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.

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.     

1:15 a.m. somewhere in the middle of Lake Wallenpaupack on a small island. 

Dwight watched the searchlights of the rescue helicopter crisscross the lake far to the south. It was only a matter of time before it started making larger circles around the wreckage and found their island. Dwight was preparing himself mentally for that moment. He was saving all his energy to lift and swing a log in circles so they would have no doubt that he was there, the leader of the castaways. He was like Jack on “Lost” but more prepared and better trained to face danger. In his mind, Dwight was writing the answers to questions newspaper reporters would ask when they were rescued. He had decided that Michael would say Dwight was like all the cast members of "Lost" rolled into one. Except for the women, of course, who all had to die... even the bad-ass cop. Jim would describe Dwight's Jack-like leadership skills,  his survival training ala Locke, his Sawyerish wiliness, and his Sayid toughness. "Dwight is, in essence, the ultimate survivor" the newspapers would say.

Meanwhile, Angela rolled over again. She changed sides frequently to move the coldest part of her body into the small, warm hollow she had made in the sand. She hissed at Dwight again, “Start the fire,” but he ignored her. She was facing the water now and noticed something bobbing in the water. When she realized it might be a lifeboat, Angela crawled to her knees. From her new position, she could see that it wasn’t a boat at all; it was a large rectangular box. “Dwight,” she ordered in a fierce voice, “get that box out of the water!” She pointed to the drifting object. “Get it! Get it! Get it! Michael! Get up and help him! It may have food inside!”

 Wearily, Michael stumbled to his feet. He would have said something about “who was in charge” and “who should be giving orders” but he was too busy spitting out all the sand that had congealed with his saliva. When Dwight saw Michael stumbling towards the water, he immediately followed. There was a reason the Lenape Indians called it Wallenpaupack, the current was swift and slow. If Michael got caught up in the wrong current, he could be carried miles away before he’d even realize he was in trouble. Dwight knew they weren’t in trouble here. They were safe on an island with a rescue helicopter five miles away…they’d be home for breakfast. He'd bet his Purple Belt on it.

Jim’s light breathing and lighter snoring filled Pam’s world. She concentrated on them and tried to make herself forget the events that led up to being in his arms. But she could not forget. She relived those fatal moments on the Booze Cruise over and over.

She was standing on the bridge with Jim, looking into his eyes. That moment lasted forever.  Then there was the sudden listing of the boat. Jim had grabbed her, steadied her against his side so that he was the one who was rammed into the side of the boat. She was so unaware that they were sinking that she had been more concerned about the fact that he would have a horrible bruise in the morning. The bruise was quickly forgotten though when Captain Jack came on the loudspeaker. “All crew to life stations. All passengers don life-jackets and move to the back of the boat. Prepare to abandon ship.”
That’s when everyone on board panicked.... except for Jim. He held her tightly, protectively, she couldn’t even move as she watched the drama unfold before her. She’d stared in shock as a drunk Darryl grabbed Phyllis and dragged her screaming across the dance floor. She’d watched Roy (who should have been looking for her, his fiancee!) lift Katy off her feet and carry her over his shoulder through the crowd and away to safety. She’d seen passengers push each other down, ignoring life jackets, ignoring cries of distress, doing everything they could to be the first ones out of the cabin. Within seconds, apart from the never-ending screams and the sound of wood splintering, there was no proof to Pam that anyone else existed on the boat except her and Jim. They were all gone. They were all on the other side of the boat. Safe as kittens in lifeboats….
Pam had looked up at Jim and he’d looked down at her and  said “Well, um…I think Dwight has run us aground.” And she had laughed.  She had laughed. Until the boat tilted even more and she realized there was no way they could make it all the way through the cabin to the safety of the lifeboats. That’s when Jim had very carefully taken off his coat and said “I’ll go in first, ok?  I’ll be there when you jump and we’ll swim away from the ship until we’re far enough away. Once it’s safe, we’ll swim to the lifeboats. Okay?” He had clutched her chin and she had nodded. And then he kissed her. She thinks that is what had saved her life. That kiss kept her warm for those dreadful minutes in the ice-strewn water.

Now, with shivering lips, Pam kissed Jim’s sleeping face to thank him again and again for saving her life. 

