This is a work of fiction in the genre of parody. Parody means: 1) a pair of d's; 2) a literary or musical work in which the style of an author or work is closely imitated for comic effect or in ridicule; 3) a feeble or ridiculous imitation. Personally, we're shooting for number two.
This means several things: 1) CBS can't sue us for copyright infringement as parody is clearly within the exception rule. Nah nah nah nah nah. 2) Obviously, this is a lampoon of "Survivor", the ridiculous stunt series of the summer. But, hey, it's beating 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire' in the ratings, thank the gods above! 3) Big note: We are not going to be politically correct in this series. If you like PC humor, don't read this. If you still read this and don't like it, don't write us about it. We plan on bashing stereotypes (hey, they exist for a reason, folks) and exaggerating about as many people and places as possible. It's all in the name of humor. If it ain't your cup of tea, swim on, matey, this here is our island.
Now, just because CBS can't sue us for copyright infringement, we can and will sue you. This is an original work of fiction. Fanatic and Advocate own the copyright. (See below for the complete copyright statement.) Think about our pseudonyms, folks. Fanatic - insane, crazy, obsessed; Advocate - another name for an attorney. Add to the mix the fact that Fanatic is also an attorney …and you don't want to screw with us on this issue. Enough said.
This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. There are adult themes and language, nudity, sensuality, sexuality, alternative lifestyles (including depictions of homosexuality), and the like. We believe that most parents would consider these elements to be too strong (for viewing by persons less than 18 years of age). If we were a film, we would have an "R" or an "NC-17" rating.
Episode 2: Just Sit Right Back and You'll Hear a Tale...
It was hot. Okay, not just hot. It was excruciating, brain melting, you've just left a sweaty ass print on every surface, 'God, my bra itches', hot and humid. Shannon scratched the item in question and seriously considered going au naturel for how ever many days she lasted on the island. She was just starting to warm to the idea when several cameramen moved closer.
The TV crew constantly scanned the castaways, hoping for something… anything that would make good film. Bender had offered a $2000 bonus to the first cameraman to capture a fight, another $1000 if it was between two women and $1000 more if anyone lost their clothing. Somehow Shannon doubted that he meant the cameramen.
But the castaways weren't fighting… they weren't even talking. They were pretty much keeping to themselves, nervously looking out across the ocean or leafing through the 'Meet Your Fellow Castaways' brochure that the production crew had passed out when they departed Borneo.
Shannon lifted her ponytail off the back of her neck, allowing the salty breeze to dry some of the perspiration that had gathered around her T-shirt collar. I might as well check out the bios and see who I'm stuck here with. She had taken a few moments to glance around at the other people on the deck. But they were still a bunch of nameless faces.
"Lazy bastards!" she hissed loudly, her eyes darting across the glossy brochure. The camera crew rushed over - hoping to film something interesting, only to have Shannon turn her back to them and face out toward the rapidly approaching island, as she continued to read.
"Cut!" a heavyset man snapped loudly, lowering his camera and shooing away the second shooter. "Look…" The man tugged his own brochure out of his back pocket and found Shannon's face among the other castaways. "Ah… okay, Ms. Muldoon, here's the deal: You signed a contract saying you would let us film you. You can't keep turning your back every time we come around. So, give us a break here, all right?"
The young woman didn't move.
"It's really not a good idea to get on the camera crew's bad side," he added impatiently, his voice taking on a slightly menacing tone. "You don't wanna know how big I can make your ass look, sweetheart."
Shannon turned around very slowly and smiled her sweetest smile.
The cameraman smirked over his victory. Screw that seminar on 'Conflict in the Workplace' the Bender Television Broadcasting Channel had made everyone take. He knew how to handle a blonde. "Alright, Ms. Muldoon, what had you so upset a moment ago?" He crouched down in front of Shannon, adjusting his camera. A second more and then a red light next to the lens began to blink.
The blonde held up her 'Meet Your Fellow Castaways' brochure for the camera, her fake smile still plastered across her face. "Well, I was looking at my biography. You know, the one based on the information that I so helpfully provided." She opened the book and pointed to the page with her photo and bio. "My degree is from USC not UCLA, and it's in English Lit., not Communications."
"Oh great. Another bitch," the cameraman groaned, knowing they'd simply edit it out later, but in case they didn't, he adjusted the lens and doubled her chin for the hell of it.
"And I was especially wondering how my brother and sister were going to feel about finding out I'm an only child! This…" Shannon shook the brochure, "… is nothing but a crock of…"
The blinking red light clicked off.
"Over here, Pete!" another voice called from across the ship. "That annoying space cadet is seasick and puking her guts out. C'mon!"
As quickly as he'd come, Pete, the cameraman, disappeared.
