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 Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2005 9:35 am
Living the High Life
... or how the Dude got to the Island
 There is something to be said for Japanese craftsmanship. The old Suzuki radio on the "Liberty Manatee" had suffered much in it's 60 years of service - scorching sun, salty winds and the ever present corrosive waters of the Atlantic. But what finally did it in was none of these things - it was a can of Miller High Life that spilled all over it when yet another large wave crashed into the side of the ********." - the Dude observed casually, as the beer dripped down the radio console and onto the electronic compass under it. "Hiss." - said the compass and sparked angrily. "Not you, too." - sighed the Dude, starring at the fizzling compass which was now giving random readings. It was gonna suck without any communications, but without North it was gonna suck much worse. Another wave broad sided the little boat and the Dude scrambled for the rudder wheel to turn his ship towards the waves. The tropical storm raged outside, churning up the ocean and mixing it into the ominious looking sky. It was hard to tell what was up and what was down, where was land, and where was open sea. The old wooden planks of the veritable vessel sighed and moaned, complaining about the abuse and requesting a long deserved retirement. Holding onto the rudder wheel firmly with his right hand, the Dude picked up the can of High Life from the floor and emptied the left overs into his ********." - he repeated, starring grimmly at the black water all around him, the hissing radio, the spinning compass and the gasoline gauge that was stubbornly hovering around zero. He had no clue where he was and no clue where this freak storm had come from or where it was carrying him. Hell, he might wake up in Cuba tomorrow, with a dozen guns up his nose. Or he might not wak up at all. The Dude reached in a drawer, pulled out another beer and popped the tab. * * *It was the sounds of a distant helicopter and a suffocating weight on his chest that finally woke him up. The Dude, a man of roughly 30, give or take a few years, opened his eyes and pushed Captain Morgan off himself. The gargantuan red cat meowed insulted and trotted off into a dry corner, where he stretched out and proceded to lick his nether regions. The Dude himself scrambled up to see whether he was right about the helicopter. Pocking his head out of the makeshift shanty on top of the boat he stopped, bedazzled by the bright light reflected in the waves of the lagoon. "Liberty Manatee" was stuck firmly on a sand bank about hundred feet off a lovely jungle covered island with a mountain and a helicopter hovering in the distance. Around the boat, a number of Dude's belonging were floating, half submerged in the shallow waters around him. Encouraged by the sight of a helicopter and the likely presence of people, the Dude decided to post pone the meet and greeting of the island's residents till evening and jumped into the warm water to start fishing out the various pots, pants and nets, his clothes and a pair of old lawn chairs. he spent the rest of the morning trying to figure out what was still functional and what was not. Captain morgan was watching him from the stern, sunning his fiery red hide among the drying bed sheets and the Dude's underwear. Around noon, the Dude deems the rest of the junk in the water unnecessary and crawled into the shadow of the shanty. He smiled contently to himself and stretched on the wooden floor, lighting a cigarette. A small stream of smoke finally escaped from his nostrils and the smiled to no one in particular and scratched his armpit. Shiiiite, it was good to be alive ...
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Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2005 5:00 pm
First Day on the Island
...or how the Dude met Cassidy, Aubrey and Dr. Moreau
Well the same day of his unfortunate arrival on the Island of Impending Doom, the Dude made friends. Well, one friend and another more like ... a persistent acquaintance with a clipboard. You see, Cassidy stumbled upon the Dude and his boat early afternoon and they had a lovely chat that you can read about either in the Beach thread or in Cassidy's journal. Then Aubrey arrived in a speeding Jeep and whisked the Dude away to get ritually stabbed. Bummer for the Dude. He didn't even put up much of a fight. Because - come on - who wants to get kicked out of paradise! Especially one full of lovely ladies like Aubrey and Cassidy.
But yeah - you can read about it all on the Beach, pages 4-6 and then in the Laboratory, pages 1-2.
