Be Careful What You Wish For

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale

A tale of a fateful trip,

That started from this tropic port,

Aboard this tiny ship.

The mate was a mighty sailin' man,

The Skipper brave and sure,

Five passengers set sail that day,

For a three hour tour,

A three hour tour.

The weather started getting rough,

The tiny ship was tossed.

If not for the courage of the fearless crew

The Minnow would be lost.

The Minnow would be lost.

The ship's aground on the shore of this

Uncharted desert isle

With Gilligan,

The Skipper too.

The Millionaire,

And his Wife,

The Movie Star,

The Professor and Mary Ann,

Here on Gilligan's Isle!

It was another day on the island, and the Skipper was hard at work. He had a log set across a pair of sawhorses, and was trying to work out where he should cut the log with the saw he had in his hand. Finally he set down the saw and began to shout.

"Gilligan! Gilligan! Gilligan? GILLIGAN!"

"Right here, Skipper."

The Skipper very nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd been so busy yelling for Gilligan he'd failed to notice Gilligan had come up behind him. After a moment of being completely flustered, during which he considered walloping Gilligan with his hat, he finally composed himself.

"There you are. Listen, I need you to go find the Professor and ask him if he has a ruler."

"What do you need a ruler for, Skipper?"

"Well, I'm building a new dining table for us, and I need to make sure all the table legs are the same length."

"You don't need a ruler for that."

"I don't?"

Gilligan reached down and picked a palm frond off the ground. "Just use a palm frond like this one, and use it to measure the length. See, it's one—two—two and a quarter fronds long."

"Well, that doesn't help me, Gilligan. I need to know how long the legs should be in inches!"

Gilligan pondered this for a moment. "Boy—that's a tough one. Hey, I know!"

"What?"

"Have you got a ruler?"

"GILLIGAN!" yelled the Skipper. "Just go find the Professor!"

Gilligan flinched a few steps away from the Skipper, then went off to find the Professor. The Skipper watched as he disappeared into the woods, then looked down at the log before him—and before he knew it, he had picked up the palm frond and tried to measure out a table leg with it. Catching himself, he flung down the frond in disgust.

Sometimes he wondered why he listened to Gilligan.

**********************************************

Later, Gilligan was wandering through the woods in search of the Professor, although he was more pre-occupied with his own troubles than his search. "Everyone's always telling me what to do," he muttered. "Gilligan, do this—Gilligan, do that—Gilligan, go find the Professor—and the Professor will tell me to take the ruler back to the Skipper—and then the Skipper will tell me something else to do—and if he doesn't tell me something to do, it'll be Mr. Howell or the girls. Just once, I wish that everyone would do what I say—Just once, I'd—"

He didn't finish his statement because at that point his foot caught on a rock and he tumbled to the ground. He lay there for a moment as he regained his breath, and as he pushed himself up to his feet, his hand grasped a small object. He got a good look at the object after he stood up—a flat, round stone that glittered like a gem in the sunlight.

"Hey—I remember this," said Gilligan out loud. "It's the Eye Of The Idol. Whoever finds it before sundown gets three wishes. But the Professor said it didn't work—that all those things that happened—the ice cream, the part of the island breaking off—those were just coincidences."

Gilligan shrugged his shoulders. What could it hurt? He held the stone in his right hand, closed his eyes, and spoke.

"I wish that everyone would do as I say!"

He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. Why should it? The Eye didn't work—the Professor said so. Still, he felt a little better—for a little bit, anyway.

Gilligan continued looking for the Professor, but quite some time later found the Skipper instead—or rather, the Skipper found him.

"Gilligan! Where have you been?"

"I was out looking for the Professor like you told me to."

"Well, I found the Professor not five minutes after I sent you out to find him!"

"Did he have a ruler?"

"That's not the point! I sent you out to do a job, and instead you went and goofed off, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't—I was doing what you said—"

"It's always the same thing! I give you a job to do, and you always find some way to goof off! You're the laziest person I've ever known!"

"That's not true, Skipper—I do plenty of work around here!"

"And when you do actually work, you always find a way to louse it up! Of all the crewmen I've served with, you're the absolute worst!"

"Aw, come on, Skipper—"

"Don't interrupt me when I'm talking to you! It's amazing that you've survived at sea this long! And I'll tell you something else—"

"Skipper—SHUT UP!"

