Episode Seven: In Which We Are Bored and Unsettled, and Nobody Gets a Damn Cookie
by Wheezus
Okay, fine. Previously, on…SURVIVOR:
Backfat. Long dangly oobies. An embarrassing assortment of headgear. LAmy wears a Glennie hat. An Atlas-sized ball manipulation with hotdogs as a reward for NotBJ. BobbyJon and Jamie fighting for the title of Captain Caveman. Judd’s the stud of the jungle *yawn* again. Best. Tribal Council. Ever. Rafe betrays his new tribe by giving immunity to one of the strongest players (you know, Rafe should star in his own comic strip, he’s just that crazynuts-dot-com). No love is lost as Nurse Margrit haughtily bids adieu and heads back to M*A*S*H. The BJs’ love-fest contributes to global warming as they kissed fair Brian, prince of flutterbyes and bumblefuck strategery, goodbye.
Eleven are left. Who will be voted out tonight?
*cue the music*
We pan once again over the majestic ancient ruins of the Mayans, the lush beauty of
Our helicopter (o-ho! You didn’t know I had a helicopter, did you) hovers over the figure. I climb into the n’awlins rescue cage and lower myself down to get a closer look. The figure shouts at me, “Get that whirly-bird out of here! It’s wrecking my hair!”
That voice -- it echoes like a purple rock dropped in a tin can -- you know, one of those big Bush’s Baked Beans cans, the giant five pound cowboy size. Empty of course. Oh yes, I know that voice.
And so do you.
Suddenly, from behind a stone altar she takes someone by the ear, frog-marches him to the steps of the ruins on which they perch, and pushes him to his seat on the top step.
“Thirty-seven minutes, Judd. One minute for each time you took the Lord’s name in vain on last week’s show.”
“But—“
“Ut-ut-ut! We don’t talk in time-out. Now where’s Margrit? Not gone already! She gets a self-control cookie.” Glennie hoists a case of water bottles over her shoulder and disappears, her shuffling gait like that of a hunchback, from sight. But the Glennie, she sees all, knows all. I’m afraid we haven’t seen the end of her.
Survivor
Commercials: Glennie, driving in the rain for GM, maintaining (self-)control. Mr. Glennie, for Chase credit card, loving the double (huh?). Cascade and Dawn, in an incestuous relationship of cleanliness inside two-in-one action packs; JCPenny reminds us it’s all inside, and there’s a big sale Saturday with *gulp* bonus coupons, so I’m reminding you to stay away from the mall; Bubbles in a tree for Cingular, and what looks like the DC Cherry Blossom Festival; Star Wars, Episode Three, which is also Episode Six, or Nine, if you include the remakes with new improved animated Jabba. Something else scary, with flying discs and fake skyscrapers and national monuments breaking apart with what appears to be a promotion for NOLA flooding.
It’s a full moon over Maya-mi, ants and small rodents get busy, and spooky Halloween music moans in the background. The NotBJs are back at camp and Judd thanks the Lord and all his minions for their compliance with his plan to oust the evil Margrit. He assures them his ‘bark ain’t as big as his bite, man, and that’s damn true.’ Which is somewhat unsettling. Margrit just pushed his buttons, he said, pushing and pushing and pushing *pant* until he “kinda had a little outburst,” so he had to put her in her place. Which, I’m guessing, is on the bottom, handcuffed to the...something. Which also, he points out, was the weakness of the Clenis. Except not quite so Oedipal. “She used to be the Mom, but now? I’m laughing my ass to the bank and she’s making chicken wings.”
Judd stands in the dark with his babushka on his big dopey head and tries to convince us that he’s not really mean like that, he’s really happy all day -- a big teddy bear. But then his inner Chuckie comes out again, saying he’s not gonna take any crap like some wuss.
Jamie confesses that Judd’s a big guy with a big voice, and that he huffs and puffs but Jamie’s house is made of bricks and he’s not nervous. He wants to keep Judd close because Judd’s “gonna keep blowing up,” and Jamie wants to be there for it. He comes up with the brilliant idea that he’ll be taking Judd to the finals, which will get him (Jamie) all the votes. Translation: Cindy’s our winner, folks.
Through the magic of time, space and camera, we arrive at Day 16 at
Meanwhile, Danni is so cold. Can’t imagine why. It’s not like she has any FAT to keep her warm in the chill of the night, being how she’s completely caving in from starvation. What is the freezing point of saline, wonders me.
