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Twas a festive weekend of the Survivor cattilion...a trust fund debutante and poor Dutch ship stowaway made plans to attend the grand ball.
Knowing glances were exchanged....kisses indulged....then....THE INEVITABLE BETRAYAL.
Alliances were broken...cocktails consumed....words exchanged....locks changed.
The white glove slap on the cheek occured......TIKKIES WERE SNATCHED.

The Dutch immigrant boy is ruthlessly and cold heartedly cast into the street by Lord MPee....only the orphanage hostel will take the young boy on such short notie...

...the bitter North Easter winds nip at his cheeks....frostbite is inneviteale....followed by CERTAIN DEATH.


A socialite asexual from the big city takes pity on the poor lad....orders his chauffer to carry the dutch boy back to his penthouse where he is brought back to life with lemondrop martinis.

The following day, at the re-union....SABERS ARE BARED.
"Fuck you" is whispered....as sure as the mafia kiss of death.

Twas the best and worst of times.