business days before the due date, dear readers! It's all spelled out in 6-point Helvetica in the friendly, 34-page Customer Agreement we mailed to you 4 years ago. (It's not our fault if our mailroom doesn't get around to processing your payments for three days.)

12/21/2004
I can't stand it any more! I quit! Cut up your Pace Horgan credit cards and go have a drink.

12/15/2004
I have now received 137 phone calls from irate customers protesting the late fees that were included in their most recent credit card statements. My asshole boss lets me offer refunds only to those who are angry enough to ask for him. I feel bad for the 250,000 or so poor souls whonever call and just suck it up and pay! Most of them probably mailed their payments on time. My boss reminded me today that my bonus is tied to the millions of extra dollars we get from these "Customer Performance programs." I think that someone surgically removed my boss's backbone and replaced it with his limp dick.

Plenty O'Toole:

So last week, I started sleeping with my Boss' daughter Megan. Bossy Bob doesn't know yet, but I imagine he will find out sooner or later. He couldn't have possibly imagined that his daughter would date as big a scumbag as me when he taught her how to walk, or ride a bicycle. Then again, he never imagined that she would become a stripper either. He must be proud. Except. (insert dramatic pause here)

Bossy Bob doesn't know yet. (Did I just say that out loud?)

In fact, he thinks those large checks he is writing every semester are going to a tuition. That money is going toward an education alright, but it has absolutely nothing to do with class.

The whole thing happened a couple of weeks ago when I was at a bachelor party and I hooked up with this stripper named "Ginger." After "Ginger" got off work (ie riding strange men's crotches for cash) we had a quick breakfast at Denny's and she decided I had passed the test. We made our way to her Daddy Financed apartment. We broke out the wine before doing a line off of the kitchen counter. We made our way to the living room. It was really dark, but we didn't need the lights. We took a nice long trip around the world and both passed out. It was just as good as you would expect it to be with a stripper. But it was about to get so much better.

The next morning I woke up and started putting my clothes on quietly so that I could leave undetected, when I noticed a picture on the mantle. Above the fireplace there was a picture of Bossy Bob and his wife. And there is my stripper conquest with her arms around them both.

Alright. Change of plans. I couldn't let an opportunity like this pass me by. I need to see this girl regularly. I woke up "Ginger" got her real name (Megan) and her number. I am killing two birds with one stone. I get to bang a stripper, which I have always wanted to do, and she happens to also be the boss' daughter.

Check and check!

Just too good to be true.

As soon as he finds out that I am "dating" his daughter, Bossy Bob is going to be pissed. Combine that with the fact that she is secretly a stripper and his head might just explode on the spot.

He will be thinking that it just can't get much worse.

I guess now would be a bad time to mention that I have Chlamydia.

Porsche Cayenne:

December 21st, 2004

THE GIG IS UP.

This is complete bullshit! I'm SICK OF THIS. I'm tired of this asshole getting all the credit, all the attention, all the "ooooh! Isn't he amazing and gracious and generous?" He's a drunken slob with NO RESPECT for ANYBODY who's not bringing him eggnog or whispering in his ear. This warehouse is a shambles-not only are we never going to meet our deadline, but health codes? Don't even get me fucking started. I finally told Mrs. C the truth about all of her husband's late nights in the barn... at least I can sleep at night now.


December 17th, 2004

Well, it's crunch time again! What a surprise! Middle of December and do you think the boss has given even a slight thought to a revised planetary schematic? NO. We've gotta be at LEAST thirty percent behind in electronics... maybe fifty percent in mp3 players alone. Every year this shit gets worse. It's not like the boss doesn't see it coming, you know? December has ALWAYS been our busy time of year... you'd think the guy who'd been in charge since the BEGINNING of FUCING TIME would maybe plan a little better. Whatever. At least he showed up at a picture appearance today. That's progress. Of course, once Sandra gets out of the hospital he'll probably start slinking around again, asking me to distract Mrs. S with cocoa and "hey... start crossing names off this list, would ya? Just any names. Just cross some off." I gotta get a new gig. For real.