The Skipper was shocked. Gilligan had never said anything like that to him before. He opened his mouth to yell at him again—but nothing came out. He couldn't utter a sound no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't even form the words with his lips. Gilligan stood there staring at him, just as astonished as he was.

"I told you to shut up—and you did!" said Gilligan. He kept staring at the Skipper for quite a while, watching as he tried in vain to make sounds or form words. Then a thought occurred to Gilligan.

"Hop on one foot."

The Skipper lifted his left foot off the ground and began to hop on his right—not an easy feat for a man his size. A smile slowly crept across Gilligan's face.

"Okay—now the other foot."

The Skipper almost fell over as he switched feet, but he managed to stay upright as he did what he was told. The smile on Gilligan's face grew even bigger.

"You have to do what I say," said Gilligan. "Everyone has to do what I say."

The Skipper kept on hopping, but Gilligan could see that he was getting tired. "Okay, you can stop," he said, and the Skipper immediately put both feet on the ground. He bent over and put his hands on his knees, trying desperately to catch his breath. Gilligan waited for him to stand up straight again.

"Okay, Skipper, I'm gonna go now. You stay right there," said Gilligan, pointing at the ground beneath the Skipper's feet, "and don't move from that spot!"

The Skipper stared silently at Gilligan, appalled at being given an order from one of the lower ranks. To compound the insult, Gilligan reached out and pulled the Skipper's cap down over his eyes. The Skipper pulled off his cap just in time to watch Gilligan walk away happily. He tried to go after him, he tried to yell after him—but he still couldn't move his feet or form words.

**********************************************

Not long after he left the Skipper, Gilligan came upon Mr. Howell, the richest man on the island—which honestly, wasn't all that hard. A thought occurred to Gilligan—if everyone truly had to do whatever he said, there was one huge way to prove it. With that in mind, he approached Mr. Howell with a smile on his face.

"Hello, Mr. Howell. How are you today?"

"Gilligan, I am absolutely delighted," said Mr. Howell in his customary joviality. "All my stocks are up, my competitors' stocks are down, and I've been able to shave four strokes off my golf game without being in charge of the scorecard. Life is heaven!"

"Listen, Mr. Howell—do you have a hundred dollar bill on you?"

"Why, of course—I never consider myself fully dressed without a few thousand dollars in my wallet. Money's always in fashion, don't you know."

"Could you show one to me?"

"Certainly, certainly," and with that Mr. Howell pulled out his wallet and plucked a hundred dollar bill out of the thick wad of cash inside. He held it up so Gilligan could see it clearly.

"That's really neat, Mr. Howell."

"A thing of beauty, isn't it?"

Gilligan smiled and nodded. "I think you should give it to me."

The joviality faded from Mr. Howell's face, to be replaced with extreme bewilderment.

"Gi—gi—give it to you?"

Gilligan smiled and nodded.

"But, of course, you mean loan it to you—"

"No—you should just give it to me," replied Gilligan. "Give it to me now."

Scarcely able to believe what he was doing, Mr. Howell handed the bill to Gilligan, who took it and turned it over in his hands, then rubbed it between his thumb and forefingers. Mr. Howell swallowed a lump in his throat as Gilligan examined his prize for a long moment—then he spoke to Mr. Howell again.

"Here," said Gilligan as he handed the bill back. "I don't want it anymore."

Mr. Howell breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Gilligan, I knew you wouldn't—"

"You don't want it anymore, either."

Mr. Howell's relief turned to horror, as he realized what Gilligan was saying was utterly true.

"In fact—you should tear it up."

"Wha—Whaaat???"

"You heard me. Just tear it up into itty-bitty pieces. Do it now."

Now completely horrified, Mr. Howell could only watch helplessly as his hands tore the hundred dollar bill in half—then the halves into quarters—then the quarters into eighths—then the pieces fell from his hands, to lie on the ground like the dead leaves of winter.

"Thank you, Mr. Howell. 'Bye now," said Gilligan as he patted Mr. Howell on the shoulder and walked away. Mr. Howell stared down at the pieces of what had once been a fresh, crisp hundred dollar bill, more dear and precious to him than the children he never had. He sank to his knees and tried to scoop up the pieces. Tears fell from his eyes, and his sobs turned to shrieks.

"WHAT HAVE I DONE!?!"

**********************************************

"—And then he told me to hop on one foot, and then the other—and I had to do it! I couldn't help myself!" said the Skipper as the Professor listened intently. "And then he walked away, and he told me not to move, and I couldn't! And I still couldn't say anything! How—how could that happen?"