Shannon shook her head in disgust and watched several drops of sweat blotch onto her picture. That lazy bitch Rita hadn't even looked at the gazillion page form Shannon had filled out. "Why am I even surprised?" she asked herself wearily. This was television, after all, where bullshit was passed around as readily as a whore at the Democratic National Convention. God only knows what I'll find on the island. I'll be lucky if they're not selling me off to slave traders!
The boat slowed, then stopped and several crewmembers scrambled to drop anchor.
Curious eyes studied the island still about 300 yards in the distance.
Black Death Island.
Shannon snorted quietly. BTBC had billed it 'Paradise Island' until some industrious intern from a competing network found out that even though the island was 'officially' unnamed, inhabitants from the neighboring islands had been calling it 'Black Death Island' for several hundred years. Shannon's lips curled into a smile as she remembered her boss' reaction to the news that the island had been a refuge for plague bearers and lepers. It was excellent, although Shannon was still holding out hope for a full-blown stroke.
Joan Fogarty, the show's host and executive producer, jumped up onto an empty crate to get everyone's attention. Shannon had heard Joan was a nice woman, despite the fact that she was known for being peppy to the point of psychotic. "Okay, Beta Team…"
All eyes turned to her and several castaways stepped closer.
Pale brows creased as Shannon glanced at the people scattered across the deck. We're the Beta Team, huh? Out of the corner of her eye she could see another small group clustered at the opposite end of the ship.
"This is as far as we go." Joan smiled and Shannon thought she caught a hint of sympathy in her voice. "You have to make it the rest of the way to the island on your own."
Joan leaned against what appeared to be a stack of crates under a dark cloth. "There are two bamboo rafts near the stern."
Only one person looked in the right direction.
"Beta Team gets one of them. It should hold three people." This started a few murmurs. "The rest of you will get your first taste of these lovely waters. And don't worry," she grinned again, showing off two rows of perfectly capped teeth, "the water snakes aren't poisonous." That was a little white lie. Damn! She loved her job.
A tall, well-built black woman standing behind Shannon began chanting, "Oh sweet Jesus, oh sweet Jesus," under her breath.
A camera moved in for a close up.
"Now for the fun part," Joan continued, causing Shannon's stomach to clench. "Under this tarp…" she kicked the black, slick cloth with the toe of her boot, "…are some things that will make your island stay a lot easier. You've got two minutes to take what items you can and be in the water. Anyone who's left on the boat after two minutes is up will
cause their entire team to forfeit the items you selected from under the tarp."
The Beta Team was clustered together now; hanging on Joan's every word. "And just to make it a little more interesting… you'll have to compete with the Alpha Team for what's under the cloth."
A new group of people suddenly joined the Beta Team. Shannon had seen a few of them but assumed they were more TV people.
"GO!!!" Joan shouted.
And all hell broke loose.
* * *
Ryan Stryker sat near the diving platform of the boat, as far away from the other people as possible. She couldn't decide whether to put her back to the ocean and risk a Navy SEAL coming up out of the water and attacking her, or to turn her back on the mangy looking boat crew. So she kept spinning around in the seat, never staying in one position long enough for someone to get a clear shot. She was smarter than those government bastards.
"What's up with her?" a young man asked his companion. Both looked exactly alike - tall, gangly, hair in the latest floppy style favored by the younger set, tips dyed blond for no apparent reason.
"Must have been a bad hit," the floppier of the two replied. He reached up and scratched his arm where The Patch was securely fastened. Had it only been fifteen minutes since his last cigarette? Well, his second last cigarette. He had had his first last cigarette two hours ago when they left port. He figured he wouldn't be able to bum another one off the crew at this point, so he reached into his backpack and pulled out another patch, affixing it to his other arm. Maybe that would help.
The engines died. Taking a deep breath and drawing out her Swiss Army knife, Ryan leaned over the edge of the boat, plunging her head into the warm tropical waters. She scanned the underbelly of the boat for the SEALs who she was sure had to have cut the gas line.
All she saw was a school of bright orange fish swimming past the nearby coral reef. She speared the nearest one with her knife.
Returning to the surface, Ryan shook the water from her hair, nailing an Asian woman whom she immediately recognized as Yun-kyung from the 'Castaway' brochure, sitting six feet away. The woman looked up and saw the fish impaled on Ryan's knife. "OHMIGOD!" she shrieked.
Ryan twirled around once. Twice. Nothing. "What? Where are they?" she asked breathlessly.
"You. Killed. A. Fish."
Ryan squinted and eyed the ten-inch beauty. "Yeah. Haven't you heard of sushi?" She brought it to her mouth and took a bite, spitting out the small bones as she chewed.
Yun-kyung leaned over the side of the boat and hurled.
"That's good, Cap'n," Joan called from the other side of the boat.