The water was less cold for Michael and Dwight. Their body temperatures were so low that it was almost warm for them. That was a bad sign since in January ice could be seen floating in the water.  Dwight knew they were close to going in to hypothermic shock. They stumbled out until the water was waist high and grabbed the box. Michael’s spirits lifted, “Hey,” he yelped, “It’s my trunk! All my magic stuff and costumes are safe!”
“Great!” Dwight said, “Do you have any matches inside? Or a fishing pole?”
“Don’t be silly, Dwight. What would I need those for? No! Now when we get rescued, I can finish up the presentation!” He was tugging on the box while Dwight pushed it from behind.

When they got it to shore, Angela stumbled over to the two men who had fallen prone on either side of the box. She tried to open it but it was locked. “Dwight, open this! It’s locked.”
“Michael’s got the key,” Dwight didn’t even lift his head to speak.
Michael swore, “Stupid Captain Jack and his….took my keys when he… he’s got them.”
Angela groaned and pointed at a rock. “Dwight break it open with that rock. Now! Do it! I’m starving and I’m cold. DWIGHT! Pick up the rock.”

Ryan awoke when cold fingers brushed across his cheek. He opened his eyes to see the dim figure of Michael placing a soft, filmy blanket on top of him. Ah, Ryan realized, he must be in Heaven because Michael was dressed in Angel’s robes. Saint Michael. Startled, Ryan watched as Michael placed a frilly ballgown on top of Roy’s prone body. Maybe I’m dreaming, Ryan thought. That’s right, I’m dreaming, he decided. But just then, Michael sneezed and Ryan knew it was even worse than he had imagined. He was alone on a deserted island with a drunk, foul shmuck and a boss who had finally gone off the deep end and was dressing them all up like little girls. He could not believe he had thought this night from hell couldn't get any worse.

Jim woke to the sound of Pam’s voice in his ears, “Jim…darling….Jim…. sweetie…Jim…” He didn’t want to open his eyes because he knew if he did he would wake up and find out it was just Mark pulling his leg…but he had to because.... if it was her, well, he had to do whatever she said. So he opened his eyes.

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.

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.

Somewhere on Lake Wallenpaupack, just prior to dawn

Dwight was curled up in the heat-conserving fetal position. He hadn't slept. Schrutes never slept in the face of danger. He felt the temperature changing. Morning was coming on. When he had been on the farm, this time of morning had always gladdened his heart during beet season. On the farm, it meant Mother would soon bring out the breakfast scrapple. Dwight's body yearned for scrapple. Warm scrapple. Nothing compared to hog offal and corn mush lovingly prepared by a doting woman.

As the sun peeked up above the lowest of the Poconos, he heard Angela stirring. Dwight closed his eyes quickly. Angela was a terror in the morning.

"UP!" Angela screamed, elbows akimbo, looming over Dwight's recumbent form. He slitted his lower eye open a smidgen (just like they taught you in paratrooper school) to see her shadowed form looking directly at him. His stomach fluttered; she had her index finger pointed accusingly at him. She always said it was rude to point, so she was intentionally being rude to him.

Dwight could hear Michael's sleepy voice, "Gangsta in the hood say what?"

Startled, Dwight opened his eyes wide. Angela was wearing Michael's favorite Gangster Rapper sweatshirt. She looked startlingly sweet and innocent with the hood pulled over her head. That was until she opened her mouth, "Wake up you lazy layabouts! SOMEONE is making a hot breakfast RIGHT NOW or...." She left the threat dangling. Dwight had come to learn that an Angela Dangling Threat was much, much worse than the average Angela threat.

When Dwight saw Michael lift his head sleepily, he jumped up and started doing jumping jacks. "Calisthenics! Get the heart pumping to warm up on a brisk morning," Dwight explained cheerfully between gasps. He hadn't actually done calisthenics since grade school, but did Michael need to know that?

Michael gaped at him stupidly, "It's like negative 200 degrees, Dwight! Nothing's going to warm you up except some hot lovii....ly morning... uh, Angela. So where are these rescue boats?" He looked up and down the beach as if expecting Captain Stubing to walk up and hand him a lei and Mojito.

"Michael," Angela's voice was icier than the chunks floating in Lake Wallenpaupack. "I find it very insulting that you have chosen to wear... that... disgusting..." Words failed her.