The Dude also met Dr. Moreau. The Dude is not down with the doctor. Or Aubrey, really. That is because the things that they tell him do not necessarily add up in the Dude's mind. But then again, who's the Dude to worry about trivial s**t like that. They got secrets and, well, Dude's appreciates his privacy as well.
Still, something here stinks.
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Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2005 11:07 am
As Good As It Gets
... or how the sunsets in the Bahamas totally kick a**.
The rest of the evening the Dude spent on the "Liberty Manatee", fishing and watching the sunset. His arm was red and a bit swollen from the inoculation but the Dude didn't seem to pay it any attention. A cigarette butt was smoldering in the corner of his mouth as he was watching the makeshift bottle cap bobber bounce up and down in the gentle waves of the lagoon. The water underneath him was so clear, the Dude could see a lone yellowtail snapper curiously investigating the piece of bacon. A beautiful fish, he circled the hook time and time again, the golden tail flashing brilliantly every time he went for another turn. A few curious minnows were also poking at the bacon carefully, stealing small bits of the meat and fleeing every time the snapper reappeared by the hook. Finally, the fish couldn't handle the temptation any longer and bit. The Dude jerked the rod up sharply, setting the hook. Furious from pain and the sudden control over his freedom, the snapper dove under the boat, looped around and tried to flee into the deeper waters. The Dude started reeling the fish in, giving it some freedom then tightening the line. The snapper fought desperately, foaming the water up when he came to the surface and convulsing like a snake. For a foot long fish it was really quite a battle. Next to the Dude, Captain Morgan had finished devouring the bacon and sausage links and was meticulously grooming between his toes, tail fluffy and eyes glistening. The sight of a fish made his tail stand straight and he jumped onto the box to avoid the incoming shower and meowed encouragingly. The Dude finally figured it was enough battling and reeled the snapper onto the deck, grabbing the fish and sharply thwacking his head on the deck. The snapper went limp and Captain Morgan meowed victoriously and licked his nose. Five minutes later the fish had been gutted, beheaded and put on a stick. With the butt of his cig the Dude lit a small makeshift gas grill and put the fish to cook. Next to him Captain Morgan was gorging himself on entrails. A curious sea gull cried overhead and set down on the roof of the shanty, watching for scraps. Behind the dude, the tropical sunset was burning up the horizon with scarlet. Scratching the swollen arm, the Dude finally pulled the fish off the grill, turned off the gas and sat down on the bow, feet dangling in the water. The seagull whined pathetically and flew off. The pain in the arm increased and he finally looked curiously at the injection site. The muscle around it was hard and hot. Still wondering what the hell Dr. Moreau stuck him with there, the Dude finished the rest of the fish. Whatever they stuck him with - it was a small price to pay for a sunset like that, he decided. And considering there was fresh water, free food, Laundromat and lovely ladies all over the island, the deal became even sweeter. With that thought in mind the Dude fell asleep.
A curious Yellowtail Snapper with a bunch of his friends in the background.
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Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2005 11:32 am
Strawberry Fields Forever
... or how eating late can give you nightmares.
Let me take you down ...He was flying above the rolling hills of the Salinas Valley, over the fields of strawberries and artichokes, calla lilies and lettuce. Predictably, Strawberry Fields was playing from the Pearly Gates in the sky above him. He looked up at them, surprised, because they really reminded him of a cheap gazebo one sometimes sees in front of fast food places. These were wide open, perched quaintly on a few cumulous clouds. Souls were flying towards the gates from the strawberry fields, souls of migrant workers whose lungs had been burnt away by pesticide. Where are you going? He shouted, but they just flew up and up, brown and free, men and women, all floating away to Our Lady of the Guadalupe. Dia de los Muertos ...Floating among them, he wondered whether he, too, had died and was going to follow them towards the cookie cutter saints and the bright angel pinatas hanging from the gazebo, swaying a little in the wind. This heaven was not for him, it was a different world he didn't understood in time. It was the world that took Maria. Nothing is real ... in the strawberry fields ...As an answer to a bitter memory, the skies had opened and sheets of rain cut the wide opened fields apart. Up above, the Pearly Gates were now closed, the angels taken down and stashed away till the next time. He was watching for eternity from above as the water was gathering on now empty fields. The lilies were being ripped to shreds by the sharp blades of the rain. There, among the flooding fields, the red red strawberries were floating, gathering into small islands, collecting around telephone poles. The whole harvest, gathered carefully by diligent hands was floating away in the rain. And there was nobody to stop the flood. Nothing to be hung about ...In the middle of the floating fields stood a lonely girl. Her stomach was rounded, heavy with child. The scarlet strawberries were pooling around her legs like blood and her straight latina hair was floating in the wind. The long white t-shirt she was wearing was soaked from the ever rising water. MariaHe whispered something ... Maria ...