Huh. Whatever the network had in store for them was starting.
One of the camera crew came and stood in the middle of them, flapping his arms like a rabid turkey to gather the group. "Everyone! Huddle up! Huddle up!"
The eight contestants who had been sent to that end of the boat followed directions a bit warily. Without a megaphone or clipped board, he clearly lacked the authority necessary to convince them of anything.
Ryan smiled as she looked at her teammates. This game was as good as in the bag. She could already imagine her new government surplus tank parked next to her command center. Let those government bastards try to come get her then! Her team consisted of the two floppy boys, two old men, and three women of no consequence. Like stealing money from a federally insured bank, baybee.
"We just put down anchor here," the crewman said. "It's up to you to get to the island when Joan gives the signal. In a moment, you and the Beta Team will compete to take the supplies from this boat to the island."
"I think we can work out an equitable distribution among ourselves," interjected one of the women. She was, kindly put, middle-aged. Her eyes were a bit too tight and her lips a bit too plump, clearing showing heavy reconstruction had taken place in the not too distant past. There are reasons such work doesn't have a money back guarantee. Lots of things can and do go wrong.
"You will have two minutes," was the final instruction from the crewmate.
All the team members cursed except the youngest female. She just looked terrified.
"Everyone put on your lifejackets and then we'll start."
After carefully inspecting hers, Ryan slipped it on and secured it about her chest. She watched the youngest woman struggle for a moment before stepping over. "Relax." Ryan worked quickly and soon had the woman encased in a lifejacket as well. "Can you swim?"
Baleful blue eyes met her own. "Not well. I've never been around the ocean before. I'm Marva, by the way." The woman held out a timid hand.
Ryan grasped the offered hand firmly. "I know, I'm …" she hesitated, almost giving one of her many aliases before settling on the truth, "I'm Ryan."
"We just had a little crick out back behind our house growing up … it wasn't quite so deep," Marva continued nervously.
"And it didn't have sea snakes," a cameraman sniggered.
Marva wavered, and almost fainted, clutching the rail to keep upright. The look Ryan fixed on the man caused him to find other more interesting subjects to shoot.
Ryan focused on Marva. "You stay with me; understand?"
A nod and a pathetic smile of relief.
Ryan nodded. Oh well, all great leaders need a loyal lackey. This one looks harmless enough. They were herded over to the other team. Joan stood in the middle of them, her whistle hanging around her neck, and bandana tucked in her back pocket, her clipboard and megaphone in the ready position. She looked like an ad for the sequel to 'Jurassic Park.' Everyone knew how well that one turned out. Their own damn fault for hiring that 'Fly' guy.
* * *
In two long strides Ryan was at the supplies, tossing aside the tarp. "You, twitchy blond boy, into the water!" she barked from her crouched position as she scanned the packages, tools, and bundles. "When the supplies start coming overboard, you load them into the raft." Ryan sniffed the air and licked her finger, holding it up to the breeze in order to calculate the wind speed, direction, and the exact trajectory necessary to put the raft in the proper spot. Then she marched over to the raft and simply dumped it overboard.
Twitchy blonde boy, otherwise known by his mother as Tony (strangely, his father called him twitchy blonde boy, too), scratched at his nicotine patches. Could these get wet? "But..."
Ryan shot up, grabbing Tony by the front of his T-shirt, pulling him close enough to smell his smoky exhales. "MOVE. MOVE. MOVE!!!"
Without thought, Tony dove overboard. Several other castaways joined him, automatically responding to Ryan's order. One was even from her own Team.
Ryan turned to a wide-eyed Marva. "Go with Tony and stay with the raft. You'll be fine. I'll join you in another minute and a half."
A geeky looking man from the Beta Team almost corrected Ryan. She was, after all, nearly 4 seconds off on her calculation. But his mouth clicked shut when he got a good look at what was in Ryan's hands.
Ryan flipped open her 6-inch, custom-made Swiss Army knife and began cutting away some loose bindings that held the supplies together. "Here," she dug out a standard issue military entrenching tool and handed it, along with the tarp, to Yun-kyung, who took them, then simply stared at them in confusion. "JUMP, JUMP, JUMP!" Ryan roared causing Yun-kyung to scream in terror, her shoes making a mysterious, wet swishing noise by the time she reached the railing.
Two more Beta Team members suddenly decided that the water snakes looked a lot friendlier than the tall, crazy bitch wearing camouflage shorts and carrying a huge knife. Stealing their team's raft, they dove into the water. Screw the supplies.
It was the Beta Team's first demonstration of teamwork.
With amazing speed and efficiency, Ryan began sorting through the supplies, disregarding some, tossing others directly into the ocean and passing the things that wouldn't float to her waiting teammates before they disappeared over the boat's edge.
