They look angry. What will you do?>


    I'd recognize the tribe as the long-lost Commiecoms, who gave up
    individual possession and display of wealth, rejected
    materialistic culture, especially television, loaded up their
    outriggers and sailed off into the sunset sometime ago.
    Realizing their anger was directed at my beads, I'd take them
    off and cast them into the ocean, never to be found.  Then I'd
    cap the Chivas, take a swig, and pass the bottle.  They'd grin,
    go get bottles of their potent island rum, paint my face with
    tribal emblems, roast a pig, and have a party.  In the morning,
    they'd show me the collective's wordprocessing center, art
    center, photolab, etc.  and tell me afternoons were mine to play
    there.  Mornings had to be spent working in fields, diving for
    pearls to trade for art supplies, etc.  I'd put on a loloth,
    join the tribe, and learn to surf.
