Saturday, March 5, 2011

Survive Donkey Island: My Island Diary 005

And then, in the fourteenth day of Donkey Island, the fish did muse upon a merging with the donkeys, and the LORD was sore wroth, and then did the LORD sayeth unto Buddy Dank, "Lo, I am aggrieved that such an abomination as this donkeyfish should have come into the world, and then didst Buddy Dank say, "Well EX-CUUUUUUUUUUSE me", and the didst the LORD laugh, and create the platypus."

So anyway. Here we are at the merge. No more official teams, and immunity will be every donkeyfish for themselves. Whoever lasts longer lives another day, and the rest of us? Maybe not so much.

There's just one thing to do, y'all: Survive.

Or, if you aren't in the game, mess up everybody's chances.  Come one, come all.   Oh, and this will probably be the last rebuy of the series, for what it is worth.

Survive Donkey Island 007
Full Tilt Poker
$1 + $1 Rebuy
March 6, 2011

9:30 PM EST
password: survive

The Donkey Island Diary of Julius_Goat


Day 12: I think there's a general level of jubilation in the Donkey camp at this point. Euphoria, perhaps.  First of all, I'm totally healed from eating some sort of yellowish fungus I found at the base of a palm tree four days ago, and am no longer hallucinating. We've been on a regular tear through the immunity challenges and now are looking at at least a 2 person lead going into any merger.

"It'll be a FOUR person lead if we win tonight," crows Jordan, whose scalp is finally healed.

"Which we will," I say.

"Jordan has a demon in him," a passing monkey whispers to me. "You have to take his brain out to fix him.  Open his head with a sharp rock."

Huh. It's possible that I was premature in diagnosing myself free of all hallucination.

If this is your adviser, you probably should think about making a change.
Day 13:  The day started out promisingly enough: All seven of us hit the beach to face a rather rag-tag looking group of Fish.  Buddy Dank explains the challenge, which seems simple enough. We need to shimmy up some palm trees, gather the nuts that grow in clusters at the top, bring the nuts to the craft tables that have been set up near the beach for this very purpose, then use glue and sparklers to assemble them into a bedazzled sculpture of William F. Buckley.

Child's play, I know, but unfortunately I'm still as weak as a kitten and unable to climb the tree. I collapse in a heap, panting.  One by one I see our tribe succumbing to the hazards of palm tree trickery, while the Fish doggedly hang in there; not too far up, but still working at it. Eventually, it's only the rawheaded kid Jordan still in the game for the Donkeys; he's near the nuts but not as close as Joe C. Very and this guy who looks like a snapping turtle. Jordan's doing well and making up ground, when suddenly this crazy person bashes his head with a sharp rock, killing him immediately. 

Oh yeah, that was me.  Oops.

So I am writing this in our camp's makeshift prison, which was made specifically to house me.  They're deciding whether or not to let me have any of the Jordan stew, and it doesn't sound like they are.  Also, they're thinking about killing me with sharp sticks.  I really need to stop listening to what monkeys say.

1 comment:

Josie said...

Yay! No more Rebuys!!! You aren't such a bad goat after all.

Now where's my sharp stick? :)