“Please, Señor, I don’t want to be a donkey!” How many times has Dr. Sanchez heard that from a Pleasure Island escapee? Begging for mercy while pleading poverty isn’t going to sway the vet—to him, they’re just a bunch of stinking animals.
Initially, WigWag and TicTac thought their penis cages were a hoot. But when they discovered the ingenious devices were tamper-proof, could fry their do-dads with a powerful electric charge, and be used to punish other bad behavior, they were truly “shocked”.
After Mooner and Banjo got fully donked, they ended up spending the rest of their lives carrying fat American tourists up the mountain sides of some rocky Greek island. Ironically, their Pleasure Island getaway was the first time that either of them had set foot abroad.
Vanity, thy name is donk. Pleasure Island guests can’t stop checking themselves out after they’ve gotten their sassy new tails. Fortunately, the park is full of fun house mirrors and shiny surfaces for them to gaze into. And in a pinch, a puddle of tears does the trick.
Often when a Pleasure Island escapee arrives at a Tijuana clinic, he discovers that while tail docking is cheap, it’s the anesthesia that costs you. Any donk that has undergone the procedure will tell you that the concept of animals not feeling pain is a big fat lie.
Unlike Noah’s Ark, where the animals are paired off for the purpose of procreation, the Pleasure Island donks are partnered because it takes an even number to pull the Coachman’s wagon.
Young gringos know where to go south of the border to get their donkey shots. Mexican doctors are just as good as those in the US, except they don’t accept insurance. They also ask fewer questions and are less concerned about trivial side effects.
Pleasure Island uses “The buddy system” - a wickedly ingenious arrangement where two donks, the "buddies", are paired so they can monitor and inform on each other. It’s an effective way to ensure good behavior because if one ‘buddy’ is naughty, both get punished.
“Double your pleasure, double your fun.” I always buy donks in pairs because it amuses me to have them compete to retain the last shreds of their humanity. Eventually, they always end up turning on one another— claiming their buddy deserves to be “hooved” instead of them.
In the back areas of Pleasure Island that the public never sees, there is a mountain of smartphones belonging to the former ‘guests’. I’m surprised a wily entrepreneur like the Coachman isn’t selling them as a side hustle; he’d make a pretty penny.
The first thing a bro does when he gets his tail is try to post a selfie on Instagram. Unfortunately, the Pleasure Island Wi-Fi is as spotty as a donkey’s dongle. Their girlfriends and buds back home will never see the carefree, early stages of their donkification.
Box of heart candy themed to saying related to donkeys. Big yellow heart on the box that says cute bray.
Come pick up our special love themed candy being distributed all over the island today.And don’t forget they sponsor our annual Valentine date night gala later tonight. Who’s all coming with, or to find there one true Sweethawwt? #pleasureisland
A Pleasure Island Donkey Show is nothing like the infamous ones they have in Tijuana, although the grand finale does have an overly excited and freshly tf’d donkey boy spunking a giant load all over the audience. It’s kind of similar to attending a Gallagher performance.
It’s true, Pleasure Island does have a fly problem. And not just the common housefly, but horseflies, the kind that have a penchant for biting donkeyboys in their sensitive parts. I suspect these ferocious insects are attracted to the scent of Axe Body Spray and panic.
I’m more jealous for the food
It’s always nice to spot a familiar face like @mrkristofer.bsky.social when I visit Pleasure Island. Here he is welcoming party boys with complimentary cigars. Although between you and me, I’m not sure whether he is management or livestock.
I find it curious that the preferred brand of stogie among Pleasure Island donks is Blammo Reliable Exploding Cigars. I mean, the name says it all, right? Besides, I think they smell like satan’s asshole. I’ll stick with my mood-elevating gummies and edibles, thank you.
This old chestnut from the early 2000s is a memory of two brothers, Mike and Mark, I once worked with. They’re probably out there somewhere today, grey-haired, with college-age sons of their own. I prefer to think of them living “pants-free” and smoking stogies on Pleasure Island.
On this year’s Pleasure Island getaway, I noticed a number of tech bros added to the usual mix of frat boys and bachelor party-goers. Rumor has it that one of the island’s old salt mines is being turned into a data center powered by donk shit, which PI has in vast amounts.
Logan had never left the States until that one wild vacation to Pleasure Island. How a gringo ended up being a cruel luchador’s pony slave south of the border is a mystery. Perhaps he escaped, perhaps he was sold. Sadly, he can’t tell his story because he’s just a dumb animal now.
The other Darrin with donk ears in the leprechaun episode was even better.
There’s nowhere for the freshly donked to escape to if they decide that a life in the Pleasure Island salt mines isn’t for them. After a night or two trying to eat thistles and hearing the local wolves get closer and closer, they’re ready to surrender to animal control.
A few of Pleasure Island’s “guests” end up being park “employees” instead of being sent to the salt mines. They work the concessions and pick up all the endless piles of donk shit. The biggest ones, football player types, even help wrangle their freshly transformed brethren.
Whenever I visit Pleasure Island I always make sure I leave with a big jar full of donkey sauce—it makes an excellent face moisturizer, which is how I maintain my youthful good looks. Some of the vendors even let you milk it fresh from the animal.
I always make sure to take in a Donkey Show whenever I visit Pleasure Island. Last year I saw a drunk finance bro win the the title of Mr. Bouncy Balls. Gosh, he was proud of his swollen orbs, each the size of a cantaloupe. I wonder if he was allowed to keep them.
Foreboding reminder harvest time approaches for coachman as holidays arrive.
The dress code on Pleasure Island is decidedly casual. Sweatpants roomy enough for a big fat donkey dong are popular. As are union suits with their convenient back doors that can accommodate a tail. Going pants-free is perfectly acceptable.
I’ve packed my bags and am on my way for a week’s vacation on Pleasure Island— just in time for the annual running of the donkey boys. Unfortunately, I won’t have time for day trips to The Island of Dr. Moreau or Circe’s Isle, even though they’re in the same neighborhood.