"Well, it's certainly not the strangest thing that's ever happened on this island," said the Professor, "but I think I may have a rational explanation for the matter."

"Well, what is it?"

"The fault lies not within our stars—but within ourselves."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've always had a contentious relationship with Gilligan," continued the Professor. "On the one hand, he's your best friend, your 'little buddy' as you call him. You feel very protective and affectionate towards him. On the other hand, he's always bumbling his way around, causing one catastrophic mishap after another, and that makes you feel very angry towards him. And because he is your best friend, you feel guilty about feeling angry—and the affection and the anger and the guilt you feel towards Gilligan combine to create a subconscious conflict, which came to the surface when he finally stood up to you."

"And that's why I did what he said? That's why I followed his orders?"

"Well, I may not be an expert, but I think that's the most likely explanation," said the Professor. "It's not like it was anything Gilligan did. After all, you're able to move now, aren't you? You're able to talk now, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah," said the Skipper. "Everything went back to normal about a minute after he left. But what do I do about it the next time?"

"Scientia Est Potentia—Knowledge Is Power," said the Professor. "Now that you know what can happen when he stands up to you, you can be aware of the effect and stand up against it. I doubt that he'll be able to command you so easily next time."

"I hope you're right, Professor," said the Skipper. "I'd hate to think about what he could command me to do next!"

**********************************************

Gilligan wasn't thinking about the Skipper at that point—he was thinking about Ginger, whom he saw taking a walk around the island, wearing one of the glamorous evening gowns of which she was so very proud. He smiled as he approached her.

"Oh, hello, Gilligan," said Ginger, returning Gilligan's smile.

"Hi, Ginger, How it going today?"

"Listen—do you hear that? It sounds like someone crying."

"I think it's a seagull with a cold. Ginger, I wanna ask you something."

"Sure, Gilligan."

"Do you think I'm handsome?"

"Well—Gilligan—I haven't thought about it that much—"

"Actually, you think I'm the most handsome man you've ever met."

Ginger's eyes suddenly widened, and her jaw dropped. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to deal with the sight before her.

"Gilligan—you really are the most handsome man I've ever met! I don't know why I never realized it before."

"And you're irresistibly attracted to me!"

"Well, why wouldn't I be?"

"And you have to do whatever I say!"

"Your wish is my command.," purred Ginger.

"Okay," said Gilligan, "Umm—oka-aay. How about—how about—"

"Yes?" said Ginger, batting her eyes.

"You take off all your clothes!" Gilligan finally blurted.

"Okay." Ginger turned her back, and looking at Gilligan over her shoulder, slowly pulled the zipper down the back of her gown. She then turned towards Gilligan and crossed her arms over her front. With a big saucy smile she hooked her thumbs under the straps of her evening dress and took it down past her shoulders—past her chest—and with a shimmy of her posterior let it finally fall to the ground. She then reached behind her to unfasten her brassiere, and with a wink to Gilligan removed it, held it at arm's length, then let it fall to the ground as well. She didn't have to worry about removing her panties—she wasn't wearing any. Ginger stood there, one foot in front of the other in a beauty queen pose, while Gilligan tried to catch his breath.

"I did it!" he said. "I mean, you did it! I told you to take off your clothes, and you did!"

"Well, of course," replied Ginger, her voice at her most seductive. "What else would you like me to do?"

"Ummmmm—ummmmm—"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you think of something?"

"Okay," said Ginger. "I know of something. Something men really like."

"Ahh—okay. What is it?"

"Let me show you." Ginger walked up to Gilligan, getting so close he could feel the heat off her body. She put her hands on his shoulders, then kissed him—how else?—gingerly on the lips. She then knelt before him and unbuckled his pants, then unzipped his fly and pulled his pants down to reveal Gilligan's own little buddy, which by now was strong and hard enough to punch a hole in a coconut. She looked up at him, gave him a smile and a wink—and then took Gilligan's little buddy inside her mouth.

Back before the shipwreck, Gilligan and the Skipper would take every Thursday off. And on those Thursdays the Skipper would give Gilligan five bucks for lunch and a matinee while he went to take care of some business.

"What sort of business, Skipper?" Gilligan would always ask.

"None of your business!" the Skipper would always answer.

