Captain’s log, 03142014 (this log was delayed because I passed out from frivolity-related exhaustion): The crew is as happy as I’ve seen them. Though God only knows why, as conditions continue to deteriorate. Lunch was a pretzel, dinner a half-eaten bowl of Spaghettios with franks. At some point during the day, a hole was torn in the air mattress. I can’t pinpoint if it was when they were jumping on it, or karate kicking it, or using it to play “human taco”, or when they all turned on the human taco and jumped on and karate kicked him. In any event, the male crew members are now effectively sleeping on a giant condom.
Laundry has become an issue, but not in the way I anticipated. We have an over abundance of clean laundry on account of the fact that nobody is changing their clothes. Although Warrant Officer Dainty McFrillypants does occasionally change from one swimsuit to the other “for fashion purposes”. The clean laundry has been strewn all over our quarters as suitcases are ransacked in search of flashlights, or toys we did not bring, or imaginary things we do not own. Lieutenant Bosserton is the only member of the crew who can find her underwear because she actually unpacked her clothes into drawers. She has requested that the record reflect that “she told us so.”
There was more vomit late in the day by Ensign Stealthy, which likely means he is suffering from some kind of virus. He was encouraged to walk it off.
The laundry mess prevented us from finding two of the three flashlights we brought for use during our nighttime crab hunt. However, it turned out not to matter because the crab hunt was halted early when one of the crew members remembered the idea of zombies.
I called home base to relay our status to the First Mate only to learn that, while I’ve been living The Lord of The Flies down here, she decided to host “a bunch of ladies” in our house for an after work happy hour. I have now amended and re-prioritized my already lengthy list of action items to include “revenge on First Mate”. Hamilton out.