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The Journal of Thomas Sotheby (SE)
7.26.2001 by Zebulon

This, my loyal friends, readers, and the private investigator hired to stalk me, is a short fiction piece I wrote in college. It gained a bit of infamy there, though I never did figure out why. Then I published it on the now-defunct ThemeStream site as part of a column I wrote there. It gained even more notoriety there, again for reasons beyond me. Now I publish it here, in the hopes that it gains even more of a cult following and I can sell the movie rights or something. I also wish to state here that I have never ever used, partook of, been near or had lewd thoughts about any illegal or controlled substances in my whole entire life, which is more than can probably be said about Sean.

Publisher's Note: These are excerpts from a document that was recently discovered among some old clothes in a trunk in Mrs. William A. Turnipthwaddle's attic. Mrs. Turnipthwaddle currently resides in London, England, where her family has lived for generations. Thomas Sotheby is great-great-great uncle, on her father's side. Mr. Sotheby lived in the seventeenth century. This account dates from approximately 1664.

DAY ONE: I am keeping this journal to record my experiences on this island. I have arrived here through a most extraordinary set of circumstances, which I shall now relate to you.

I was but a common man, barely scraping by as a door-to-door chimney sweep. I was a loyal man of the King, and paid my taxes.

One day, I was working the port district when a sailor called from one of the merchant ships, saying his captain was interested in having the ship's chimney cleaned. I naively came aboard, discovered ships had no chimneys, and was promptly kidnapped.

I spent the next six months being forced to do menial labor, such as emptying the chamber pots and cleaning the sails.

One day, we were caught in a freak squall. The crew fought valiantly to save their ship, but chose to abandon it while I was below decks. The violent rocking of the ship soon clobbered me to sleep.

I awoke to find myself alone, the ship run aground in this island's harbor. I spent the rest of today ferrying goods from the ship.

DAY TWO: Found seven kegs of ale in ship's stores. I shall sample some to boost my spirits.

Ale very stong. seeeeemz two bee heveing kno affekt (sic). (Printer's note: the next few paragraphs are largely indecipherable.) onn my head.

DAY FIVE (?): do not remember last few days. Growth of beard suggests approximately three days lost. I think the sun is affecting my sense of time. Opened new keg of ale; old one apparently leaked away while I was unconscious.

DAY SIX: Used planks from ship to fashion a treehouse. Am having some difficulty getting it off the beach and into the tree. I cannot help but wonder if the tree is playing a joke on me.

DAY EIGHT: Fashioned companion out of an old sock. When placed on my hand, he comes to life and recites dirty limericks. I call him Socky.

DAY ELEVEN: Socky told me that I was a boring, worthless idiot. I threw him out into the surf; enjoyed watching him get eaten by seagulls.

DAY FOURTEEN: Finally recovered from effects of bad ale. By reading over the entries for the past few days, I have discovered why I am missing a sock. However, I can find no explanation for my newly pierced ears.

DAY FIFTEEN: Boredom increasing. Am attempting to keep mind sharp by counting exercises. There are six thousand, eight hundred fifty-three trees on this island. I have decided to sample more ale to determine if any of the kegs are salvageable.

DAY SIXTEEN: Mie Kuntwy Tish Of Three, sweeet laund of vleebertree, uhv zhe Ah seeng.

DAY TWENTY: I have not slept in two days, for agents of of the King want to steal my thumbs. I shall seek refuge in my sand castle.

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN: Ale seems to be good. Am noticing no ill effects. As soon as I get out of this flying tree, I shall sample a bit more.

DAY THIRTY-THREE: Having some difficulty in concentration. Attempted to go to cave for supplies- ended up swinging from tree and eating bananas. I suspect that the fiddler crabs were having a laugh at my expense. Their damn fiddles keep me up all night.

DAY FORTY-NINE: Am attempting to construct a flying device to escape island. Am having some difficulty in getting it airborne - monkeys refuse to pedal hard enough. I shall have to punish them. I shall sample some ale to boost my spirits.

DAY DAY dddd : Mr. Seegull suggested that I go on a diet, becawse I am a fat lazy slob. I threw my monkey heads at him until he left. I like my monkey heads

DAY (?):I am so excited today. Pooh said that we would go on a grand adventure with Tigger, Piglet, and even Rabbit, if we can talk him into it. I wonder what the world is like outside the Hundred-Acre Wood

At this point, the narrative abruptly stops. The diary was found in a cave by Dutch explorers some twenty years later, and was returned to
Sotheby's niece. No trace of Sotheby was ever found.

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