Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
a tale of a fateful trip.
That started from this Scranton port,
aboard this party ship.
The mate was a mighty sales man,
the manager brave and sure.
Drunk passengers set sail that day,
for a three hour tour, a three hour tour………
The weather started getting rough,
the party ship was tossed.
If not for the courage of the fearless crew,
the Boozers would be lost; the Boozers would be lost.
The ship took ground on the shore of this uncharted wooded isle,
with Angela, her salesman too,
the Manager, and his temp,
the Warehouse Guy, the Prankster, and Pam-a-lam,
here on Angela's Isle.

12:30 a.m. somewhere in the middle of Lake Wallenpaupack on a small island.

“Okay, gather round. Gather round! Count off!” Dwight’s voice broke the still night’s sounds. The sounds of screaming and pitiful cries had slowly given way to the gentle sound of waves lapping and faint groans of those castaways who had survived the Booze Cruise of 2006.

“One,” Michael croaked. He was lying like a beached whale staring up at the stars. He was pretty sure his AAA car insurance would not cover this. He tried to think of a way to suggest his car had been involved. When he got home, maybe he could drive his Sebring into the Lake…

“Are you okay?” Jim whispered into Pam’s matted hair. He clung to her shivering body and tried to warm her even though he couldn't feel his own fingers or toes. He wished he had his overcoat, but he'd ditched it when they jumped into the water. It would have pulled him down and her with him.  

Pam’s chattering teeth made what she said indecipherable so she repeated it, “Who’s f-f-f-fault? Dwi or Micul?” She felt safe in Jim’s arms even though she knew there was a good chance they would die from exposure. She prayed for the Coast Guard to come rescue them. She hoped that they had been spotted by a passing fisherman out for a night of fishing. She was glad there had been no shrieking eels in Lake Wallenpaupack. It had felt like one of those nights where shrieking eels were highly possible. This was definitely not the same lake that she jet-skied on during the summer.

“People! This is not a drill. I need a head count so we can start assigning tasks. We will need to set up a first aid station! We need a group to forage for food so we don’t starve. Does anyone besides myself have training in hunting wild game?” Dwight looked at the prone bodies of his shipmates. The future was grim, he realized. He was probably the only person here who had lived for three days only on twigs and his own urine. Well, if Dwight was the last man standing it would be no surprise. It was survival of the fittest and he was the most fit…

“Dwight.” oops. Dwight had forgotten about his new girlfriend, Angela. She was a hellcat, there was no doubting that. He was glad he had saved her from the wreckage. She couldn’t be anything but suitably impressed by his bold swimming strokes and his decisive leadership in the face of disaster. She was seeing him in his shining hour.
Dwight leaned down and patted his shivering little love-muffin. “What is it, Monkey?” He whispered.
Angela looked up at him, “Shut it and get a fire started. I’m cold and wet.”
Dwight frowned, “But kitten, we need to get organiz…” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him down with a strength that surprised him.
“Make. a. fire. Now!” He could tell she was about to crack under the strain. He ran to collect driftwood in a dry spot above the waterline. He didn’t mention to her that although he’d tried to make a fire by rubbing two sticks together many, many times before…it had never actually worked.

 Roy lay unconscious. His beer breath exhaled in deep sighs that tormented the poor refugee who was bundled up next to him.
Well, Ryan thought to himself, I guess I’ve got a great excuse for my professor about how I lost my textbook, and my class notes, and… my sanity. He huddled closer to Roy’s body. At least the big galumph was warm.

So this is the tale of our castaways,
they're here for a long, long time.
They'll have to make the best of things,
it's an uphill climb.
The first mate and his girlfriend too,
will do their very best,
to make the others comfortable,
in the frozen island nest.
No phones, no lights, no motor cars,
not a single luxury.
Like Robinson Crusoe,
it's primitive as can be.
So join us here each week my friend,
you're sure to get a smile.
From seven stranded office mates,
Here on Angela's Isle.