A Raft Of Nonsense

Troy plopped a sorry oar limply into a tiny bit of the huge expanse of Ocean. Jeff was at the fore of the ramshackle vessel with a hollowed out tree branch at one eye as a sort of improptue telescope trying to spot land or a bigger, safer boat. Troy was thinking that Jeff was taking this business a bit seriously and had installed himself as Captain without a vote being taken over who should lead this little crew of drifting aimlessness, Troy didn't like this undemocratic approach to deciding the heirarchy of an ocean going vessel, even one as crappily built and unseaworthy as this one.
Troy didn't like rowing as much as being on landwatch but these were extremely testing circumstances and he accepted that between himself and Jeff they'd have to pool their resources and energies if they were to escape a horrid watery fate.
Jeff had only taken up the observation post a short while ago so Troy would just have to get comfy and try to make the best of a long stint of rowing.
Troy hadn't slept in days but when he finished his stint on the makeshift telescope all he'd seen was the flag they created when they'd first been shipwrecked all those months ago in order to attract passing ships and that was if he squinted.
That had been a bit emotionally exhausting and now with the prospect of rowing for hours while Captain Pugwash over there barked orders at him made him feel really very pissed off. He really hated rowing.
Troy started to ponder how much he looked like a character from a book with his clothes all torn and dirty and his hair and beard straggly, knotted and sandlogged when he heard Jeff start shouting and waving his arms about furiously. Troy worked out that he had drifted into a sort of daydream while he'd been drifting on the ocean like a bottle with a message in it from Sting, probably about the smegging rainforest, and Jeff was actually shouting at him.
"I think I see something, quick, turn the boat to Starboard."
"Starboard." Jeff really had gone to a very dark, nautical place that Troy didn't like at all.
"Yeah, left. You know turn Starboard."
"What do you mean turn. This is a bloody raft made of rotten wood and vines not a racing speedboat."
"Just try your best. Look over there, I'm sure I saw something."
"Right skipper."
Troy tried in vain to steer the little craft to turn about but the ocean didn't seem to want to play ball and in the absence of anything resembling a rudder or even masts Jeff was forced to shift his seating position in order to save the sploshing, thrashing, ineffectual attempts at manuveouring a raft.
"No, whatever it was it's gone. You were to slow."
"Too slow. What was it, fucking Concorde, the Space Shuttle, The Ghost of Donald Campbell?"
"What would fucking concorde be doing in the sea?"
"What are we doing in the sea?"
"Not very well obviously. It's been four and a half days and we've not seen any signs of Humanity."
"Humanity. I'd settle for an inflattable party banana."
"A What?"
"You know? Like you get in Ibiza and what not. For riding on and such, when you've got a hangover."
"Oh. Well that probably wouldn't be much help. Anyway enough silly talk, I'm hungry. How many Rolos do we have left?"
"Erm. two. Well one each."
"That's fair, I'll have mine now if you don't mind."
"Aah you see, there is a slight problem. If you have a Rolo now and I've got the last one I'll have to give it to you. That's the law with Rolos."
"Are you sure? Are we really that close?"
"You're the only person I've seen in four years, were alone in the middle of six million gallons of water and as far as I know you're the only person I can be sure is alive. You're as close to my best friend as I've got right now."
"What kind of babbling bullshit was that?"
"Well if I can't see anyone else, ergo there might not be anyone else."
"That's all a bit Schroedigger's cat."
Troy hit Jeff viciously in his head with his paddle, rolled his lifeless body into the vast ocean and had both Rolos.
Troy was saved later by a Japanese whaling ship and despite his liberal tendencies accept a free ride, a warm blanket and a Dr. Pepper.
As he rested in his lovely bunk recuperating he mulled over his recent sea bound adventure and came to three conclusions.
One. Whalers, despite what Greenpeace say were actually very nice people and very accomadating to people they'd saved from bobbing up and down endlessly on a rubbish little raft.
Two. It was lucky he'd killed Jeff in international waters and the authorities were undecided over who had jurisdiction over the little piece of water that was the spot of the unfortunate incident and a quirk of maritime law said that Troy had technically commited no crime.
And three. Yes, Troy decided, he was a little bit big country.