Message in a bottle

To whomever retrieves this note, I implore you to send help at once. I am destitute, cast away on a desert island somewhere in Micronesia. I do not wish to die in a place named after the bastard offspring of bacterium and neurons. Please, send a swift boat at once!

I believe I owe my survival thus far to Bush’s refried beans. I ate 3 cans for dinner before the incident. I propelled myself to this island on bowel wind alone, unable to use my arm which God had punished for waxing the carrot too mightily before the explosion brought us down.

A few artifacts from the stricken ship came ashore, including this bottle of sexual lubricant from whence you plied this message. I emptied the lube as best as I could, but it was quite difficult to swallow.

I am Ricky Farnsworth of Wilmette, Illinois. My mother is Susan Farnsworth at 458 Ash st. of the same village. Please tell her that I am as well as can be expected, and that I keep her sacred book “Who Moved my Cheese?” at heart. Its lessons have even here come in handy, when a troupe of sand crabs got out of line as I organized them into an S.O.S. configuration. They are a perturbed species and I shan’t indulge them further.

The island is no bigger than the plot of a suburban home. There is no shade anywhere. I managed to salvage one of my books, “Kama Sutra for One”, but the crabs give me no peace to practice the meditative exercises it suggests.

Food is scarce. I caught one fish in the surf using torn pants as a net, but I could not bring myself to eat it because it looked like Mick Jagger. We pursed lips at each other for a while before I release him. God I miss cocaine.

I must save ink for later. I’ve a scheduled battle with an octopus and they say fight fire with fire. The crabs have all bet against me but they don’t hold a college degree in economics, so we’ll just see if their pancakes can cool Frankfurt for three’s a piece. Go Daddy get a job fine finger-licking spend a penny major.

…dear me, the sun has made me insane. Please send help. Or at least send the Google Street View car because I don’t see this particular island on my satellite phone internet browser.

 

Goodbye, world.

R.F.


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