Q: What is an island off of New York?

A: There are a few islands which lie off of New York, but there is none greater than the island where I live. My island is home to the finest artists, writers, actors, directors, scholars, philosophers, singers, crime-fighters, dancers, grifters and comedians in the world.

The people of my island, the creative ones I mentioned above, and the people beneath them, the models and clerks and managers and supervisors and electricians and cab-drivers and baristas and salesmen, and the people beneath them, the thugs and trainers and lawyers and street people and cannibals and mad scientists, are the most handsome people in the world. They say it has something to do with the water. You can't throw a rock on my island without hitting someone extremely attractive. You should not throw that rock; despite appearances, the people of my island can fight. And they will. And only to the death.

There is never a dull conversation among the people of my island, never a misspoken word or an ill-advised or poorly timed joke, or even an awkward pause. Everyone here is remarkably charming. Our candidates for office don't make speeches; that would be tacky, and everyone knows what they stand for anyway, as every citizen of my island stands for the same things: Truth. Honor. Naps.

Naps are mandatory on my island, both before and after lunch, and on Mondays and Thursdays, during. Naps may be received as gifts - they are the only gifts allowed by law - but it is illegal to give a nap as a gift. Christmas has become the most dangerous day on island, and fewer survive it each year.

The mortality rate on my island is high, very near one hundred percent. According to the last census, conducted this morning, I am the sole living person. It didn't always used to be this way. Originally, there were two of us, but after we rowed far enough out to sea and finished securing the shoreline, I killed Chet. He made fun of me for talking to the pretty corpses. For the record, I wasn't talking to them; I'm not crazy. I was making them talk to each other. It's exhausting work - there's so many of them - requiring frequent naps.

My island is made of corpses. Entirely so. You probably guessed from the smell. Despite the smell and the bloating and the carrion, my island is lovely. That's why I call Lovely Island. Feel free to dock here and come ashore.

And you can't hear me.

Maybe the next boat will be closer. I hope so. I'm very lonely. And I could use some help with the female voices.