Michael looked down and burst out laughing. For warmth during the night, he'd added a giant pair of foam breasts on top of his now damp choir robes. Seeing Angela's furious face, he scolded her, "Lighten up, Angela. I mean, come on! Are you saying big-boobed ladies aren't allowed to join the choir?" He started humming Kum ba Yah and clapping his hands.

"Sluts can't," Angela retorted, silencing him. Everyone knew that all of Michael's mental processes shut down when the word ‘slut' was mentioned. Angela smugly continued, "No sensible woman would wear robes like that exposing her...." She waved her hand towards Michael's foam breasts.

Dwight nodded manically as he jogged in place, "Yeah. The back pain would be intense. Plus, Michael, I don't think it is physically possible to lift a woman's...."

"Dwight." Angela cut off his theories on where a woman's breast could and could not go.

Michael had turned with interest to here Dwight's theories on breast placement, but turned away in disgust, "Jesus, Dwight. Stop running like that. You're making me queasy. Angela, go find Pam and tell her to make me a coffee. I feel like death," Michael curled up in a ball and gripped the foam breasts in his hands. At Angela's pointed stare, he said, "For warmth. They're really warm. Feel them."

"No, thank you," Angela said primly as she went in search of Pam.

"Hey," Dwight said as he sat up in the middle of doing sit-ups. "Hey. I'll just stay here and hold the fort. Signal any low-flying planes."

Angela looked up at the empty cloudy sky and grumbled, "You do that." She waited until she was out of their earshot before whispering, "We're going to die."

Meanwhile halfway across the island

"I'm cold," Pam stated.

Jim nodded, "Keep walking."

In the darkness, Pam tripped over an exposed root. Jim quickly caught her before she could fall. She looked up into his shadowed face as she asked, "When can we stop?"

"When we're as far away from Michael and Dwight as we can get," he said simply. He held her hand tightly as he helped her pick her way through the trees.

She giggled, "Did I mention that I'm cold?"

"Hmmm, I don't think so. Maybe now would be a good time," Jim lifted her in his arms to carry her over a muddy patch.

Pam whispered into his ear, "Jim, I'm cold."

He grunted as he set her down. "Odd. Dwight told me that Global Warming was the number one threat facing Scranton."

"I thought he said it was Mad Cow Disease?" Pam stopped walking to pull a pebble out of her shoe.

"What's the word for when..."

"Pebblitis. No, Mad Cow Disease was the number one threat facing Farmers of Scranton," Jim leaned against a tree trunk as he waited for her to empty her shoe.

Pam considered this as she put her shoe back on, "Nooo, that was the bug, the whatsit. The thing that poops on baby beets. The number one threat was... What was that thing he said about Tornados, Homelessness, and Toxins in the Water System?"

"Huh," Jim scratched his chin. "Oh yeah, I remember. That was when he tried to hook the Coffee Maker up to the Water Cooler and short-circuited the... no wait. Wasn't that his Top 3 Ways the C.I.A. is manipulating the American People?"

Pam snapped her fingers, "Oooh, I almost had ya."

"This close, Pam. You almost had me. It's definitely Global Warming. Definitely," Jim pulled her hand and they were once again walking as quickly as they could away from the rest of the castaways.

Meanwhile on the other side of the beach, a few hundred yards from Michael and Dwight

Ryan sat up. He had to. He thought he had thrown everything up that was possible to throw up on the Booze Cruise, but obviously there was something left. As he leaned over and started hurling he realized that he must have inhaled half of Lake Wallenpaupack.

Trembling, shaking, convulsing, he hugged himself in despair. He knew, absolutely knew, that he should not have come on this stupid event. Morale builder, my ass, he thought.

"Ryan," Angela's firm, authoritative voice called out from down the beach.

Of course, he thought. No damn Master's Degree's worth this, he thought. "What?" he asked in a resigned voice.

"Michael wants you to make us some coffee," she said.

Ryan laughed hollowly, "We're shipwrecked, Angela! I don't think there's a Starbu..." But it was too late. Angela had already flounced off. Ryan struggled to his feet and prodded Roy gently with his foot. "Hey,"  Ryan tried to sound authoritative like Angela, "Hey. Michael wants you to make us some coffee."