Finally, daylight. Amy grosses out at
Wheezus Confessional: I heart
We cut unsettlingly to the reward challenge, with no tree mail. Well of course not. What can be said about the STUPIDEST. REWARD CHALLENGE. EVER. So, to make this as agonizing for you as it is for me, I find my self at an ad-lib:
Four tribe members are going to rap, says Jiffy, a little something like dis:
Run like a ho to the po’ with the blue stuff
Roll yo’self up, yo whazzup, so you look tuff
Go po’ to po’, til you know you got ‘em all puffed
Work it back witchu, don’ be a foo’, jus’ undo, and run like hell back to the mat. Sho’ nuff.
[/whitegirl rapper]
Oh wait, he said wrap. Back to the stupidest challenge ever. My kids wouldn’t even do this for fun.
Today’s aMAYAzing special reward: apparently the Mayans discovered chocolate (yeah, right), as evidenced by the highly popular Mayan-Hershey bar, which was first produced in the year 614 in
Each team will have one whine-Der and four whine-Ds, yo. DJ Jazzy Jeff gives the instructions which are so asinine, so boring, so insultingly pathetic for this challenge, instead of what could have been a wonderful bondage scene, that I cannot bear to listen or write them down.
Note: In case I didn’t make it clear, this isn’t even sexy. Smelly Gary and Brandon wrapped in blue tape? Steph and
They whined and whined themselves around; somebody I’m too lazy to mention is helping; blah blah blah...dead even at the fourth pole.
If I say it’s a tight race, would you laugh? Nevermind.
The lead changes as the unwinding begins, but eventually the NotBJs fall down and can’t get back up, and the BJs win reward. The NotBJs get Not-chocolate. “I got nothing for you, you sad sack of idiots,” says Jazzy Jeff. The NotBJs are growing accustomed to, and indeed, have begun to look forward to, the reprimand, and I? Think they threw the challenge because of it.
Commercials: Zathura, a great movie preview, supposedly the sequel to Jumanji, without the benefit of Robin Williams. I must tell you that I have personally spent time with the author of the book Jumanji, who happens to be the same author as The Polar Express, one Chris Van Allsburg, who incidentally, grew up 30 miles from where non-professional landscaper Gary Hawkins lives; Moving right along to It, it it it it it it it it, along with some 60s song that Glennie knows by heart and sings in the beauty shop when she thinks she’s alone. All I know is that I wouldn’t wear the IT dress, not even to be the It-girl; Monster sale at Sears; a man screaming at the Post Office, going postal for T-Mobile; a nasally woman for Zicam, which, in my humble opinion, makes you feel worse; Vampire bats on campus with Lucy Lawless, this Sunday.
And we’re back.
The BJs first go to the zip line reward. Grackles screech overhead, which can only be bad news. I wait for my neighbor to shout, “SHUT UP!!” but no, it is not meant to be. Amy’s on the zip line. “What if I get stuck in the middle?” “You won’t.” “I won’t?” Is she the biggest retard ever? Yes, yes she is. Howler monkey in the background, hootin’ and hollerin’ at her. Hi, she’s a police officer, and she’s afraid of ev.ery.thing. We get gratuitous crotch shots of everyone, none really worth commenting about. BJ feels majestic (he’s SUCH a nice boy, isn’t he?); Unprofessional Gary zips like a pro but HE ISN’T, OKAY?!
At NotBJ, Rafe is being four. He writes his numbers on leaves, and the NotBJs sit and play pinochle.
The BJs decide to go visiting, a first for Survivor. They prep themselves, citing no negative talk, and they want to be nice.
They glide up to the NotBJ dock and start hollering. The NotBJs grumble, showing again their elegant sportsmanships. It’s a pool party, and Danni’s birthday. Sidenote: Man, these chumps are all beat to shit from that Atlas ball. Everybody’s skin is absolutely cheese-grated.
Reluctantly, the NotBJs decide to join the BJs, and Danni, in confessional, twirls her hair up near her enormous, plastic, uh, cowboy hat as she talks about how big she is on birthday parties. Funny about those oobs, isn’t it?
Cindy took her braids out, and now she’s just Cindy no-Braidy. Or Oliver. You decide. She confesses, “Why would I want to spend time with the people we want to get rid of?” Uhm…Cindy? Hi. You're an idiot.
The two parties arrive at the BJ camp and -- OH MY GOD!!!!
Judd’s standing in his underwear with his shorts stuck around his ankles. I can’t believe I didn’t see this corpse-fucking opportunity coming. I need a moment.
They share the left-over chocolate.
“Today is just about fellowship,” says the Reverend BobbyJon. He tells a history lesson to the camera about ancient Mayan Chiefs who would get together and sit and smoke, and then be at war later on. Glennie would approve. Except, of course, for Judd’s sopping underwear in his crack, because we don’t DO that. Oh, and the smoking. But she’s all about the fellowship and war.
