Disclaimer: I am not William Golding; I don't own these rights; I'm not getting paid for this; I'm a little bitty baby of 15; I don't own the Thigh master.

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Once upon a time, several naughty, naughty boys were stranded on an island.

Ralph peeked up from the stick he was trapped under and shouted, "Blimey! Lookie, here, us trapped on an island and whatnot."

His thoroughly British shouts of amazement awoke Piggy, the fatty who had crushed an entire prickle bush, and as Ralph got up and began exploring, Piggy lumbered after, crushing more foliage as he went.

"Wait up, there," Piggy grunted. "I've got what we call the ass-mar."

Ralph turned to see the flabby mess of sweat and recoiled. "That have anything to do with your actual ass?" he asked.

"No," sighed Piggy, "It means I'm utterly unhelpful in every way. I can barely walk without gasping for breath."

"Perhaps you should spend a little more time on the Thigh-Master," suggested Ralph helpfully.

Piggy grabbed Ralph's shoulders in an uncomfortable way. "Thigh-Master? Thigh-Master? We're at war, man!"

Ralph shrugged off Piggy's grip and replied by taking off all of his clothing.

Piggy nodded. "Perhaps I ought to try out some of your workouts," he concurred. "I stand corrected."

"I'm Ralph," said he. "What's your name?"

"It's most definitely not Piggy," said Piggy. "Call me Joe or Bob or Bill, but my name is NOT, under any circumstance, by any stretch of the imagination, Piggy."

"All right, Piggy," said Ralph absently. He found his knickers and replaced them, along with the rest of his clothing.

Something glinting in the distance caught Ralph's eye. "Say, what do you think that is down there?" he asked the fatty formerly known as Piggy.

"I can't quite say, but is certainly is shiny," said Piggy.

Ralph looked at him, disappointedly.

"What?" Piggy whined.

Ralph shook his head and moved his way to the beach. "And you're supposed to be the smart one."