"Your logic is flawed," Bob said. "First of all, who the hell wants to eat a bunch of little red tits. Secondly, a cumquat would also have to smell like a vagina. Do you really think a five-star chef would want his desserts smelling like a woman's crotch? And Jesus H. Christ, I keep telling you that pistachios aren't fruit. God dammit."
Joe nodded. "You're right as usual, Bob."
Bob smiled knowingly. He knew that Joe would come to understand the injustice of treating fruit and nuts simply as sex objects.
Three days later Joe and Bob saw something floating in the water. It was a white object about the size of a coconut, and it was heading straight towards the island. The sunlight was glistening off the object's surface, as if it were coated with glass.
"Just what we needed," Joe complained, "A fossilized woolly mammoth testicle."
"No, you moron, that's a brand new ball of string!" Bob swam out to the ball to retrieve it. Just as Bob thought, it was a ball of string, still wrapped in plastic, obviously dumped in the water by some string-hating bastard.
Bob put his hands around the tree, preparing to climb it. "Help me break off some branches."
Joe's face turned red. "Break the branches?! Are you crazy? That's our food up there."
"To make a raft, you idiot." Bob climbed to the top of the tree. He began wiggling a large branch back and forth to snap it off the trunk.
"But what if the raft sinks? What are we going to eat then?" Joe whined.
Bob shook his head. "I'll tell you what. If the raft sinks, and we're all out of coconuts, you can have my right arm. That'll keep you alive another thirteen days, at least."
"How are you going to serve it to me?" Joe asked.
"What?" Bob grimaced. His ass itched.
"Your arm. How are you going to serve it to me?"