Jamie is sick that they all get along so well. He’s the “I’m not getting enough attention” sportsmanship of the family, and it’s time for him to demand they all go back. “I’m here for business,” he says in one of the few times you can understand him. “And everyone else should be also.”
Steph says she thinks Jamie is shady, and that he is “losin’ it in
Commercials: Olay Quench, for dry winter skin, which we don’t have in Arizona—we have dry skin all year ‘round; Some hollering Army doods for Tide Stain Stick, wishing they had actual ARMOR rather than a silly stick to remove their shit stains due to not having enough armor; a photographer for Claritin Clear; Starwars Battlefront 2, which Wheezyboy has pre-ordered; Threshold, which seems like it needs another ‘h’; NUMB3RS – oh, I get it now – that’s code for something; Prince Charles on 60 Minutes, Sunday; Amazing Race, some girl group excited about sticking together; Jack Hannah on Letterman; a three-second spot for Fulton Homes; a big ol’ pork sandwich for Arby’s; Robinson’s May for a sale on clothes, furniture, and whatever the hell else they sell; some kid having to pee in a cup for the chance to drive his dad’s Toyota Tacoma; Dreamer, the movie with that evil little girl Dakota Fanning; MY LOCAL MEDIOCRE NEWS, reporting about a commune in the desert. Idiots.
And we’re back, with birds feeding each other little squirmy green pieces of chocolate.
Also at BJ, LAmy’s in the jungle tawkin’ to the Hawkins, and we get our first Survivor stalker/death threat.
LAmy: I think what we really need is good momentum. And what we reallyreally need, whoo-ha, is options. If we don’t win immunity, we’re screwed. And what we reallyreallyreally need is not to get screwed.
LAmy: If we don’t FRIGGIN’ win immunity, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t lie about anything, right, I’m just gonna…you can lie, but I’ll kick your ass afterward! I’M GONNA FIND YOU IN
Uh-huh.
“If
Gary confesses, “I’m trying to keep a straight face, I’m trying not to let her read me, because she thinks she can read people so well, but she’s not gonna find a Gary Hawkins in Grand Haven because there’s no such thing as a Gary Hawkins in Grand Haven.”
Maybe not,
Finally, we have
Tree mail:
It’s playtime in the sandbox
For puzzle pieces you will dig
If you don’t find all twelve
You’re gonna weep big.
LAmy confesses that they really need to win this one, so if they merge, they’re five on five. You go, big girl. If you talk a whole lot, that might help your chances.
BJ believes this is it—the biggest challenge ever, because there might be a merge. He gets it, he really gets the numbers thing. He smart, the BobbyJon.
The tribes make their way to the challenge to find gigantic frosted cookies bits leaning up against a ruin, half-buried in the sand. Sadly, Jiffy tells them they are only non-edible puzzle pieces, each weighing approximately three hundred brazilian pounds.
Jiffy asks the usual “Shall we get to today’s challenge?” and the sheep all agree as usual. One day, they will revolt, of that I am sure. And Judd will be the one to lead the charge. “You can shove your goddamn challenge up your damn ass and smoke it, Jeff, dammit,” he will say. And there will be much rejoicing in the land.
But Jeff drones on in his first grade teacher voice: Today’s immunity will test your ability to use teamwork while solving a puzzle. Three tribe mates must take turns finding the pieces buried in the sand pit, and bring them to the friendly mat. Once all twelve have been brought back to the mat, two different members of your tribe must assemble the pieces correctly to look like the Mayan calendar. Or a great big round GIANT frosted cookie. And if you are good, you will get a juicebox too.
NotBJ must sit someone out and SURPRISE! They choose
Brandon and Jamie each collect the first pieces. Judd and BobbyJon get the second for each tribe. Cindy starts digging and NotBJ takes a lead when Danni can’t handle it. “Danni found a piece, but she can’t lift it!” Jeff shouts, then falters. “Danni’s under…one…” he says, painfully, and Danni ekes her way out from under it and goes back empty handed. BobbyJon manhandles a huge piece for the BJs. Steph helpfully points out a piece to Jamie, and he fetches it and throws it at her, breaking her shin clean in half. There is a struggle to find more with each team tied at ten, but Cindy bounces back to home plate with NotBJ’s twelfth piece. Steph and Rafe start assembling, but we’ve seen Steph and her puzzle curse before. Will she blow it again for the team? The BJs soon follow with piece number twelve, and
Jiffy still gives them a spanking, though, which is the only way they understand. “You still suck, just like you sucked in the reward challenge today, and frankly you’ll always suck, but this time the BJs did a little bit better job at sucking than you did,” he reprimands. Reluctantly, he allows the lot of them can still skip TC. He hands over the idol, which Cindy cuddles to her breast like a suckling newborn.