December 11th, 2004

JUST EAT THE GODDAMNED OATS.

You know, if all I had to do was stand around with bells on and munch out of a bag in front of my face all day, that'd be a pretty good life. But ohhhhh no. Not for these picky fuckers. D has gotten better since last year, but he's still all "I'd rather have Oreos". B and R are still mentally fucked up after that big fall last year, so they're next to worthless. We're thinking about coming up with a new lineup, take some of the pressure off the leaders. I don't know We'll see if it happens. The boss has been even more sweaty and gleamy-eyed than usual. I caught him in the empty stall last night with Sandra. I wanted to tell her to be careful... he outweighs her by like three hundred pounds. Remember last year? What happened to Jessica? Damn. I would have thought that whole "Come sit on my lap" line was pretty tired by now.

December 5th, 2004

Good Thing I'm In The Union! NOT.

Sorry I haven't been writing... shit's been crazy at work. Typical December. The whole year goes by and I get to sit on my ass reading Maxim in the stables and generally jacking off, but then December rolls in and it's "Corporate Central" The boss is chortling his way through the warehouse, checking shit off. If I have to open one more freaking envelope my finger's going to slice off, I swear to Christ. I'll get back to you when I have a chance, I promise.

Snidely Whiplash:

RCBFreak.com

Wednesday, January 26, 2005.

Rod is Satan.

He had this depraved plan to steal the Nationals from Moose Elbow. I mean, any race, never mind the Nationals, here in R____ W_____? Insane. Besides, the American Radio Control Boating Association is located in Moose Elbow and has been since 1954. The ARCBA hosts the Nationals and have done so since 1954. And the Nationals have been held at Moose Elbow since when? That's right, 1954. It's clear: Rod is the Evil One.

Per his instruction, I followed up his solicitation letters to the major sponsors with telephone calls. They were seriously considering the move. Last year a gale created a small chop at Moose Elbow. In the 50 years that the event had been held there, that was the first bit of any chop of any sort ever. Ever. They all had the impression that the lake here at R____ W_____ is smooth as glass, even when hurricane force winds are all around. If nothing else, Rod can sell.

The Nationals here at R____ W_____? Are they insane? I asked them whether they thought the name "R____ W_____" was meant to be ironic or was meant to describe the actual rough condition of the water here. I also directed them to the US Windsurfing Association list of best of the best locations--apparently, R____ W_____'s high winds and high chop are great for acrobatics.

Needless to say, they declined Rod's invitation.

The lake at Moose Elbow is amazing. Protected on all sides by tall trees, virtually no wind hits the water. It's as smooth as glass and perfect for RCB racing.

Moose Elbow, Minnesota rox!

Star Jones:

I love supporting the HR group. There is so much to do. The consultants abandoned the system over a year ago and it barely can keep track of a phone number. Those consultants really had it good - they stayed at the nicest hotels, ate at all the best restaurants around town, and hit the titty bars after dessert. The best part about those guys, is since I was the one approving their invoices, they took me along to the restaurants and bars.

Christ, I never saw a group of people be so creative with their expense reports. The Engagement Manager Tom's favorite thing was to slap the Amex on the table and ask for a cash advance in "singles". Sweet. I loved those guys - and the Dancers were always friendly. I still see several of the girls around the office - another perk as I got them jobs here despite some of their questionable backgrounds. Keeping those details secret is still paying off as I tend to schedule "meetings" with the girls to keep their careers "headed" in the right direction.

The other great thing about supporting the HR system is the access to all the information the company knows about its employees. I have access to certification results, drug test history, background investigations, and best of all salary information. It's amazing what this company pays people to sit on their ass and shuffle paper. The head of HR makes $875k a year in base salary. Hell, the company pays this sad fuck more to take a dump than they pay me for an entire day. Plus, the moron has a fat bonus program tied to - get this - fucking attendance! If he makes it in to the office more than 120 days in a year - he'll rake in another $150k.

