Escape from Gilligan's Island
© Mark Terence Chapman
‘Twas no surprise when Gilligan
messed up Professor’s plans,
to build a rescue radio
from coconuts and cans.
He tripped, he fell, he dropped the parts—
and that’s his claim to fame.
The radio, it sort of worked—
antenna wouldn’t aim.
Intended for Hawaii’s shore,
the message went awry.
Instead of Honolulu’s port,
‘twas pointed at the sky.
The message reached a radio,
but not quite as they’d planned.
A ship in orbit got the word—
did on the island land.
So, Gilligan was whisked away,
and then the Howells too.
The Skipper was the sixth to go,
the last of Minnow’s crew.
The seven castaways, they left
—at last—their island home.
Up to the ship, by shuttle craft,
they quickly had been flown.
Aboard the ship, they found themselves
spread-eagled on some slabs!
Their organs were removed by hand,
and stored with care in labs.
Their blood was drained—their bile was too;
it took them by surprise.
The process, born of years of care,
did cover up their cries.
The Skipper lost a lot of weight—
it went into a can.
And Mary Ann was sweet no more;
for leather she was tanned.
Soon Thurston Howell and Lovey, too
lost all of their great wealth.
For even their gold fillings are
in niches on a shelf.
Professor’s brain was pickled and
now rests within a jar,
with other specimens obtained
upon the planet Glarr.
And Ginger lost her head that day;
her coif done perfectly.
Her bosom was encased in glass,
for all posterity.
Then, last of all, their guts were sucked
out noisily through ducts.
They never had a chance to ask
why aliens abduct.
But Gilligan, of course, was made
the scaly queen’s new stud.
His genes were right; the aliens
had need of his type blood.
The aliens, they came and left,
they slipped away with ease.
And that’s the fate of those who were,
with Gilligan, you see.
One day when we are all enslaved,
by this invading race,
you shouldn’t be surprised if they
appear with Gilligan’s face!