To the BJs, Jeff says “I’m so, so so so sorry, I wanted you to win. They suck.”
Commercials: Nextel-Sprint, which recently netted me a hefty profit on my big-ass $200 investment a few years ago, and is affording me the luxury of taking Mr. Wheeze to Vegas for a weekend of watching Landru play with himself and Ilse; Some goofy guy smiling endlessly on his couch like he’s playing with his thingy, for Circuit City; Something foreign…snow, is it? For LL Bean coats and boots, free shipping. Lotsa low-flying jets, for the Saab 93 Arrow convertible with a 250hp turbocharged V6, which, incidentally, seats four, and therefore is perfect for an Arizona-living, 37-year-old mother of two; Pier 1, great style, great value, same old shit; Oh for heck, Herbie. Not the Love Bug again; Scary commercial we need to mute so the girl-child doesn’t have nightmares, must be CSI; Vampire Bats commercial. Again. Still scheduled for Sunday, just in cases.
A White-Nosed Coati and a giant grasshopper lead us into the next scene, where LAmy is still TAWKING: a loss for her tribe, a loss for herself, and a future loss for Grand Haven and Professional Football. LAmy and Danni talk about booting BobbyJon, and Danni has the worst poker face I’ve ever seen on such a big-hatted individual. LAmy says her best chance to survive is to outwit people, that there’s no one better to do that than she. They whine about BobbyJon being allowed to come back and play a second time, and LAmy pulls the ‘Nobody’d be asking ME back’ card. Somewhere, in the jungle, a Judd howls ferociously. Face it Amy, you’re toast and you’re gonna have to make good on your death threat. Go to Loser Lodge, eat like a tapir, ‘cause Grand Haven could use some excitement to balance out the World’s Largest (drumroll, please) Musical Fountain, which you should know plays hymns on Sunday nights, even though Glennie does not approve of water recreation of any kind on Her Sabbath. A sinful fountain it is, and it should be baptized.
LAmy is planning on a miracle when
“If you have Danni, you have me,” he says, implying a ferocious three-some. I forbid you to stop thinking about that immediately.
BobbyJon feels like something’s up. He feels worse than he’s ever felt in his life, implying that majorly losing the fire-starting challenge to Steph, using matches, was not embarrassing at all. He just wants to make it to the jury: it’s his lifelong dream, he tells
Danni remarks that this is going to be the hardest decision, as she walks through a downpour, looking like a drowned rat. She says she doesn’t know what to do.
They head to Tribal Council.
Jeff: Danni, you’ve gotta feel good about making it this far.
Danni: nothing feels really good today, it sucks.
Amy: I love everyone, and I have a bitchin scar on my face to prove it.
Jiffy:
Danni admits she’s a lying sack, BobbyJon says you should keep your deals, and says Bob Dole won’t go back on his alliances.
And it’s time to vote.
BJ votes for Amy, says she’s the strongest, most real woman he’s ever met in his entire life, and he won’t never meet anybody more real than her ever. Then he pukes in the urn and arranges his parchment neatly on top of it.
LAmy votes for Bobby Jon
Danni votes
Jiffy tallies the votes, and they are:
LAmy
BobbyJon
LAmy
LAmy
(and the nationwide ubiquitous vote for LAmy)
LAmy’s voted out, she does the bat-signal as she walks down the steps, and whispers, “I will find you, Gary Hawkins. Oh yes, I will find you.”
Annnnnd, in a surprising, most anti-climactic method, Jeff announces a New Challenge – the merge. “You shall go now to the NotBJ tribe, with new buffs. You shall not pass by your old camp, you shall not collect your things, as they will be collected for you. There, you will play nicey-nice with Judd and decide what the summary writers will call you heretofore. It’s a whole.new.game.
Febreeze family moment: Amy’s family looks like they actually love her; and Uncle Grampaw has a cool hat.
Commercials: Febreeze, of course, with those howler monkeys escaping the toybox to smell the carpet; Legend of Zorro, now in theaters; David Spade with that spanky fat guy, Chubbsy, for Capitol One; Some hip group for the Pontiac Torrent SUV, keeping it in the dark because it must be as ugly as the Aztec, though impossible to be uglier; a reminder that animals will be on Letterman again; and of course, the token Ghost Whisperererer, the most powerful episode yet, ya shure.