Nothing is real ...Falling down towards her, so fast he could hear the wind rip thru his clothes. Maria ...The water, ever rising, was engulfing the bronze skinned girl. She was young, so very young and so very beautiful. Fragile like a desert flower, gracefull like an egret. She was not even noticing him, watching the waters envelope her instead like a burial shroud. Stretching his hands towards her, he fell, hoping to touch the bronze hands in time, before the fields took her from him again. He screamed her name, but there was no sound, just the wind and the strawberry blood. Let me take you down ... strawberry fields ... nothing is real ...
Forever ...The Dude woke up in cold sweat. Outside, it was still dark and the "Manatee" was rocking gently in the calm waters. Captain Morgan was curled up beside him, deep asleep. Strawberry fields ... fields of blood ...forever.Hiding his face in his knees he began to cry. It doesn't matter much to me
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 10:11 am
The End of "Liberty Manatee"
... or how Captain Morgan's dignity was stripped from him.
Short out take of the storm RP, for the rest of the RP see BEACH, PAGES 6-9 "Oh s**t!" - the Dude looked at the dark storm clouds on the horizon and then at his boat which was now finally moving in the rising tide. With a determined gesture he shoved the lady into Ambrose's hands and smiled apologetically. "You take her to shore. I got a cat to save." That, and a whole lot of weed. Turning his head around a few times to make sure Ambrose and the drowning chick reached the shore, the Dude got to his boat and stood down on the sandy floor of the sand bank. The boat was rocking from side to side in the choppy water, ready to break loose from it's prison and float off. The Dude got ahold of the stern and pushed hard several times, helping it along. The "Manatee" finally budged a little, sliding into deeper waters. He pushed again, trying his hardest to shake it loose. From the top of the shanty, Captain Morgan was meowing furiously at the storm, probably insulting it's mother or something. Finally, the "Manatee" was free. Scrambling onto the deck, the Dude rushed to the old motor, praying to all the gods that there was still a drop or two of gasoline left in it. He pulled the cord once, twice, gave it a swift kick, then pulled it again. Nothing. As he was fighting with the engine the boat, swaying from side to side, was speeding towards the cliffs to the south of the beach, carried by the wind and the waves. Realizing that, the Dude's look became desperate. "I can't ******** belive it. C'mon! C'mon Manatee! C'mon, old girl." - he pleaded to it, kicking the silent motor. Nothing. Swearing worse then any sailor, the Dude, giving the motor one last, hopeless kick, grabbed a backpack and strted shoving things into it: snorkel, fishing kit, his secret stash in a coffee can (carefully sealed with candle wax), last twelve pack of beer, half a gallon of Jack Daniels, cigarettes, lighter, knife, random clothes that got in the way. Out of the lagoon and no longer protected by the mountain's wind shadow the "Manatee" was now almost flying towards the cliffs, encouraged by the whipping wind of the incoming storm. He had to get out now or it would be too late. He put on the diving mask and filppers. Then, as the last thing, the Dude grabbed a towel and threw it over the meowing Captian Morgan, stuffing the cat into the back pack, zipping it up and strapping it onto his back. "Good Luck, Manatee" - he finally said, close to tears and jumped into the stormy waters. Inside the backpack, Captain Morgan howled like a banshee. Propelled by the flippers, the Dude fought the current and was getting closer and closer to shore. Around him the storm was starting to pick up strength and the wind was gettign lowder and lowder. But even the crashing of the waves and the howling of the wind and the furious tomcat in his back pack could not drown out the heartbreaking crash he heard behind him. * * *
The "Libery Manatee" was a good boat. A veritable old lady who had braved many a hurricane. In her 60 years of existance she had been a pleasure boat for the rich, a smuggler's vessel, a fishing boat, a tour guide of the Keys and most importantly, a home to many. And her end was as glorious as her existance.
