At least I’m consistant… 
Boo! Spoilsport! I was gonna use it for amusing vomit sculptures later after I drink too much sea water…
Gangs and stereotypes will form, and those who don’t want to join groups will get hunted down by the more aggressive gangs when food is scarce. Shouts of “Kill the loner! Cut his throat! Drink his blood!” will dot the island. In the meantime, some gangs will start to live underground, others in trees, others in the water and the rest in fear.
Fear? Whazzat?
::grabs pointy stick::
::beats chest furiously::
Primal scream gives everyone goosebumps…
RAR!!
Well it is with great relief that i have found out this fascinating piece of news: I will not be the primary suspect if someone gets eaten. Nice to know.
The first thing i would do is hunt down the guy-i think it was attrayant-who started the 'My bladder knows im home’thread and give him one hell of a hug for making me laugh out my spleen. As a result of that thread, my village chief put me on probation for laughing during the festival of peace and harmony.
By the way, am i the only one who thinks Collunsbury(sp)would be our leader?And TVAA would be his celebral deputy.Well, they got my vote anyway.
I’d immediately start looking for a tall black obelisk apparently made of obsidian, then just wait to out-evolve everybody else.
I’d keep the “tribe history”… I’d record each person’s profile on its own leaf, and people would come from all over the island to laugh hysterically at the “Cave Wall -O- Flames” … I’d start a vegetarian commune at one end of the island.
Uhhggg. Vegans no taste good. Too lean. Must find more meat.
Just trying to get in touch with my inner caveman. Sooooo, who do I have to eat to gain immunity? I mean what, not who, what. Bah!!
Picks up a pointy stick and goes to find Richard
To solve the “Who is Cecil question?” we would gather in a great circle and ask the two men questions. The first one to deliver a wrong answer will be the first on the barbie.
As to the hierarchy, Cecil of course, would be God (His title simply being ‘The Cecil’). The admins would form the second tier and the mods would form the third tier of the hierarchy with Lynn Bodoni handling all matters relating to discipline (possibly with assitance from Badge, although I haven’t seen him around lately). Kind of like what Terrifel mentioned.
In regards to technology, it really depends on how much of our personal effects came with us. Surely, if we were transported over with our clothes (I can see pros and cons to that scenario), the contents of our pockets would have come along too (In which case we are guaranteed a mini-Swiss Army Knife, Mini-Mag, 2 meter tape measure, pen, and Preferred Shopper’s cards for Wise and Giant). Eventually, some techie Doper would figure a way to link all the cell phones together and make a super-computer. Honestly, I don’t know what we’d do with Deep Thought, which is what we’d call it, but we’d have it!
As for me, I’m moderately un-skilled (I have no trade of my own to ply) and would apprentice myself out to one of the skilled Dopers. Although, I would more than willingly set up an entertainment booth where people would throw ducks at balloons and nothing would be the way it seemed.
Of course, I would spend my free time as a proud member of Fern Forest’s Tropical Recitation Society. My speciality would most likely be Star Wars, but I would be competent in Simpsons, The Next Generation, Search for the Holy Grail, and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
I tend to agree with stolichnaya, that the Island of SDMB (not to be confused with the Island of BDSM) would rise to be a political/economical/military power within 150 years.
Hmm…the more I read about this, the better it sounds… why do we have to wait to be teleported to the island? Let’s all just move to Iceland or somewhere and kick the locals out! It’d be perfect, what with all the pre-existing infrastructure that we could improve upon…
At some point, an intrepid group of Dopers would convene to produce a calendar. A combination beefcake/cheesecake calendar.
I would have to be on the Entertainment Committee (“Cult Movies” Subcommittee). First production: “Withnail & I,” as staged by all the Dopers who not only love this movie, but have memorized literally every word of dialogue in it. Being female (and perhaps the only one associated with this dubious enterprise), I might have to settle for playing Farmer Parkin’s mother and Mrs. Blemerhassett. Now, who’s up for the male leads?
Seeing as how we’d all finally be “in the same boat,” so to speak, we “Withnail-ers” could stage the show repeatedly until everyone else has finally seen it.
Hello, Ms** Scrivener**…thank you for seeing me. I’ll be reading for the part of Danny…
Ahem…
Sit down man…find your neutral space. You have done something to your brain…you have made it high. If I lay 10 mils of Diazepam on you, you will do something else to your brain…you will make it low. Why trust one drug and not the other? That’s politics, innit?
Well, thanks again. You have my contact information…oh, and here are some headshots.
Ta!
BTW, there is one more part for you…provided you can belt out a good “Up yours, granddad!!”
Philosophy and religion would be shattered. Rumors of Descartes’ demon creating everything in front of us would run rampant among Dopers while while phlsophr scribbled madly in the sand with a stick, failing miserably to reconstruct syllogisms that used to point towards the rationality of belief in God, many of their premises now being broken. Dopers would realize that they had no firm grip on reality in the past, if that really existed, and the new reality for some would be The Island. The only question being, “Is a bigger island possible?”
Many would speculate that the Second Coming had happened, only God had broken his promise never to flood the Earth again. Only Dopers were saved, the island was the only dry land, and Cecil Adams was Christs’ second incarnation.
Worst of all, many would fear, is that Freud is not a quack. Religion really is an illusion.
While you are all figuring that out, I believe I am the only qualified Master Helmsman on the board, so I will build my boat, gather up the other doper military members, and assume my duties as coxswain. After/if I find land, it would only be logical for me to not come back, because as we all know of Plato’s allegory, you would just kill me anyways.