From the company's perspective, I suppose I can understand the attendance thing, especially given his coke habit. The guy has been in rehab more than Robert Downey Jr. and still can't keep his piss clean. The CEO has seen his failed drug tests, but still doesn't fire him. I'm wondering if my boss has got something on the CEO? I'll have to open up those background files and do some checking. I might be able to get a raise out of that one! HA!

Anyway, that's all my ranting for today. I've got an appraisal with the coke-head after lunch and some "career" counseling with his secretary after that.

The Martian Manhunter:

December 27th, 2004 - Welcome to www.RickStevensMustDie.com. My name is Sacob Jmith (NOT MY REAL NAME). This website is dedicated to my boss, Rick Stevens, who works at Mutual Insurance in Omaha, Nebraska, and who was revealed to me as the third human incarnation of the antichrist two weeks ago when I realized that his extension (x3996) was 666 multiplied by six. Earlier today, Jesus spoke to me in the third stall in the fourth floor men's bathroom. He informed me that "The floor needs to be cleaned." Clearly, this was my order to eliminate Rick Stevens before he completes his metamorphosis into The Darkest Evil and can vomit forth a thousand unthinkable horrors unto the universe. I also now know that Jesus sounds a lot like Manny, the janitor. Anyway, this is a record of my actions for "Bible 2: Electric Boogaloo," or whatever they decide to call it.

December 28th, 2004 - Speaking with Our Lord and Savior changes the way you look at things. I am seeing in greater detail, like things are brighter and Jesus is showing me what I need to know to accomplish my mission. Also, the maintenance guys fixed the lights over my desk. Things are looking up.

January 1st, 2005 - Happy new year! I resolve to burn Rick Alive in his Acura before he can end humanity. And also to work out more.

January 7th, 2005 - Busy week! I've taken to subtly standing around Rick's door for five or six hours each day to keep an eye on him. Productivity has taken a little bit of a hit, but The Good Lord won't let my work suffer while I do his, I am sure. Jesus won't let my proposals go un-processed. I just hope He remembers that the last FedEx pickup is at 4:30.

January 11th, 2005 - Went back to the third stall on the fourth floor (after spending a little while in the fourth stall on the third floor because I got them mixed up. I mean, how ridiculous is that? Like Jesus would talk to anyone of those losers on the third floor!) today to ask Jesus for an advance to buy an assault rifle. Those things aren't cheap. But I think he put me on hold, because all I heard was some easy listening. That and some strained breathing.

January 17th, 2005 - Monitored Rick closely this afternoon. He had a tuna salad wrap for lunch. A tuna wrap? This motherfucker has just got to die.

January 20th, 2005 - They asked me not to come back to work today, but they have clearly been corrupted by Rick. They said they read my website and that they were contacting the authorities. They said my ID card won't get me into the building anymore. They said I was forfeiting my 401k. Those corrupted by Satan will say all kinds of things. Suffice to say, God will guide my hand. No word on whether God will take care of my rent. But I'll mention it when I'm done.

Week Two Assignment: Dooced.

You're a blogger. You blog in your very own bloggy blog in the blogosphere. Unfortunately, you just got dooced. This week, show us the blog entry or entries that got your ass dooced. Reverse chronological order and dated, if there's more than one. Check out The Originator if you need some inspiration. Especially this. Under 500 words, please. Rock!

Week One Tribal Council

Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

Week One Entries

This week, our castaways were asked to create an off-kilter guest book entry. Good luck to all. Enjoy.

The Martian Manhunter:

I can't say enough good things about the Overlook! Such a great remote spot, far from the cares and hustle and emergency services of the city. I wanted my wife and son to spend forever in our winter wonderland!