Next time on Survivor:
The merge. NotBJ awakens to a big surprise in the form of four mincemeated and soppy homeless individuals who mew at their door seeking sanctuary; the Survivors must choose their own fate as we get yet another “Ohhh, my Gawd” from Steph; Judd tells Glennie and everybody to shut the hell up. And the Glennie? Will Outwit the Judd Stud. Just you watch.
LAmy closes out the night with her soul ripped out and bleeding, but she’s learned a tremendous amount about her ownself and she wouldn’t want it any other way. Liar.
*Shoutsout to Diamond and Tech, who are the real goldrushes at the end of the rainbow.
¶ 12:54 AM 14 Comments
Episode Six: Now With More Corpse-Fucking!
After a dramatic ninth-inning comeback that sent the NLCS back to St. Louis, Dweeze’s beloved Cardinals rolled over and played dead.
Sorry, that was previously on the NLCS:
Previously on Survivor:
I mean come the fuck on, how could a team win 100 games and play that badly? Sheesh.
Previously on Survivor:
The only bright spot is that I won’t be watching baseball and if I do, I’ll be rooting for the Sox in order to stick it to Cub fans (no offense, really) which means I won’t see Joe Buck and Tim McCarver fluffing the exhumed skeletons of Joe Jackson and Charles Comiskey.
Previously on Survivor:
And to top everything off, I set the VCR for 7:00 instead of 8:00, meaning I didn’t get Lost taped but did get two crappy ABC sitcoms. Who gives Freddie Prinze Jr. a sitcom? Does he have photos of Robert Iger screwing the frozen remains of Walt Disney?
Previously on Survivor:
Like you don’t know already. I mean, if there were anything even remotely worth commenting on here, I would. I’m not going to so a previously on Survivor gig just because there is always a previously on Survivor gig. I’m not.
I’m not!
I’M
NOT!!
*sigh*
Previously on Survivor:
There was a lame-ass reward challenge, a lame-ass immunity challenge, and the lame-ass Blake was booted after a lame-ass tribal council. Happy now? As for this week? Let’s just say I’m not too optimistic it will be anything other than lame-ass. The only thing to look forward to is the double-boot, which we knew would come sometime but which CBS has been pimping since the weekend and which TV Guide told us about last week in the inaugural grown-up version of TV Guide.
(As a side note, I was pleasantly surprised at how much I liked the big version. Still, the nice thing about digest-sized magazines, especially those with a hard spine like the digest TV Guide, is that you can fling them, and not just fling them, but fling them for distance, accuracy, AND impact. Try that with a regular magazine-sized magazine. You can’t fling a magazine, you can only do a Frisbee like sideways toss that, if the pages start spreading apart, has little or no chance of hitting the target and little or no chance of doing damage if it does. You can throw a magazine and annoy someone; you can throw a digest and hurt someone.)
How did it get this boring this fast? I swear, this wouldn’t have happened if Mark Burnett were still alive instead of having his corpse being rogered by the Dona
What?
He IS alive? I assumed that….
Okay, let me rephrase that. This wouldn’t have happened if Mark Burnett still gave a damn about his finest creation.
Cue opening credits and commercials.
We come back to Yaxha. Screw that. We come back to the Bobby Jon tribe. Let’s face it. No matter what cute nicknames are given, no matter what play on words takes place, the two tribes will always be the Bobby Jon tribe and the Steph tribe. Oh sure, I could call them the new Bobby Jon tribe and the old Bobby Jon tribe, or the new Steph tribe and the old Steph tribe, but that needlessly complicates things. So it’s the Bobby Jon tribe.
Which is where we open. Brandon is questioning his place in things after Blake was voted out. He approaches Bobby Jon, who takes ten minutes to say “I had to do what I had to do.” He adds that he yam what he yams. Cut to Brian, gloating over the departure of Blake and the evening of the numbers. He thinks the Steph tribe will be surprised at what happened.
Meanwhile, at the Steph tribe, Judd and Jamie, aka Fat Man and Little Boy, are complaining about mosquitoes. Or mojitos. I get confused. This conversation expands to the whole tribe and then morphs into Rafe complaining about Margaret putting out negative energy. Hmmm. Why would the person who is obviously the next person to go out be positive? Let's be real. Margaret's a corpse, a corpse that ain't getting any love. And that's just not right.
