"Gilligan," Gilligan said to himself as he refastened the palm leaves to the roof, "pay attention! Gilligan, do this, that, that, this, this-- where was I? Oh. And that. Gilligan, listen to the Skipper, listen to Mr. and Mrs. Howell, listen to the Professor, and Mary Anne, and Ginger. Gilligan, Gilligan, Gilligan." He pulled the vines into a taut knot and breathed heavily, momentarily winded from talking.

"No, Skipper, you're not gaining weight just 'cause your pants busted," Gilligan faltered, "And you really are a great skipper, Skipper…"

Gilligan hastened on, "Yes, Professor, that's a good idea…" he paused, then trailed off with, "even if I don't get it. Heh." Gilligan got his anger back on track, "Sure I'll carry that golf bag for you, Mr. Howell, and sweep your hut, Mrs. Howell. I mean, you are like parents to me and--" Gilligan blinked, shook his head, continued angrily, "And I'll gather all the ingredients for your pie, Mary Anne." He trailed off thoughtlessly again, "Mmm, Mary Anne's pies sure taste good. Boy, they'd be real tasty right about now--"

He quickly remembered to be mad, "Yes, I'll clean all your dresses, Ginger!" he grinned gently, "Except the one you're wearing."

Gilligan's rage came back with a vengeance, "I'll be glad to do all your chores, everybody! Why wouldn't I be! I'm Gilligan, and that's what Gilligan is here for!" He shimmied off the roof, dropping to the sand, awkwardly. "Even though it's always 'Gilligan, you're wrong!' and 'Gilligan, you sure messed it up this time!' and 'Again, Gilligan!?' Well, you--you all, are...!"

Gilligan breathed heavily as he straightened the bamboo poles, "…Not that bad. My best friends. But I sure wish you knew that just 'cause I'm clumsy ol' Gilligan doesn't mean," he studied the bamboo with consideration, grabbed a hammer and started tapping the pole with it, "I'll mess everything up!"

There was a sickening crack as the hammer split the bamboo, and Gilligan watched with tired resignation as the hut fell to the ground.