Short Story One

Day five. Still stuck on the damn boat. Drifting. Out of gas. Still got a bunch of fucking drugs, but low on food. Jerry's rowing, for all of the fucking good that'll do. All it's doing is wearing him out. We've told him as such repeatedly, but the asshole seems convinced that if he paddles hard enough, he'll fucking get us to shore. "One:" Pierce says. "We don't know where the hell land is!"
"Two" I continue, "All you're doing is making yourself weaker. "Three" Pierce says, "This is a near fucking yacht. Paddling ain't gonna move it much." "And three" I finish, "There is only one paddle. Even if you did some how move the boat, all you're doing is driving us in circles." Jerry just gets even more stone faced and continues to row. "God dammit!" Pierce says, as he kicks the now empty bucket of bait across the deck. "I'm going below." I sigh, and lay down on the cushion of the deck chair as the splashing sound of Jerry's futile paddling lulls me to sleep. I dream of what happened.

Jerry, Pierce, and I were getting high at our place. I wasn't such a fan of the drugs, I preferred Captain Morgan (which was pretty easy to obtain, considering Pierce worked at an ABC Liqueur store. I don't even know if that's how you fuckin' spell it.) On one of their many trips, they decided to go fuckin' steal a boat. How and why the fuck they came to this conclusion is a mystery known only to the gods of whatever the hell drugs they were sticking into every available orifice. Despite being drunk off my respective ass, I recognized the foolishness of this plan, and tried to talk them out of it. They were having none of it, and considering that they were my main supplier of alcohol (Me being nineteen) I did not care to lose their friendship. So, we went to the marina, looked around for a good one that we could easily break into or start up or hot wire or whatever the fuck you do with boats. They packed a duffel bag of food, and a duffel bag of drugs. They were so high I bet they couldn't even remember what the fuck ocean they were about to ride onto. Anyway, we all climbed on, and the engine cranked to life. The snippet (Heh. I love that word.) of conversation I heard before I passed out in a drunken stupor was "Ever driven one of these things before?" "Nope." "Neither have I."

I awoke the next day, massive hangover. Pierce and Jerry were arguing about something. I climb on down below deck and they are tearing into eachother. "Well here we are in the middle of the FUCKING ATLANTIC OCEAN, WITH NO FUCKING GAS, AND NO FUCKING WAY TO GET ANY FUCKING HELP!" "Thanks Jerry. I think the penultimate term in the sentence really proved your point." "FUCK YOU! YOU GODDAMN BLUE COLLAR TWEEKER!" Nice name for a band, I remember thinking to myself. The gravity of the situation, due to the ear shattering screams penetrating my skull and beating on my beer battered brain, had not fully dawned on me, so I covered my ears, and watched the argument progress. "OKAY! Let's reasess the situation." "Happy to oblige, Pierce. NO FUCKING GAS, LOW ON FUCKING FOOD, RADIO'S FUCKING DEAD, And, to wrap it up, WE ARE HOPELESSY FUCKING FUCKED! FUCK!" "Have you ever considered anger management sessions?" I chimed in. "FUCK you, cocksmoker!" "How exactly do you smoke a cock?" Right as Jerry was about to reply with a witty retort, "GUYS!" Pierce shouted. "Calm the FUCK down!" "Is there anyone here" who hasn't said 'fuck' yet?" I said, smartassedly. I got glares from both parties.

Getting caught up took a while. Apperently, last night, during their trip, Jerry and Pierce got the munchies, and ate a good portion of the duffel bag of food. They ran around the boat for a while, until the engine cut out. they took a look and discovered that they were out of gas. The owner of the boat only left a fourth of the tank in the engine, something that never occurred to us in our drug-alcohol induced stupor. After discovering that, they searched for extra gas on the boat. Nada. Then, they tried to radiio for help. Radio was out of batteries, probably one of the things that the owner would have fixed on his next boating trip. "So basically" I said at the end of the story. "We're hopelessly and utterly fucked."The other two nodded their heads. "Great." I said, sighing. "Just...fucking...great."

End of part one.