May she rest in peace.
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 10:12 am
Duplex #12
... or when all your s**t drowns, you try drown self as well.
The Dude didn't end up eating with Ambrose and Madison. Instead, he headed straight for Duplex #12, dropped his soaked backpack on the floor and plopped onto the bed. The alcohol he had drunk on the beach finally started to get to him, which made him only want to drink more. A deep dark pit of despair was opening up inside of him and it had to be drowned out, at least for tonight. His happy life of the past five years was over now. He had very little money saved up and the old Civic had been pawned a long time ago to pay for a new motor and repairs of the "Manatee". When he got to the mainland he'd probably have to go to the first Wallmart and fill out an application. Hopefully the Chicanos would not find him. Unscrewing the bottle of Jack Daniels again, he took another swig and then swirled the dark amber remainders of the whiskey around, watching the liquid sparkle up gold in the darkness. Maybe if he dived around here he could find a long lost shipwreck or something. Full of golden dublons ... Like, if his boat ended up being carried out to this particular island, then there very well might have been a few others that met the same fate. This WAS the Bermuda Triangle after all. The dude took another swig. The stark, boring surroundings of the Duplex #12 began to sway pleasantly in the amber haze of the setting sun. He had spend half his life trying to avoid living in cement boxes, working in cubicles, commuting and shopping. He was the DUDE. The one who didn't give a s**t about respectable life. His was the wind and the salty spray of the ocean, the seagulls and a beer or two in the dirtiest dive in town. Why did a freak hurricane end it all so ... stupidly. Poor "Liberty Manatee". He betrayed the good old girl. ******** it up again. Pouring the left over of the whiskey into his mouth he let the bottle drop onto the ugly grey wall to wall carpet. The room itself was making it so much worse for the Dude. Visions of a life in a room very similar to this one floated by him. He could try to contact his parents, get a job at the whale watching boats back in Montrey bay. Lord knows, he had no troubles charming cute college girls into giving him a nice tip for the tour. But he was 29, almost 30. It'd suck so bad to have to ask his old folks for cash. They had it hard enough with the squid fishing being so bad due to El Nino recently. And he couldn't go back to the Keys or the Chicanos would cut off his Johnson or some such s**t, for loosing their weed. They obviously wouldn't buy the story about a ship wreck and some island in the middle of the ocean. Spreading his arms wide and feeling the heat of the alcohol pulsating thru his body, the Dude stared up at the ceiling. Two large air vents stared back at him, curiously placed right above the bed. Too drunk to wonder about that, he sunk further into self pity, the mind lazily drawing visions of how much his life was gonna suck for the next few years. His dulled senses didn't pick up a slight air movement above him and a hissing sound coming from the vents. Feeling suddenly very sleepy, the Dude yawned, turned over onto his stomach and fell asleep almost instantly. In a way that was a blessing cuz any more thinking about the subject of the "Manatee" and he'd begin to cry. Which was not cool and pathetic. So, in a way, Dr. Moreau, who had at that moment walked into the Duplex #12 with two men in tow, was doing the Dude a favor. Even though his primary goal was to tag his new experiment with a microchip, injected where the spinal cord met the hindbrain, and from which it could never be removed. If the Dude wanted to live, that is.