We stayed on the second floor, and everything worked out really well. Our son explored the grounds and made friends with these two nice twin girls. Wendy had lots of time to relax while I worked on my latest book (wish me luck!). She was worried that I'd be all work and no play, but we had lots of time to enjoy ourselves. There was one incident where I couldn't seem to get the bathroom door open, and the woman in 237 was a little loud sometimes, but other than that, things went off without a hitch.

We all made friends! I met a guy in the hotel bar who used to work here and reminded me a lot of myself. My son talks a lot about his new friend Tony, whom we haven't met yet. And my wife seemed to get along well with that black fellow until I had to kill him.

The tidal wave of blood was a nice touch, and I wish we got to thank the owners personally, but I'm leaving in the morning. I think my wife and son are going to stay a while longer, actually. That's how much they love it here. Gonna hit the hedge maze one last time before I leave. Better bundle up!

I love it here!

Signed, Jack Torrance

Star Jones:

Dear Mr. Jackson,

It was truly a pleasure to spend time at your Neverland Ranch guesthouse. While the circumstances of our stay were unusual, the subpoena clearly stated our rights to be there. We understand that we will be forfeiting our deposit, but it was imperative that we collect a few souvenirs of our stay. We hope that you can replace the soiled bed linens and bathroom towels that we collected into evidence.

Regardless of our reasons for visiting, and the terms of our departure, the hospitality exhibited by your staff was extraordinary, and the features and benefits provided were really over the top. Your security team was especially helpful providing videos from the hidden "potty" cam. Who would have ever believed that a camera so small could produce such clear images!

I also must mention that the guesthouse was tastefully appointed with some of the nicest amenities we have ever. Normally, child molester's houses are riddled with photographs, magazines, and widespread filth. But your guesthouse was immaculately decorated with tasteful art photos, a carefully organized library of periodicals, and an impressive collection of imported wine.

We were also quite impressed with your collection of erotic appliances so conveniently located under the bed. Your status as a connoisseur was obvious as many of these devices were one-of-a-kind artifacts we had trouble cataloging. Once again, your staff came to the rescue and provided your original design sketches as well as tapes from the workshop while you supervised the manufacturing process. Our common friend (you may remember him as "little poopie head") also provided some insight as to the proper usage of these devices.

Our brief stay at the ranch can only be described as "magical", and be assured, we will be back again real soon.

Thanks again,

Santa Barbara District Attorney

Snidely Whiplash:

The Rolling Marble Guest House

Long Eddy, NY
Guest Book
January 19, 2005

PUSH THE RED BUTTON TO STOP THE SIREN.

We just arrived yesterday and we're leaving tomorrow, sooner than expected. Stan spotted smoke to the west and we're going to explore. It's the first sign of anything. We are beside ourselves with excitement.

Our route is plotted out in the Bed and Breakfasts in USA book attached to this guest book. Our next base is The Abbey Bed and Breakfast in Cape May, New Jersey. It's hard to say when we will get there, given our westward adventure. If you get there and we have not signed the guest book we have not yet been there. Please wait for us, we will be there by-and-by. If some time has passed since this writing, you can track our progress and look for us further on the route. We expect to arrive at subsequent bases every thirtieth day.

We are 8 and in fine health and have plenty of supplies. We are taking extreme measures to maintain health. We lost Trent and Woody last week. They developed ulcers all over their bodies and were delirious. Woody was the only one of us with any medical knowledge at all and he was out of his mind. We were afraid to touch or be near them and we had no notion of how to help them so we left them in the woods up in the Adirondacks. God forgive us.

Next to the siren you will find a radio. It is preset to the frequency of our radio. Instructions are attached to it. We look forward to hearing from you.

Please be sure to push the black button to turn the siren back on when you leave.

