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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!

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