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 10:13 am
Morning After's a b***h
... or how Cassidy stumbles upon the Dude and his hangover
The morning sun came and went, insulted by the drawn shades of the Duplex #12. Outside the duplex, Captain Morgan had been meowing and scratching for the past hour. Finally, the kitty gave up and skulked off to the cafeteria on his own, hopeing to scrounge some scraps together. This land living sucked and the kitty was still rather disoriented by all this ... walking surface ... around him. Inside the Duplex #12, the Dude was lying face down on the sheets, trying to coax the Earth to stop spinning already, at least long enough so he could get off this particular ride called his bed.
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 10:16 am
Cassidy lugged the cart of cleaning supplies up to #12, whistling to herself. Life was pretty good. She had something to do, weather was nice, and she was generally feeling pretty top-of-the-world.
So, number twelve was occupied now? Interesting. She wondered who it was. Of course, with her luck, this one was a herpetologist.
Oh please no.
She knocked on the door. "Housekeeping! Anyone home?"
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 10:23 am
The voice outside shattered the darkness with a fury of sparks. "Tripy" - thought the dude. The voice had colors. Kinda blueish ...
The sluggish wheels inside the Dude's cranium attempted to spin, but coulnd't work up the momentum. The blue voice reminded the Dude of something. Like, water. Nice, cold, refreshing water. The wheels finally got up to some semblance of thinking speed and the mind began to analyze the voice he just heard ... housekeeping ... why did that remind him of water?
"C'mon in, 's not locked" - he gunted as loud as he could.
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 10:28 am
Cassidy opened the door and peered inside. She wrinkled her nose a little. Wasn't that... "Hey, it's you! From the beach!" The Dude person. Him. She supposed they'd set him up here until his boat could be towed, or whatever. She wasn't a boat person.
"I didn't know that--hey. Are you okay?"
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 11:00 am
((sorry i didn't realize my reply didn't post - i will post it now))
Oh s**t. That is why the word housekeeper rang a bell. Housekeeper = Cassidy. It dawned to the Dude that he looked like a total bumm and an alcoholicer to boot. He tried to scramble up to sit and look normal, while holding onto the sheets because the bed hasn't stopped spinning on him yet. In fact, now the rest of the room joined in.
s**t, he always ******** stuff like that up.
"Ssorry."- he grunted "'m okey. How's you?"
He attempted to smile but his head felt like it was being drilled form inside out so he stopped.
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 11:20 am
((No problem. It happens.))
"I'm... I'm okay." Cassidy blinked, one hand resting uncertainly on the handle of the cart. What did she do? Leave? Come in? "Uh. I could come back later if you wanted."
She really, really hoped he was decent under those sheets.
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 11:27 am
((LOL at Cassidy - I hope for the sake of the Dude he is decent, too. But he hasn't thought that far yet. One thing at a time.))
The memory of "Libery Manatee" finally crawled up to the surface of the Dude's mind, now that the alcohol prison was wearing off a bit. Plopping his head into his hands, the Dude gave Cassidy a side long look and whined:
"My boat sunk last night in the storm. So I ... you know ... overindulged at the wake."
The Dude understood perfetly why Cassidy whoudl probably leave and it probably would be for the best and all. But he was really thirsty and getting off the spinning bed realy didn't seem like an option for a while.
"Before you split, can you get me a glass of water?" - he asked miserably.
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 11:32 am
"Your boat sunk? Oh. Oh, I'm sorry." So much for repairing it. It seemed to Cassidy that the helicopter came rather intermittantly, so the Dude might be stuck for a while.
There could be worse places, tough.
She nodded. "Where do you keep your glasses?" she asked, even as she began to poke around in the cupboards.
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 11:37 am
"I don't really have glasses anymore." - the Dude sighed
"Or forks, or blankets, or my complete collection of Bob Dylan tapes, or my SCUBA gear or even my fishing rod. All claimed the sea."
He sighed yet again, trying not to completely fall apart like a ninny in front of somebody, but the hangover situation was making it a bit hard.
"Maybe there is a vase there somewhere or something?" - he sugested, trying to be helpful and leaning against the headboard.
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