One Thursday Gilligan decided to follow the Skipper, who ended up leading him to a tidy, nondescript white house with red shades pulled down behind the windows. As Gilligan watched from behind a parked car across the street the Skipper rang the doorbell and removed his cap. Not more than ten seconds later the door opened, and a very handsome Chinese woman in a red silk robe smiled at the Skipper, put her hands together before her and bowed her head in greeting. The Skipper was grinning from ear to ear as the woman led him inside and closed the door.

Gilligan stood up from behind the car and stared at the place for—well, he didn't know how long, but he didn't stop staring until a passerby, a man, spoke to him.

"Everything okay there, fella?"

"Uhh—what's that house over there?"

"That house?" said the man with a big smile and a chuckle. "That's the house of Madame Suzie and her Oriental Cuties. A fella can have a really good time in there, ya know what I mean?"

"Oh—Yeah," said Gilligan. He actually had no idea what was going on, but he chuckled along. anyway. The man went off along his way, and Gilligan went to his lunch and a matinee. He never told the Skipper what he had done, and he never did find out what was going on in that house with Madame Suzie and her Oriental Cuties. But now, as Ginger was naked on her knees before him, working his own little buddy with her mouth and her tongue—and as his knees grew weak, and his eyes crossed, and a big, goofy grin spread across his face—He Knew.

Oh, How He Did Knew.

**********************************************

Meanwhile, the Skipper and the Professor had heard the same crying sounds that Ginger had heard earlier. Having gone to investigate, they found Mr. Howell on his knees, crying as they had never seen him cry before. Next to him was Mrs. Howell, trying desperately to console him.

"There, there, Thurston—it surely wasn't your fault—it couldn't have been!"

"I'm a murderer, Lovey—a murderer!"

The Skipper and the Professor rushed to the Howells' side. "Mr. Howell, what's the matter?" said the Skipper.

"Oh, Skipper, oh, Professor," replied Mrs. Howell, "the most terrible thing has happened. Thurston told me—oh, I can't bring myself to say it!"

She pointed at the ground where the pieces of money lay. The Skipper and the Professor picked up some of the pieces and looked them over.

"It looks like a hundred dollar bill—torn to shreds," said the Professor.

The Skipper looked at Mr. Howell in shock. "You tore up money?"

"I didn't mean to do it!" wailed Mr. Howell. "I didn't want to do it! But I couldn't stop myself!"

"But why?" said the Skipper. "Why did you do it?"

"GILLIGAN TOLD ME TO!"

"Gilligan?' said an astonished Professor.

"He told you to?" said an equally astonished Skipper.

"First, he told me to give it to him, and then he told me to tear it up! And I did both those things! I couldn't help myself! I had to do what he said!"

"There's no way that Mr. Howell would tear up money!" said the Skipper to the Professor. "You can't tell me that some guilty conscience thing made him do that!"

"You may be right, Skipper," replied the Professor. "It's becoming apparent that my original hypothesis was in error. This bears further investigation. We need to find Gilligan."

**********************************************

Gilligan was relaxing in one of the lounge chairs made out of bamboo and palm fronds. He smiled as Ginger, still nude, massaged his neck and shoulders. He sipped a drink from a bamboo tumbler that Ginger had brought him, them looked up at her.

"Golly, Ginger—that was a really great thing you did earlier."

"Thank you, Gilligan. It was my pleasure."

"Do you know any other neat tricks like that?"

"Lots of them. I'd be more than happy to show you."

"That would be great. But for now, keep, rubbing my neck."

"Whatever you say, Gilligan."

"Gilligan? Ginger?"

Gilligan opened his eyes and turned his head towards the new voice.

"Oh, hi, Mary Ann. How are you today?"

Mary Ann stepped slowly towards Gilligan and Ginger, her eyes almost as wide open as her mouth. She looked at each of them in turn, and she could barely blink or draw a breath. It was almost a minute before she spoke again.

"Ginger—what are you doing? What is going on here?"

"Oh, it's all right," said Gilligan, "Ginger just thinks I'm the most handsome man she's ever met."

"She does?"

"And now she's irresistibly attracted to me."

"She—she is?"

"And now you think I'm the most handsome man you've ever met. And now you're irresistibly attracted to me."

Immediately Mary Ann began to breathe more easily. Her face softened, and a smile came to her lips.

"Oh, my—Gilligan."

"What would you like to do for me?"

"Whatever you want, Gilligan."

"Okay—why don't you take your clothes off for me?"