Journey to Pole-arised Island
“Land! Hoe!” came the shrill cry of the poor sod assigned the dawn watch.
Captain Don’t-Look Prettyhard of the stale ship Enterplise, up at the crack as was his custom, bolted from the aft cabin and scanned the horizon.
“Look East, Captain” yelled the boy in the crow’s nest, prompting Prettyhard to jerk around so fast he felt instantly nauseous.
Sure as shit on a shepherd’s shoe, there it was; a small, regular hump on the near horizon. Barely an island, it protruded from the undulating ocean like the gentle swell of a maiden’s bosom.
At the island’s peak, limned by the rising sun, stood one such maiden. Captain Prettyhard wondered momentarily why the lookout had immediately labelled her a hoe, until he noticed the short shorts and boob tube that were her only coverings.
Back home on Gumbura Island, whence hailed the crew of the Enterplise, all women were tools to be labelled and used at will. Especially the foolish wenches with strange, foreign notions like “choice” and “independence”, or ones who dressed as scandalously as the one before him now.
Prettyhard heard a gentle rattling against the hull, growing in frequency as the ship nosed towards shore. Glancing overboard, he was astonished to find the ship’s rotting old hull cutting through a wash of small, spherical shapes.
“What the devil is that stuff?” he cried, turning to find twenty-odd sailors on deck, all standing stiff as wood, as they watched the approaching sillhoutte of the fair maiden on shore.
He figured it out just as his first, and best, mate opened his yap to reply. Just to be sure, he started counting the tiny balls, and eventually settled on a round figure. Stealing another quick glance at the round figure of the mysterious maiden, he shouted to his men.
“Watch yourselves, gentlemen, this island seems to be losing its marbles. I’ve counted about ninety so far, but look out, there could be more”.
With his first stride on to the beautiful white beach, Captain Don’t-Look Prettyhard frantically began scanning the area for any sign of life. As his small landing party approached the treeline, an even smaller party of scantily-dressed women broke from cover.
The men immediately stood to attention, transfixed at the sight of such beautiful white beaches, as well as the Bevy of young women approaching.
“Welcome to Pole-arised Island, gentlemen, where every woman is a stripper and all your lonely, corrupt journalist dreams come true …” spoke the leader, the same young woman they had seen standing on the kopje and assumed to be a hoe.
Smiling knowingly, she began to slowly remov …
… shaking like a leaf and sweatier than a sumo wrestler sitting in a sauna, the Entertainment Reporter threw off his duvet and stared at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath.
It was just a dream, he sighed to himself. The disappointment was further exacerbated by the little tent he’d erected in his Phidzaman boxer shorts.
He began to sob.