Cheers,

Dudley

Porsche Cayenne:

Ahoy from beautiful San Diego! Man, is your place great, or what? I've got to tell you... your shower is potentially the best shower I've ever used. EVER. And I've used some showers, let me tell you! This "Witness Protection" Program thing is like "Hey! Want to move some more? Want to not tell anyone about that time you lived in Madrid for a summer, or that time you got married?" I really needed this vacation, seriously. And I know it's not really a "vacation"... I'm due in court tomorrow at eight... but still. Even with Roy and Sid sleeping on the fold out (nice, by the way! Roy said he usually hates fold outs because of that bar that slams you in the back, but this one, wow, like a baby) it's been more of a vacation than I've had in months! Maybe after I've been all officially reassigned and stuff I can come back here and chill a few days. Sid says no, he says that someone might remember me (maybe post a "Swimsuit Required" sign near the Jacooz? Just a thought.) and that he's breaking the rules just letting me out of the condo without my mustache or prosthetic hump. But I don't know. Things change. Anyway. I added some shells to your collection on the counter, and I hope you don't mind but I took a Sue Grafton novel from the shelf. I actually have a bunch of old paperbacks in storage... I'd be happy to share. If you're interested, just drop a line to: Cliff Doughtry, 937 E. Ray Road, Gulf Breeze FL, 32561. We'd have to meet somewhere secret... we can talk about it later. Anyway. Thanks a lot! Keep on truckin'!

Nice place. Beds good and soft. We left some shells and took a book.
-- Thomas R. Smith of Greeneville, Mississippi

Plenty O'Toole:

Mark Burnett,

Thanks for letting us participate on your new reality show, "Bed, Breakfast, or Bust." It was a blessing from God that we were able to compete for the one million dollar cash prize. Being a naive Christian couple from Kansas, it was really interesting to meet the token gay couple from San Francisco, the token black couple from Compton, the token trashy couple from that trailer park in Alabama, along with the token overbearing Jewish New Yorkers from Long Island.

I am disappointed that we weren't able to survive until the end to win, but I send my congrats to Travis and John, despite them making fun of my clothes and threatening my marriage with their icky man kissing. (God judges sinners at the gates of heaven.)

And I still don't think it was totally fair when you airlifted that Amish couple into the B&B in the middle of the show. Amish people don't use zippers. How is it that they can be airlifted? I'm just glad we soundly defeated them at their own game when we beat them in the butter churning event. It is kind of ironic that Ezekiel needed to be airlifted again (to the hospital) after getting his beard caught in the butter churn.

I really wish we had been able to pull out the victory, but the Edelstein's beat us fair and square in the draydle spinning event before losing to Travis and John in the interior design event.

Still, I feel that getting to know all those other people with all those different backgrounds was really good for us. We were able to learn so much from the other couples and our host; TV's Dave Coulier.

We hope this is your most successful reality show.

Sincerely,
John and Irene Keane

Lucy Lawless:

I have been visiting this wonderful oasis for the past 15 years with my girlfriend. My wife and kids never knew. They all joked about my annual business boondoggle in the Caymans. Year after year, I enjoyed my five days here like a Roman Emperor. But because of my secret, I could never share this experience with anyone.

My wife passed away four months ago after a short, unexpected illness. The last thing she told me was that she loved me with all of her heart. She never knew, never suspected. She trusted me absolutely. Having betrayed that trust, it is now impossible for me to enjoy this wonderful place, because I never shared it with my loyal wife. I ate breakfast and remembered Her beloved croissants. I drank a glass of my favorite red wine and recalled that She loved a spicy Merlot. I went diving and was reminded of Her fascination with tiny sea creatures. The more I tried to focus on the bad times, the guiltier I felt about betraying Her. She would have adored this place.

I ended my 15-year, secret relationship today, because I couldn't stop thinking about Her.

Cher:

Dear Future Visitors:

I would recommend that if you book this "lovely" house, you do not do it when there is a hurricane approaching. Our little visit has cost us thousands of wasted dollars, our sanity for a week, and a friendship.

Our visit started out nicely, with a pleasant ferry-ride and some over-indulgent food shopping at the yuppie grocery store. It started downhill when our friends (J & N) rushed into the house and ran upstairs to claim the master bedroom for themselves, leaving us with the small bedroom downstairs, that smelled like mildew.

