Back in October, a group of us were up on Whidbey Island celebrating my birthday. I was just pouring my third glass of Milagro when I heard some shouting from the deck, "Over there! Out there! There's a man in the water, a man on a raft!" A few of us ran to the railing, the wolf pack charged the beach. I sloshed my drink and stumbled to the door, just catching sight of something yellow in the distance. What-the-fuck?! Was that a man in the water? How... much had I had to drink? I grabbed my camera and headed for the surf. As I got closer I could see that it was in fact a real person, on a raft made out of logs, rope and seaweed. Holy shit! A real life castaway. As he got closer to land he began babbling about living on an island, a mysterious island, that he'd been working with electromagnetic anomalies, and that there had been another incident. The sky turned green and he left the hornets nest in a hurry. He said he'd forgotten the coordinates or his map or something... and couldn't believe he'd made it back, although he was confused he wasn't closer to Australia. Frankly, it was a lot of babble. We poured him a glass of fighting cock and later let him take a swing at my Cookie Monster piñata.
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