Roy rolled over and groaned, "Michael can suck my..."

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.

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.

On the happy side of the island:

The beach was lovely, the sun had risen and rays reflected off the steel gray water. Waterfowl could be seen flying low in the distance. Pam sat on a fallen tree log enjoying the view as she snuggled as closely to Jim as she could get, “Okay, if you had to be Kevin, who would you do?”

“Dwight, definitely Dwight,” Jim answered immediately.

Pam kicked his foot lightly, “No, you already picked Dwight for Creed. They’re totally….”

“I think Creed would be open to…” Jim grabbed her knee so she wouldn’t kick him again.

Pam laughed, “Oh, sure, but Dwight? Dwight seems like a one-man kinda guy.”

Jim whispered, “True. Okay. How bout Kev and…. Kelly?”

“No! You haven’t seen Kevin’s feet when he takes his shoes off! He’s got some sorta disease…” she made a gagging noise.

“Spare me,” Jim yawned as he imagined the possibilities. “How about Kev and Toby?”

Pam nodded, “Okay, I can see that.”

“Excellent. So we’ve got Kevin and Toby, Stanley and Angela, Dwight and Creed,” Jim tapped off the office pairings on Pam’s knee. “Next up, if you had to be…. Meredith, who would you do?”

Pam considered for a moment, “Hmm... I know I sound like a broken record, but…  I guess I have to put the same answer that we had for Creed and Kevin. Who wouldn’t I do?”

There was a slight hitch in Jim’s voice, “Would you do me?”

“Oh yeah, Meredith would do you in a second,” Pam teased, “Faster, maybe.”

Jim half-smiled but didn’t say anything. Her answer wasn’t exactly the response he’d wanted.

And on the other side of the island:

“I don’t understand,” Michael said to no one in particular.

Angela barked “You don’t need to understand. You just need to lift the palm frond.”

Dwight paused in his work, “Actually, it’s not a palm frond. It’s a sycamore branch and it’s indigenous….”

“Shut it, Dwight,” Michael snarled through gritted teeth.

“Lift it higher. Higher,” Angela pantomimed lifting. The two men ignored her.

“I just don’t see why we’re building a hut when the rescue helicopters are on their way,” Michael complained as he lifted the sycamore branch higher.

“Nice durable wood. Used to make quality butcher blocks and…” Dwight  faltered when he saw Angela’s glare. He lifted the branch higher and continued, “and roofs for huts.”

Dwight felt awful for telling a lie. Sycamore branches made AWFUL roofs for huts. Six-inch leaves did not spread enough to give good coverage. There was no way rain would be stopped by a sycamore branch roof; Dwight was willing to bet his life on it.  If Angela had only let him go and find a good magnolia tree… Those suckers grew foot long leaves and the wood of a magnolia was perfect for making bowls and other containers.

Michael dropped his end of the branch just before they’d reached the crude cross-pole that was erected earlier. “Helicopters!” He pointed excitedly across Lake Wallenpaupack.

Angela glanced over her shoulder. “Bird,” she said simply.

Michael scoffed, “A bird! Don’t be an id…” He bit his tongue in time. Pleased with his quick save he pointed authoritatively at the black speck in the distance. “I know a helichopter when I see one! I studied all the different types of fighter jets when I was in grade school. I know everything there is to know about spotting planes. That’s a Chinook. Typical rescue helicopter,” Michael added knowledgeably.

Dwight was stunned. There were so many facts wrong in Michael’s statement that he didn’t know where to begin.

Angela pointed derisively, “Your helicopter just dived for a fish.”

Somewhere a few hundred yards away amongst the trees.

Ryan was standing on the highest point of the island. Angela had sent him off on that fool errand when he’d failed to supply hot, steaming coffee out of nowhere. He’d had trouble finding the highest point because he couldn’t see anything with all the trees around him. Finally, he just stopped and leaned against a tree.

After a few minutes, he said to no one in particular, “So I understand you want to go to Business School and get your degree. How about this? How about we dump you on a deserted island in the middle of winter instead? Sounds GREAT!”

