Chapter 10: A Three-Hour Tour.

I surveyed the island for a wet bar. Cap'n Ron explained to me that he had been exiled here after his defeat at Waterloo. He also explained that he was very much insane, that he used to be the Queen of England and an astronaut, and instructed me to address him as "his Holiness" from that point forward. I conceded this point, and took a swig of "Ron Juice," the fermented grog he offered up from a coconut. It tasted similar to urine, but with confetti floating in it. I was confident that urine did not contain confetti, and that therefore I would be safe consuming this beverage, whatever it was, secure in its non-urineness. Alas, it failed to intoxicate me. I could still feel my liver.

Ron now ran an unauthorized Jimmy Buffett merchandise store on the island, and sold coconut likenesses of the singer to native tribesmen in exchange for not killing him. The tribesmen would toss the carvings into a conveniently-located volcano as sacrifices, forestalling their personal destruction for another month and allowing National Geographic photographers to take nudie pics of them for that much longer.

I confronted Ron. "Although I find your chiseled good looks and rugged eye patch most fetching, your Holiness, I must get off this island at once. I'm quite sure a massive search effort is well underway, and I do feel my dear friend Eleni may be drinking of a milk carton with my picture on it right now! The shock of my disappearance will surely fell her, and if not, I'll be sorely disappointed."

Ron responded, being torn away from a vigorous conversation he was having with imaginary tiny elves that were supposed to be attacking him. "There ain't be no way off this here island, me lady. I been marooned here nigh fifteen years. There ain't be no way off this here island."

"Have you tried making a smoke signal? Or using that radio?" I said, gesturing to the beeping, solar-powered transmitter a few yards away.

"It be pointless. You're graspin' at straws, Straw Lady!" he yelled, and did a little dance. "You may as well try to put your clothes on right-side out, or stop the bloody voices screaming for you to off yourself!" With that, he looked to and fro at the skies above him. "There! You see? You gone done angered the elves!" I was informed that, when angered, the elves became extra-pokey with their fingers, and were more prone to annoy the captain.

I must admit that having gone without sexual intercourse for a number of hours now, I was filled with randiness. Cap'n Ron's pudgy torso glistened with a mixture of brine and powdered margarita mix. I pondered doing a shot of his grog and using him as the salt-lick afterwards. His peg-leg offered endless possibilities.

"Ron! Oh, my captain! Pleasure me here, now, on the beach, and let our passions swell with the heaving of the tide! It has been far too long that I have gone without seamen. Ride, captain, ride upon your mystery ship!"

Ron shrugged, consulted with the elves, and proceeded to strip to his eye patch. In the process of removing his clothing, I noticed he also wore an identical groin-patch.

He gave it to me in the blowhole. Sand entered our most intimate of areas, our noses. At one point, a jellyfish stung Ron on the ass, but we opted to use it, and were amused at its swelling properties.

We did it long, wet, and long- at least five minutes. The seas rocked with our undertaking, and the crashing waves, courtesy of Ron's white-noise machine, added extra seaside ambience. Ron chewed on salt-tack and poured malted vinegar across my form. "Close yer eyes and picture Moby Dick," he helpfully instructed.

Finally, I deemed the process complete. I killed Ron after mating, in the hopes that by killing him, I would become him. I waited several hours, grunting and straining on the beach, but this transformation was not to be. I gave him a noble burial at sea by tying an anchor to his neck, and then waded across a small channel to the mainland of the miniature golf course.