Fortunately, this discussion is cut short by a jump cut to the challenge. The Steph tribe was instructed to bring the immunity idol to the challenge. The challenge involves the giant ball from Raiders of the Lost Arc. Two people at a time will stand on each side of the ball and try to push it over a goal. There are several rounds, and the first tribe to get three wins gets reward. The reward is seven hot dogs, seven hamburgers, seven root beers, and seven beers. The downside is that both tribes will go to tribal council and vote someone out tonight. The additional upside is that after the reward winner is determined, that tribe will go head to head for individual immunity. The person who gets individual immunity can’t be voted out and gets to sit in on the other tribe’s tribal council.
First up – the ladies. Steph and Cindy vs. Amy and Danni, with victory to Amy and Danni. Next Brandon and Bobby Jon vs. Fatman and Little Boy who win, causing a testerone overdose in Bobby Jon and Jamie. Why couldn’t Ami Cusack and Sarah Jones go chest-to-chest? Maybe with a little hot oil or some jello? And Heidek directing? On the other hand, if they ran into each other with the same force that Bobby Jon and Jamie collide, they would have shot back from each other at least 20 feet.
Next round is mixed, Steph and Judd vs. Gary and Amy. Amy hits the ground like wet cement and gets run down and can’t really keep up, giving Steph and Judd the win. Next round is women again, Margaret and Cindy vs. Amy and Danni. Despite the injury, Amy and Danni take the victory. Finally we have men for all the marbles, Brian and Bobby Jon vs. Judd and Jamie. It’s more of a contest than you would think, but Judd and Jamie take the victory.
Wait a minute.
Why didn’t Rafe take part? Lydia was the Steph tribe member who sat out. But Rafe never competed. Think there’s any chance that last round would have been different if it had been Rafe in there instead of Judd or Jamie?
Oh well. Now we’re at the immunity challenge. It’s a mental challenge. Everyone runs into the field, finds three bags, comes back and arranges tiles into a two word phrase. Rafe has his tiles out, but can’t figure it out. Judd is right next to him, and tells him the answer. But instead of disqualifying both Judd and Rafe, Rafe is awarded immunity.
Back from break, a break in which OnStar once again told us that if we don’t use their product, we hate our children, we’re at the Steph tribe. The Bobby Jon – Jamie confrontation comes up, and Jamie says “We’re southern men – we’re just crazy.” Amen. A-the-fuck-men.
Back at the Bobby Jon tribe, they are feeling down. Bobby Jon and Brandon talk about the Bobby Jon-Jamie confrontation, and Bobby Jon says that when Jamie bucked up he, Bobby Jon, had to let Jamie know there was another bear in the woods. And, though he doesn’t say it, that bear is shitting. This is the third, and not the last, time this confrontation has come up, which means it either plays a role somewhere down the line or else it’s filler. In the past, I would have said foreshadowing. Given this season, I’ll opt for filler.
Amy is concerned about her injuries. Brian tells Gary that they need to get Bobby Jon voted off. Gary, in confessional, says that he doesn’t know why they would vote out the strongest member of the tribe. Brian says he is worried that Amy and Gary might be playing him. And we’re out to mid-show break.
We come back to the Steph tribe celebrating their triumph and rejoicing in their hot dogs and beer. Judd eagerly gives Steph his hot dog for her cold wet one.
He gets her beer too.
He also gets drunk, drinking his beer, Steph’s and apparently Cindy’s. There is much ado about the missing beer. Judd bellows that whoever took the extra beer is going home tonight, oblivious to the fact that it was him. But eventually the fun has to end, and we’re off to tribal council.
And as we get there, Judd is still feeling the effects of the alcohol. Which is great. See Judd isn’t a sayfunnythingsthenfalldown drunk like amputee Chad, or a embarasshimselfandpassout drunk like fireman Tom, but an onboxiousbelligerentgetinyourfaceandscreamatyou drunk. And those are the best kind, at least for the purposes of reality TV. Why? Because what follows is the
BEST…TRIBAL…COUNCIL…EVER!
I don’t know why they never stumbled over the concept of serving alcohol before tribal council before. All I can say is that it was a great idea. In fact, I anticipate that all future tribal councils will have a two-drink minimum.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s talk about what happens.
Probst opens by asking about the Jamie-Bobby Jon grudge match. Jamie says that he was excited about winning and got a bit out of control. Then, putting on full display his talent at the best in the world at picking at wounds, Jeffy asks Margaret if the tribe displays good sportsmanship. Margaret, either believing that attacking Judd is her only hope of not getting voted off or just Margaret being Margaret, but she mentions that overall the tribe has good sportsmanship except for Judd.