Somewhere else amongst other trees:

Roy was fumbling through the forest. He'd gone to use the bathroom after he woke up and had immediately gotten lost. He wasn’t too worried. He was still hazy about last night but he remembered the snorkel shots. Darryl must have dressed him up in this get-up after he passed out and dumped him on the beach after they landed. Darryl was always doing stuff like that. Roy would get him back, though. He always did. Like the time Darryl was hitting on that chick who was really a dude? Roy would never let him live that one down!

“Oh crap,” Roy stopped in the middle of a glade. He’d forgotten Pam! “She’s going to kill me,” he moaned. Roy gripped his aching head to stop the pain. They had a rule. If Roy was going to stay out all night drinking with the guys, he had to call her so she wouldn’t worry. Roy groaned again. There was going to be hell to pay when he got home.

Pam and Jim continue to enjoy the view:

“Okay, so, um, Michael and Ryan, Dwight and Creed, Stanley and Angela, Meredith and Phyllis, Kevin and Toby, and Kelly and Oscar,” Pam reeled off the names. “I think that’s everyone.” She looked expectantly at Jim to come up with the next game.

“Not quite,” Jim said. His fingers were definitely turning blue, but he didn’t want to take them off Pam’s knee.

Pam looked startled, “Who’s left?”

“Uh, you,” Jim shyly answered. He realized he was blushing.

Pam looked down at his hand on her knee, “OH! Your hand!” She grabbed it from her knee and placed it between her palms. “No wait,” she exclaimed. “Pulse points!”

He squeezed her hand before asking dreamily, “What?”

“You need to put your hands near the pulse points! They’re the warmest part of the body,” with frantic motions she rubbed his freezing fingers.

He started to lift his free hand towards her chest, “Next to your heart?”

“No, uh, no. Um, let’s see. The underarms and, uh, never mind where else,” she had almost said the groin area. Dutifully she placed his hands underneath her underarms. Pam looked at Jim’s vague expression, “There, is that better?”

Jim wasn’t sure. He’d sort of liked her knee. He’d really liked her rubbing his hands. This was more, well, weird. “Um…okay. Is this something they teach you in Receptionist School?”

“No, I learned it at Medical School,” Pam said seriously.

Taken aback, Jim asked, “I didn’t know…”

She laughed, “Gotcha! No, I think I saw it on Little House on the Prairie.”

Jim snorted.

Offended, Pam retorted with eyes blazing, “Hey, I’m serious. I learned everything from Little House on the Prairie!”

Jim nodded, “Oh yeah, me too. I know everything there is to know about… how hot Laura Ingalls was.”

“Hey! Rob Lowe dated her, so… you know. Just sayin’!” Pam crossed her arms awkwardly. Jim’s hands in her armpits kind of got in the way. She thought of another comeback, “Anyway I don’t see any hot Brat Packers dating you!”

Jim shivered, “Hey! You’re letting in all the cold!”

Pam instantly uncrossed her arms, “Oh!”

“Kidding,” he smiled as he rubbed his thumbs back and forth. “I made a vow back in kindergarten not to date any Brat Packers, ya know, cause I was too cool for them.”

“Uh huh,” Pam nodded as if this were a completely reasonable vow for a six-year-old to make, “I made the same vow.”

“Weird,” Jim said.

Pam smiled, “I know.”

Back on the other side of the island:

Angela was whisking spider webs away from her hands. She’d gone up to the tree line to peer into the forest and walked straight into a dewy web. Annoyed, she called back towards the beach, “Dwight!”

Dwight looked up from peeling birch tree bark to make rope.

“Dwight,” Angela repeated. Her voice was worried now, “Pam and Jim have been gone a long time. Do you think they got lost?”

Michael was throwing rocks into the water to try and kill fish for breakfast. Dwight noted that the splashing rocks would drown out any possible sounds of Pam and Jim screaming for help. He decided not to panic anyone with his suspicions. Instead, he called out, “They were probably attacked by wolves!”

Dwight smiled calmly as Angela dropped and rolled in the sand away from the trees. He wouldn’t mention the tales his Grandfather had told him about the Wallenpaupack Monster that ate Catholics. No reason to tell her about Wally, the Catholic Chomper. Nor would he tell them about the ghost story he’d heard that Cannibal Ghosts still hunted Lake Wallenpaupack. No need to scare anyone until nightfall…. when the Cannibal Ghosts and Wally came out to hunt along the shore.

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.