The Hurricane was rather uneventful, and we lost power shortly after it hit. We hunkered down, read books by candlelight, and went to sleep early, so we didn't have to listen to J&N's incessant fighting. We woke up the next morning, and wondered why we were so itchy, and it turned out that sand fleas love mildewy bedrooms.

Our "vacation" went into freefall mode at this point, when we realized that the house was served by a well and we had no running water, because the electricity was out, and would remain out until the last 16 hours of our 1 week vacation. We lost all of our yuppie food in the next 2 days and had to resort to finding open restraunts with functioning bathrooms.

J&N refused to bathe in the ocean, and it became increasing odorous in the house. The days after the hurricane were all overcast, cool, and windy, so beach-lounging was out. J&N fought constantly, and when power was finally restored, N took the first shower and used all of the hot-water!

As we dropped our now ex-friends off at their house N said, "Well that wasn't so bad". My wife turned to her and said in no uncertain tone, "That was the worst week of my life!" We haven't spoken to J&N in years.

WRITERS NOTE: THIS IS A TRUE STORY

Buck Nasty:

Hello Joan,

Thanks for your all your service over this past weekend - and thanks for letting me help you. Since my wife had to take our children to see their sick grandmother, I thought our vacation had been ruined. So reluctantly, and as it turns out luckily, I came by myself. And I am glad I did. A dozen times, thank you. You are wonderful! I am so glad I was the only guest here and I am so glad you had so many rooms we could experiment in. I had never considered myself a kinky person, but you really helped open me up and open my eyes to new experiences. When you brought out that pink frilly stuff, I thought you had flipped. And with the PVC! It wasn't confining at all! I thought there was no way you would get that to work, but you did, and now I am proud of it. My wife will be so excited when she comes home. I have so many new ideas. I think the kids might be into it too. I will talk to them. Maybe you could come visit us and give us some pointers.

Decorating my house will never be intimidating again.

Yours Truly, Buck

Bob Vila:

Ah, Cuba. You treated me like a god among men. I am verging on tears as I sign this guest book, knowing that our all too short love affair will soon come to an untimely end. I will miss you like your residents miss freedom. The good times we had were so surreal...

Without getting misty-eyed, I must reminisce about the adventures you've provided me with, my newly beloved Cuba. From the 'illegal migrant hunting' boat trip to the plethora of underage whores roaming the streets. The $10 blowjobs from anyone without lockjaw or gout, regardless of gender, and all of the cocaine one fat, balding, middle-aged man's heart could desire. The cooking was to die for. My particular favorite was the rotisserie pig heart and anonymous meat. Tasted like chicken.

I must say I was slightly taken aback by the veritable cornucopia of mid 1960s cars, the malnutrition and angry disposition of your inhabitants, and the drug-crazed and heavily armed military roaming the streets. However, in hindsight, all of these are just cogs in the beautiful communist machine that is your country. How blind we Americans are not to relish your progressive ways and productive means.

The only complaint I can muster is from my arrival and the inevitable parade through customs with a full body cavity search... although Juan was very tender with me. I can still feel his lingering presence whenever I try to tie my shoes.

Fear not, o dear Cuba, I shall return to your loving grasp. Despite the mosquito-infested swampland that was sold to me as development property, and the 15 year-old prostitute who stole my Rolex along with my heart, I shall return.

Beeyach:

February 14, 2004

Leave it to me to find The Hotel California, the only "B & B" that had any rooms available on this most romantic weekend. I shoulda known something was up when they welcomed me with open arms (literally, the innkeeper hugged me, gave me the creeps). But hey, my boyfriend just broke up with me (yesterday, no joke, and he went back to Boston) and I was damned if I was going to ride back with him all the way from Maine to Massachusetts.

