Hurricane diary: This blows

Hoot Island is bouncing back from Hurricane Charley, which blew through here a week ago and caused us some minor grief and inconvenience, the most obvious being our lack of internet access. Fortunately we managed to hunker together and get through the rough, powerless days with perserverence, frontier spirit, and six barrels of wood-grain alcohol and a crate of strawberry dacquiri mix.

What follows is my diary of the days before and after the storm, not counting the entry missing from the night of the storm itself which I believe I swallowed while trying to burrow into the rosebed in abject terror. Accounts differ.

Day One: We Getting Some Rain?

Heard about the weather reports while flipping channels trying to find the Nude Olympics in time for the fencing bouts. Those guys are packing some serious weapons.
Seems there’s a little storm out in the tropics somewhere. No worries, they never come here. Make a note to pick up some more duct tape anyway, that always come in handy on Bondage Night.

Type your cut contents here.


Day Two: Everyone Knows It’s Windy

One of the Island Girls stopped me during my daily laps and asked about the storm, which is now offical and named “Charley.” I assure her that everyone I’ve ever known named Charley has indeed caused damage, but usually to himself and maybe the nearest television set, and that she shouldn’t worried. She smiled and laid back down, and I resumed lapping.

Day Three: I Am Nailed To The Hull

Okay, okay, it’s a damn hurricane. Everyone keeps freaking out and buying bleach and taping windows. Three of the cabana boys nailed plywood sheets to themselves. We’ll get some rain, no big deal. Geez. You’d think people were really scared about… 120 mph winds? Holy shit! Pull the girls in a circle!

Day Four: I’m Flippin’ My Switch, But Nothin’s Happening

Got through the storm okay, aside from the screaming. We lost the roof off the pool changing room, about half of those funky-shaped pillows, all of our perishable food, and our entire supply of bikini tops. The lack of bikini tops actually helped, as we had to eat the crate of whipped cream before the freezer got too hot, and we didn’t have enough plates or bowls and needed suitable surfaces for the cream. So far I’m not hating this hurricane.

Had some problems from people being blown in different yards, but that’s a matter for the displaced people and their significant other(s) to work out. Some of the cord-based people are complaining about their lack of vibration but they’re just going to have to deal. We have worse problems to deal with: there’s no Internet access. I bore up well for about an hour, but after that I was found drawing crude porn in the sand outside the racquetball parking lot and muttering about the poor bandwidth. I’m better now, I’ve almost stopped looking at my blank computer every five seconds. Wait, was that…? No, still out. Hey, is it…? Nope. Dammit.

Day Five: No Juice, No Service

Have discovered the problem with an island full of horny, hungry people. The simple survival request, “Do you have anything to eat?” invariably triggers a predictable response, which, while distracting, doesn’t help us in any meaningful long-term way. Noticed a number of power lines down. Asked around for anyone who has worked on poles before, got a surprising number of volunteers, some with their own leg straps and power tools.

We were forced to drain the wading pool, but I didn’t want the milk to go sour.

Found Trisha kneeling by the washing machine, sobbing. They’ve become very close these past few months, to the point where she’s almost worn one corner into a smooth curve, and the machine’s sudden cessation has sent her into a severe depression. Also she wants to wash some clothes.

Day Six: The Foraging Begins

No sign of when we’ll have power again, but we’re managing. Fortunately we had a large supply of chocolate and strawberries, and the edible underwear should last another week. We’ve called for protein donors to help out and the lines are around the block. God bless those selfless gentlemen! I had to stop a few of them from donating too many times in a 24-hour period, they were looking a little pale.

I’m proud of the folks here, they’ve managed to keep their spirits up and fuck each other silly despite the barbaric conditions. I’m not counting Ted and Margaret, who have been going at it steadily for about a week now and may not have noticed there was a hurricane. We’ll send a runner over tomorrow.

Day Seven: Making Do

Turns out that toilets flush just as readily with a tank full of champagne as they do with water, although the tingly sensation of sitting on a bowl full of bubbly has caused a great deal of unnecessary potty breaks.

Day Eight: I’ve Grown Accustomed to Your Taste

Amazing what you can get used to. I would never have thought that I’d ever be interested in a woman who hadn’t bathed in a week, but, hey, people adapt. I get the idea that interest in oral sex has waned, thought.

Day Eight: Power!

Woke up to hear the happy cries of Trisha hitting the spin cycle. Things are back to normal, and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Then I coughed a few times and went to go shower before I tried that again.

Leave a Reply

My Stuff