Shannon looked on in horror as the best of the supplies disappeared faster than virgins on prom night. The members of her team who hadn't jumped overboard at Ryan's command were simply standing there, too shocked to move. Who was this person? Every time a Beta Team member even got close to the supplies the tall brunette would growl at them like a rabid dog. Okay, a rabid dog with perfect breasts. Shannon unconsciously licked her lips.
Ryan suddenly looked up from her task, her eyes locking on Shannon's. For a split second, neither woman moved, each held captive by the other's gaze.
It was just enough time for two Beta Team members to scramble past Ryan's defenses, allowing them to snatch some of the booty. The larger of the two men accidentally bumped into Ryan, causing the woman to stumble a couple of steps forward but not fall.
"Sorry," he mumbled before running to the end of the boat and jumping off.
Ryan quickly straightened, shooting an evil glare at Shannon, who was clearly a government spy, probably ATF, sent to distract her and keep her from winning the million dollars. How did the feds find out she had a thing for short, green-eyed blondes? Damn that time she used a pay phone in '93!
"I got somethin'! I got somethin'!" A slender Hispanic man, with a heavy accent, wearing matching hot pink Polo shorts and a short-sleeved silk shirt began prancing around the deck, wildly shaking his prize. He had no idea what it was. But he didn't care. The boys from his flower arranging class would be so proud!
Ryan took a menacing step toward him. This had to be Arturo from the Beta Team.
"Don't even think about it, girlfriend," Arturo reprimanded, his tenacity stopping Ryan dead in her tracks. His limp wrist flicked twice as he snapped his fingers dramatically before holding his nose with one hand and plunging overboard.
"Fuck!" Ryan growled. She had let a Nancy boy hairdresser escape with something! The survivalist quickly shook it off. No matter. If it was something critical she could always go on a midnight reconnaissance mission and get it back later.
"Twenty seconds, castaways," Joan called out, directing two of the cameramen to focus on the people swimming to shore while one focused solely on Shannon and Ryan, the only castaways left on deck.
Shannon looked down at the remaining supplies then back up at Ryan, who had resumed her position guarding them. "You can't carry them all."
"Neither can you. And if you stay here your team will lose what they took."
"Ha! So what?" Shannon put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. "Your team already has everything worth taking. The Alphas have much more to lose than the Betas."
Damn, she could be CIA! Since when did they start using logic?!
"Shit!' both women muttered simultaneously, each grabbing a bundle in her arms.
"You first!" Ryan ordered.
Shannon gave in first, running for the edge of the boat, only to have Ryan dive past her and disappear into the salty water with barely a splash.
The blonde came up for air, sputtering and spitting, still clinging to a large plastic covered bundle. The words 'toilet paper' were staring her in the face. Cool!
No one from the boat called after her so she assumed they had made it off in time. Using the toilet paper as a floatation device, Shannon scanned the water for Ryan. Everyone else appeared to be more than half way to shore. After several long seconds, when Shannon was beginning to wonder if Ryan's supplies had caused her to sink, the tall woman popped out of the water about 20 yards ahead of her. Her big ass knife was clenched between her teeth, sparkling in the sunlight. And her supplies were neatly secured on her back.
"How in the hell did she do that?" Shannon marveled.
Something slimy slithered between Shannon's thighs. "Jesus!" she shuddered in revulsion. It reminded her of her high school boyfriend. "I hate you, Rita!" she screamed as she paddled to shore.
As always, thanks to our wonderful editing team and our web designer. You guys make our lives easy and make us look good. We are indebted.
You are hereby granted permission to receive a copy of the Content from the mailing list or web site in whole or in part, (and, except where otherwise specified or provided by Fanatic and Advocate, print a single copy of the Content for your own personal use) but only for purposes of viewing and browsing through the Content. You are also hereby granted permission to store the files on your computer for your own personal use. All other use of Content from the mailing list or web site, including, but not limited to modification, publication, transmission, participation in the transfer or sale of, reproduction, creation of derivative works from, distribution, performance, display, incorporation into another web site, reproducing the Content (whether by linking, framing or any other method), or in any other way exploiting any of the Content, in whole or in part, for uses other than those expressly permitted may not be made without Fanatic and Advocate's prior express written consent.
Though this series is inspired by certain actual incidents, it is a work of fiction and references to real people and organizations are included only to lend a sense of authenticity. All of the characters, whether central or peripheral, are wholly the product of the authors' imagination, as are their actions, motivations, thoughts and conversations, and neither the characters nor the situations which were invented for them are intended to depict real people or real events. In particular, the depictions of CBS and the Survivor television series are not meant to portray the corporation, or any individual on that show, but are only used to lend a sense of authenticity to this work of fiction.