The BlogNinjas are getting into the Valentine’s Day spirit with another orgy of Mystery Topic Challenge goodness. You don’t have to be a Blog Ninja to take part but if you want the “special loving” click here. If you’d like to participate in Mystery Topic Challenge #7, head on over to the MTC Blog.
You awaken to find yourself stranded on a deserted island with nothing but a pocket knife, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and Britney Spears. How did you get there, and what do you do now?
That devious reference to the toxic Miss Spears, who regular readers will have already have seen my scorn for, almost repulsed me enough for me to pull out of the challenge, but you know me, I was born to make you happy. Call me crazy but I’m a slave for you.
What neither Biologisvensk or Killer know is that I was actually in the exact situation described. It took years of excruciating therapy to stop the night terrors but my loneliness ain’t killing me no more, I’m stronger. Although reading the topic initially brought the full horror of what happened flooding back, I now feel like I can tell the tale, but bear with me if I need a moment or two to compose myself as I go along.
I remember it like it was only yesterday. Having had a particularly stressful year, I decided I could do worse than take a nice relaxing cruise to unwind. The smell of the salt air coupled with the warm glow of the sunshine might be just the ticket.
Unfortunately the trip was a bit of a bust. Not only was the entertainment terrible (they’d booked Britney Spears, who had decided to turn to the cruise scene after her failed pop career) but it turned out it was actually a gay cruise. Not that there was anything wrong with that, it’s just that the ship was full of boys. The only girl on board was a teenage daughter one of the guys had brought along, not a girl, not yet a woman.
Everywhere I’d go the music was always cheesy pop but, as you all know, I love rock n roll. So it was me against the music for the entire trip. Each megamix was annoying me and my only wish was to have some good old fashioned rock music. Still, at least I could relax to my cabin, it was a shame there were no women (apart from Miss Spears but the last thing this trip needed was an STI) but there was still the touch my hand.
Oops, I did it again. You probably didn’t want to hear about my self-loving habits. Still, this is my blog, so it’s my prerogative. Don’t go anywhere though, the story’s not over, I’ve just begun. So there I was, on board a gay cruise, surrounded by lousy music. At the time I probably thought I was in hell. Little did I know how chaotic things would get.
Thankfully the ship was owned by Bill Gates and was playing host to a collection of some of the world’s finest art, including the Mona Lisa. The astronomical value of the items kept in the art gallery necessitated that those particular cabins be as indestructible as a nuclear bunker. Of course Just like Microsoft Windows, the ship crashed, the rocks causing the fuel tanks to explode, but being in the art gallery I survived the inferno.
As the ship sank the fire went out. Of course not a drop entered the gallery and it wasn’t until I tried to open the door to leave that a torrent of water smacked into my face. Using every ounce of my rippling physique I swam against it and managed to get off the ship and out into the ocean. Seeing a few ominous-looking dorsal fins around I decided to just start swimming and hope to hit some land. Had to do somethin’.
Wading ashore onto a beautiful island I looked around for any other survivors, although I wasn’t really anticipating any. I was lucky to have made it. After spending a whole day looking and finding nothing I came back to where I’d washed up and decided to make a camp. As I sat there on the sand, the sun setting, I heard a sound behind me and turned around. It sounded like the jowls of some huge animal eating something.
She was sat in a bush, clutching something close to her chest, like a child hugging their teddy. Upon closer inspection I could see it was a bucket of KFC she must have grabbed as the ship went down. In an attempt to break the ice I knelt down and reached out towards the bucket. Her response was to bite at my hand, trying to take a piece of me.
Outrageous. Here I was, fortunate enough to have survived the ship crashing, the ensuing fire, drowning and even the sharks, only to be stranded on a dessert island with this overprotected pop princess. Sometimes I wonder whether that was God’s idea of a sick joke. Worse yet, here I was with the world’s biggest slut, who used to be smoking hot, nursing a broken heart after my girlfriend ran off with her gynecologist.
From the bottom of my broken heart I had to reach out to this girl. If we were getting off we might as well work together, no matter how unpalatable that idea was. So I asked her how she had survived the crash. She shrugged. Don’t let me be the last to know, I plead with her, but nothing. It was a stupid question, really. That girl was like a cockroach, she’d survive a nuclear holocaust, thanks to her skanky aura.
Making my way back to the beach my foot banged into something. When I looked down I spotted a bottle of good old Jack. It must have washed ashore from the ship. Opening it I had a quick swig and was reunited with an old friend. Britney, no doubt lured by the smell of alcohol, came out from her hiding place and offered me some chicken, gesturing at my bottle as if to suggest an exchange. Everytime I’d give her a drop she’d say “Baby one more time”. I pointed at the bucket and said “Gimme more”.
We sat by the fire and ate and drank and silence. She then tried cuddling up to me. To those of you thinking “And then we kiss” what do you take me for? So long as I had my right hand that bitch was getting nowhere near my tackle. Someday you might understand what it was like. The hours became days, the days became weeks.
It was hell. The lack of food on the island seemed like a blessing, at least I might die of starvation and be rid of her incessant attempts to get me to sleep with her. I contemplated cannibalism but did I dare take a risk eating that meat? Who knew what diseases she might be riddled with. Still, I’d be rid of her, I thought, as I patted my trusty pocket knife. She was driving me crazy. And not in the good way.
Starvation began to take hold, and with it I began to get desperate. No, not that, you sicko! I crept by her sleeping body (stop it!) and stabbed it repeatedly. Dragging the blood soaked carcass to the side of the water I threw it in. As the body washed out the sharks began circling. A few minutes later a few dead sharks washed ashore.
Her poisonous flesh must have proven too much for them. I carved up the sharks and roasted them over an open fire. Looking back it was probably the most delicious meal I’ve ever had. As I settled down after my first decent meal in weeks I heard a helicopter overhead. Apparently Mr Gates’ insurers wanted to recover the lost artwork. Luckily the crew spotted my fire. A short while later I was in a hospital bed on an IV drip to replace lost nutrients. Obviously I didn’t mention the shark meat or how I came to acquire it.
Britney was presumed lost at sea and I said nothing to contradict that. I still have nightmares in which a zombie Britney appears, KFC bucket in hand, and attempts to hump me to death. Thousands of pounds worth of therapy later and I’m barely managing to hold it together. Everytime I hear a Britney song I’m reminded of it.
Still, I comfort myself with the knowledge that the world is a better place now because of my act of selflessness. I survived and Britney didn’t. Would you have it any other way?