Which sets Judd off. Because if there is one thing you don’t do, it’s question the character of Judd. He rails at her. Yells at her. I’m surprised Burnett doesn’t intercut to the shot of the howler monkey again. He tells her he always plays hard, gives full effort, and that she has obviously never played sports like he has.
Uhm, Judd? Beer league softball? Not a sport. Neither is bowling. And those years you spent on the two-deep offensive line chart at whatever podunk community college you went to? Not that impressive either.
What is impressive is Margaret’s reply. Giving full effort does not equal sportsmanship she says, and Probst agrees. As Judd goes off again, Margaret mentions that Judd always does this – try to yell over anyone who disagrees with him and tries to dominate everyone.
Take a look at how everyone is sitting as this takes place. Leave Cindy out of it, because she is a victim of circumstance just trying to stay out of the line of fire. Rafe looks like he wet himself. Steph is visibly cowering. Lydia has the “Help Me Jeff” smile on her face. And Jamie tries to do the “You’ve had a little too much and said a little too much” arm pat, but Judd just brushes him away, Judd’s every word and deed marking truth on Margaret’s every statement. Only Margaret shows no fear in the face of Judd’s bullying, which, as is always the case, only makes Judd be more of a bully.
Judd bellows that just because Margaret believes this, that doesn’t mean the whole tribe does. So Probst asks the rest of the tribe, starting with Rafe.
Rafe: Well, uh
Judd: Tell him what I told you to tell him!
Rafe: Judd is a hard worker, loyal husband, and all around fine person.
Judd: See?
In short, Judd is acting in a manner that proves one of two things. Either he is intentionally trying to become the first second place finisher to get no votes or he is the single dumbest person ever to play Survivor. Dumber than Brandon or Diane. Dumber than Gabe. Dumber than Robb. Dumber than the entire Amazon jury. Dumber than any other individual to play the game, which, quite frankly, is saying quite a bit.
Think about it. He’s the perfect final two partner. If he makes it to F2, whoever he is up against could club a baby seal in front of the jury, hitting it so hard blood and brain matter splatter on everyone, then ravage the seal’s every orifice of the seal’s mutilated body in front of the jury, and everyone on the jury would still think “You know that was vile and disgusting, but I’m still not voting for Judd.” I swear, perfect F2 partner. And think of the entertainment value of the jury confrontations, especially if they got Judd good and liquored up first. The problem being, of course, that who wants to tolerate him that long?
Another highlight comes when Margaret mentions that Judd didn’t wait a moment to cut a deal with the new tribe and abandon his old tribe. She adds that he flipped voluntarily, before they could even approach him. Judd, his character insulted, first denies this, then says that Margaret would have done the same thing. She points out, quite correctly, that she had the same opportunity to betray and didn’t take it. Probst then turns to Steph, asking
Jeff: Steph, is there concern that someone who turned on their old tribe might turn on you?
Steph’s Words: No Jeff. That was his old tribe. We’re his new tribe.
Steph’s Thoughts: What, do we look crazy? First chance we get we’re ramming a stake into his heart, cutting his head off, jamming garlic down his throat, then tossing the whole thing to the gators so they can fuck and eat at will. And after that is done, I’ll finally be able to sleep at night again.
Oh yes, this tribal council is good stuff, better than I ever dreamed could come out of the season. Whew.
Oops. Almost forgot.
Now is the time on Survivor when we vote!
Margaret votes Judd, reiterating her earlier comments. Judd votes Margaret, once again telling her to get out of his jungle. I realize that the real reason we didn’t get a howler monkey cutaway again was because the monkey threatened to sue Burnett for defamation of character by linking the howler to Judd.
Margaret walks off, and I suspect we were just one more Judd beer away from him putting his arms around the remaining Steph tribe members and telling them “I love youse guys.” Probst asks if the tribe will be better now that the troublemaker is gone. Right. The reasonable, calm woman who just left is the troublemaker, not the belligerent screaming asshole still there. One knows now that this is not over, and like all bullies, now that his original target is gone, Judd will find a new target.
As the Steph tribe takes its leave, Jeff tells Rafe that as the individual immunity winner he gets to stay and watch the Bobby Jon tribe. The rest leave and the Bobby Jons enter. We fade to commercial brakage, and Margaret’s husband and two sons speak. Her husband says that they love her and are proud of her. Her youngest son, giving a line reading worthy of a Lifetime movie, says she needs to come home because they are out of food. Her oldest son doesn’t speak, either because he forgot his line or because he hates her. I lean towards the former.
