Stranded

"Given a choice between being trapped on a desert island with a group of writers or a family of howler monkeys, I think I'd pick the monkeys. At least I could eat them." -- Anthony Bourdain, The Nasty Bits

I adore Anthony Bourdain. He's such a black-hearted thug, but Christ, can he write. He also gets to travel the world in search of wonderful food. That's why I picked him as the currently living writer I am most jealous of over at Raine's discussion on green-eyed monsters over at the Chicas blog.

But envy and admiration aside, would I want to be stranded on a deserted island with Mr. Bourdain? Sure, as long as I hunt and gather, and he cooks. This is because one of my definitions of hell would be my guy coming home one day and saying, "Honey, I met that No Reservations guy downtown, and told him how much you like his books, so he's going to drop by for dinner." If that ever happened, well, I own some very sharp carbon steel kitchen knives, and I know where my carotid and femoral arteries are.

The quotation did get me thinking about with whom I would not want to be stranded. Obviously any cannibals would have to go, as would certain radio talk show personalities (unless I could toss them to the cannibals.) But out of all the writers I've met either in person or online over the last ten years, there are only four I would immediately vote off my deserted island. I can think of many more writers with whom I'd never mind being stranded. Start that list with any name on my blog roll over there -->

How about you guys? How many writers do you think you'd have to kick off your island?