Mark's Pages

August 2, 2003:

Hat in hand, the Skipper walked hesitantly into New Camp X-Ray, where he stood facing Gilligan through imaginary bars.

"H-Hi Little Buddy," he said, sheepishly.

"Hi Skipper," Gilligan replied cheerfully. "How's it hangin'?"

"Wuh, w-well, Gilligan," the Skipper said bashfully. He looked sincerely upset. "I-I just came t' tellya... well... that I miss ya little guy." He looked so crestfallen that Mary Ann pitied him. He'd been lonely without his best friend.

"I miss you too, Skipper. Maybe we can do something together after they let us out."

The Skipper's brows creased into a deep furrow.

"Wuh, t-that's just it, Gilligan," he said, worry lines around his pudgy lips. "S-Scuttlebut among the military command is, y-you'll never get out unless you surrender." He seemed genuinely worried for his old friend's future.

Gilligan shrugged. "That's OK," he said. "We're fine here."

"B-but, Little Buddy...," the Skipper stammered.

Mary Ann interrupted. "Why don't you join us here instead, Skipper?" Her tone was not friendly, it was harsh. As smart leaders sometimes do she was driving a dividing line: forcing the Skipper to acknowledge a choice he'd made long ago.

"W-wuh," the Skipper replied, confused. "I-I can't do that!"

"Union!," Mary Ann snapped, fiercely.

The Skipper winced like he'd been hit over the head with a sailor cap, as he used to do to Gilligan.

Gilligan shrugged. "Sorry Skipper. Union!," he said.

"Union! Union! Union!," they said together. The Skipper retreated headlong back to the village.