I found out why they called it The Hotel California. The place is run by hippies! You walk in and you feel like you're in a time warp--there's batik fabric draped on the walls, macrame plant hangers, peace signs everywhere, and incense buring in the entryway. For meals you get to dine on organic veggies "right from the garden!" (they tasted like dirt) and brown rice, and for dessert, plain yogurt drizzled with honey and carob chips. Wash it all down with carrot juice or chammomile tea, and you're good to go. Straight to the nearest 7-11, that is! Good thing I brought whipped cream and hot fudge with me. It was supposed to be used as an aphrodisiac, but I used it like an addict uses dope. Snuck a bowl into my room and filled it up with the good stuff. Didn't even need a spoon.

After my chocolate/whipped cream orgasm (the only one I figured I was going to get this weekend, thanks to my now ex, the jerk!), I heard a knock on the door. It was the innkeeper's son with a box of tissues. He apparently had heard me crying (was I crying? over that asshole?!). He asked if I needed anything, and I noticed that he was kinda cute. After a few minutes of small talk, he produced another sign of the hippie era--a nice big joint. He lit up, put his hand on my leg, and...well, let's just say things started turning around for me right then and there. Welcome to the Hotel California, indeed!

Al Carbon:

Moose Elbow, Minnesota rox!

Welcome To Season Four

Reverse Survivor Season Four is under way. Assignment One is posted and due Wednesday. If you're hazy on the rules, click the Rules and Housekeeping links on the left. Even the veterans may want to peruse Rules Six and Seven, which I've changed to keep the hotshots around a little longer. The short course is that the first four people off the island need 13 votes each, and they play as many weeks as that takes. Also, the jury will vote on the final two escapees, not just the last one. Mixing it up a little. Keeping it fresh. Oh, the freshness.

I realize that the structure of my game is a little like deep muscle massage in that it feels the best when it stops, but let's try to enjoy ourselves in the meantime. You've got ten weeks to figure out a way to escape. Take some chances. Talk some smack. Entertain. It's good for you.

Game on.

Week One Assignment: Please Do Thank Jacques For Us

If you've ever stayed in a bed and breakfast or vacation rental property, you may have run across the guest books that the owners sometimes keep. You can while away many hours reading about other people's vacations while not participating in your own. Sometimes, they even put them on the internet. For Week One, give us a guestbook entry written at the end of a vacation that was odd, weird, bad, or even good in an unexpected way. Location, duration, accommodations...all up to you. You'll be leaving in the morning, everyone else is sleeping. It's just you, a big leather-bound guestbook, a blank page, and one last chance to get into the heads of a lot of future visitors.

Please send 300 words or less to me at beverage at mistercrunchy daht kahm by 11 p.m. EST, Wednesday, January 19.

Welcome to my Island of Doom. Good luck.

Seasonal Special Characters Plea

You may or may not be aware that the World Wide Web uses a somewhat more restrictive set of characters than your average word processor does. Every season, there are players who compose their entries in Microsoft Word with all the auto-correct features turned on, which changes regular boring quotes to slanty directional quotes, hyphens to dashes, and three periods to ellipses. They cut and paste their stuff from Word into email. When posted on the Web, the nutty characters look like this:

?This is in slanty quotes.?
Goofy?looking dashes.
Isn?t that apostrophe ugly?
Oooch?and the ellipsis?

Then I have to spend valuable nap time stripping out all the garbage.

Please don't include special characters in your posts unless you know how to use HTML escape codes to keep them from looking like crap. The easiest way to do this right is to compose your entries in something like Notepad or another simple text editor. If you absolutely must use Word, turn off the relevant Auto Correct features before you start typing. Thanks.

Season Four Starts January 14!

Eleven hearty souls with goofy fake names will once again battle each other, their host, and that horrible feeling you get staring at a blank screen, when the Internet's only doomed-island-themed writing contest/game show returns. Week after week the best writers will escape until only one unfortunate soul is left: The Reverse Survivor Grand Prize Wiener, who will perform a mildly embarrassing act for our amusement, just in time for April Fools Day. Our crew is chocked full of seasoned island veterans and at least one very silly newbie, so a good time might very well be had by all.

See you in Hell!