Fucking island. Fucking island, fucking dinosaurs, fucking everything right up the ass. Chuck was not a happy camper to say the least, dirty and uncomfortable and bruised and probably bleeding, or maybe not anymore. He wasn't seriously wounded so much as patterned and mildly gnawed upon. He couldn't, however, find it in himself to bitch about the ( Read more... )

Between Jim, the discovery that the only booze on the island sucked ass, and the still-lingering emotional bruises brought on by the fact that he couldn't even bring himself to be okay with his own slightly unacceptable habits, Chuck was not at his best, indicated by his surly expression and the angry way he was biting his sandwich. Granted, Chuck ( Read more... )