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5:40 a.m. - 2003-11-21


I'm going out on a limb here and saying … I think I'm beginning to develop a crush on that anorexic hottie from Entertainment Tonight … Melissa!

Usually I like my women with a little meat on their bones so to speak.

And Melissa, at 58 lbs., has the body fat quotient of a pencil.

But she's just so goshdarned positive!

"I know I'm dying," Melissa says. "But it's okay because I'm thin! And thin is in!"


She's SUCH a hottie! She makes me go like this … she makes me go … "MMROWWWRR!"


I want her. In the most intimate of ways. I wanna force her to eat a meatball.


Be my little meatball lover, Melissa.

Eat that meatball, baby.

Don't throw it up.

Eeeeeeeeat it....

By now you have all flocked to Odalisk's page to read the latest installment in the Lafitte Tribe's quest to win Diaryland Survivor 5.

You openly wept when you read it.

More than likely because you were hoping there's be a dialogue about my rugged man-chest and washboard abs "taking" some woman in true Harlequin-style.

Alas, that part was cut out.

But I took my own stab at the challenge which was to immerse the tribe into a Harlequin romance.

After we lost last week's challenge, we were gently chided to begin thinking "outside the box".

So I got out of the box, walked about 50 yards away from it and stared at it until I came up with something completely different.

Follow me here….

Most Harlequin romances are written by women … right?

So what would happen if a man tried to write a Harlequin romance?

Not just any man … a hack writer with a beer gut and a cheap cigar habit who sat at his computer in his boxer shorts and pizza-stained wifebeater and cranked out a man's version of a Harlequin Romance.

Keep in mind ... since this type of man wouldn't really know what he was doing, the actual romance would suck. No foreplay. No romance. Just by-the-numbers sex.

I think (tee hee!) it'd go a little (*snort*) like this …


Chapter 14

As night fell on the island like a pepperoni falling off a gooey slice of pizza, the castaways stared off into the cool darkness. It had been days since they had eaten and tempers were beginning to flare.

"I miss Call911," Jason sighed, absentmindedly stroking his slowly deteorating abs as the waves pounded the beach like Lennox Lewis pounding the living shit out of a bantamweight.

"What do you miss most about her?" Cosmicrayola asked.

"I don't know," Jason murmured. "Probably the way her ass cheeks tasted. They were exceptionally chewy. Hindsight being 20/20, we probably shouldn't have roasted them as long as we did."

Odalisk stared dreamily at Jason as he reminisced wistfully of eating the carcass of their fallen comrade. She had wanted him in a purely sexual way ever since the castaways were first abandoned on Oak Island, but had managed to keep her lusty intentions a secret. Oftentimes, she would imagine a better world where Jason would sweep her up in his arms, lay her on a bed of roses and bone the crap out of her in order to help her get to sleep. If only Jason would pick up on the horny vibes she was tossing his way like a drunken frat boy pelting an old lady with beads during Mardi Gras. Alas, Jason remained unfocused and barely competent; two qualities Odalisk found irresistible in her men.

"My ass hurts," Uncle Bob whined to nobody in particular.

"Maybe you need one of my patented ass massages," Jack said all breathless and shit.

"Dude. I will HURT you if you touch my ass," Uncle Bob threatened.

Jack sat down on his favorite rock and crossed his legs with a pained expression on his face. He had wanted Uncle Bob in a purely sexual way ever since the castaways were first abandoned on Oak Island. But instead of keeping it to himself, he had babbled about his intentions constantly while Uncle Bob was all "Bitch! Get a clue! I don't dig men!"

Odalisk couldn't keep her raging hormones bottled up anymore. The sexual tension that was present in the air was thicker than a filet from Ruth's Chris Steak House. She decided to make her move on Jason and damn the consequences. Damn them!

"Jason," she said, her perky breasts heaving. "If I asked you to, would you do me like a sassy broad wants to be done?"

Jason's pulse raced as glistening sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Would I do you?" he retorted. "Bitch … I'll do you so hard it'll make your Daddy cry."

Odalisk laid down in the sand and spread her velvety thighs.

"Take me, you rock-hard sex machine," she moaned seductively.

The other three castaways perked up like stripper tits in Alaska.

"Tell me twice," Jason said, whipping out his Hammer o' Love.

"Take me, you blue ribbon award-winning stallion!" she cried.

"You got it, bitch!" Jason hollered, falling on top of her prone and somewhat boney frame.

Cosmicrayola, Uncle Bob and Jack cheered Jason on as he pounded the shit out of Odalisk.

"Oh Jason!" Odalisk moaned. "Jason, Jason, Jason!"

"Unnnnngh!" Jason grunted. "Unnnngh, unnnnngh, unnnnnngh!"

Thirty seconds later, Jason rolled off of Odalisk, collapsing next to her while the others high-fived and hooted their approval of the act.

"Man," Jason gasped. "That was sweeter than a tray full of warm titties."

Odalisk had gotten what she wanted … a big ol' meaty Bone Burrito with salsa on the side.

Jason had gotten his nut.

The other three castaways got to watch which is fine with them since two of them are past their sexual prime and would rather nap than do the nasty anyway while nobody wants to have sex with the other one.

As the five castaways rested in silence, night continued to fall on the island like a hunk of sausage rolling off that same gooey slice of pizza.

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