And we’re back to the Bobby Jon’s tribe tribal council. Let me tell you folks, this tribal council makes a Quaker Prayer Circle look like a Peckinpah film. It’s a love fest, though in all honesty it really seems like a sincere love fest. Probst opens by asking Bobby Jon about going nipple to nipple with Jamie. Bobby Jon gives the same basic answer Jamie did, but does so much more graciously and sincerely.
Probst then moves to questions about Amy and Brian, content to let Gary wait for his moment in the pocket. He starts by asking Bobby Jon about Brian, and Bobby Jon says
“If you need someone to make a kamikaze charge at another line, this here’s your man” as he pats Brian’s shoulder. So if there’s a suicide mission to be made, they’d choose Brian? Just trying to clarify. After more boring questions about Brian (and let me state for the record that More Boring Questions About Brian is my least favorite Talking Heads album) Jeff turns to Amy and her resemblance to the Black Knight in Holy Grail. (And yeah, I’m sure someone somewhere has already made that joke. Let them find me and sue me.) Probsts asks Brandon if he was impressed by Amy’s ability to get up and go at the challenge even after she was knocked down. Brandon says he was more than impressed.
The only really interesting thing that occured at this council was that, just before they were to vote, Probst tells them that Rafe, who until now had been a spectator, would be allowed to grant immunity to one person. He instructed Rafe to go to the voting urn (how much does a voting urn?), write down his choice, put it in an envelope, and put the envelope in the urn. After Rafe does that, he is dismissed.
Now is also the time on Survivor when we vote!
The only vote we see with commentary is Brian’s, who votes for Bobby Jon and says “This is where the outwit part of outlast, outplay, and outwit comes into play.” Little did he know.
So Probst gets the urn, and starts counting votes. We have one vote for Bobby Jon and five votes for Brian. Jeff announces that Brian’s only hope is with Rafe’s vote.
Let’s pause for a second. How is this supposed to work? If Rafe wrote down Brian’s name, does Bobby Jon get voted out? Cause that would be the most unfair thing ever to happen on the show, even more unfair than the purple rock. But if it isn’t that, why not just have Rafe announce who he is granting immunity to so the tribe can vote accordingly? And if it is that, will we be treated to the sight of Brian knowing Bobby Jon's defeated body in the biblical sense?
Fortunately or unfortunately, we don’t find out. Rafe wrote down Gary’s name, either because he has a crush on him or he is trying to signal Gary that the original alliance is alive or because Rafe wants to be the top queen, and Brian is gone, gone, gone. And so are we.
Amidst the commercial brakage, Brian’s parents tell him how much they love him. At least his father does. His mother doesn’t speak, probably because the drugs haven’t worn off yet.
Next on Survivor: Amy confronts Gary about his past. Gary not only denies being a professional football player, he also denies the existence of professional football and tells Amy she’s “crazy” (complete with hand motions) if she thinks there is such a thing as the NFL. You know, he just should tell people he’s Gary Hogeboom and he played for the Cowboys, Colts, Cardinals, and Redskins. At least 95% of the non-Hogebooms in the country would say “Who?” and the remaining 5% of the non-Hogebooms would say “Yeah, I would be embarrassed to admit that too.” Oh, and the Bobby Jon tribe visits the Steph tribe. Hopefully it’s an early merge, because if it isn’t we are going to have an immunity challenge where both tribes are trying to lose so they can vote someone out.
As we fade into the skyline of CSI, Brian tells us that he didn’t see it coming and that was how he wanted to go. He adds that he now knows he can do tough things, like have carnal relations with an Incan Mummy.
Or maybe I'm just projecting. ¶ 10:02 AM 13 Comments
Ye gods, this show reeks. We’re in that Palau range of unbridled suckage again, not least because the producers chose to keep around the insufferable losers Stephenie and Bobby Jon-Boy. They’ve also kept the model of making all the women who aren’t Stephenie either big ol’ toughbroads or hopeless basket cases (a friend referred to Lydia as an oompa-loompa). The men are all either big ol’ muscular fratboy garbage, or mincingly gay. Or they’re just lying sacks of uselessness like that quarterback fella, who is such a powerfully negative piece of iconicity that one of my friends can barely watch the show now, so busy is she wishing for bad karma to fall from the sky and splatter the guy all over Central America.
The show reeks so badly that I didn’t actually pay attention to it. I just did Ilse instead. I moved to run my hand gently over her shoulder, but she was having none of that, instead shrieking, “Just take me! Take me now!” And so I did, my glistening hairless chest pressed to her small frame as my turgid…
Gothmog: Dood.
Dweezil: Seriously. Dood.
Me: What?
Gothmog: Dood.
Dweezil: Seriously. Dood.
Me: What?
Dweezil: You remember the last time someone blew this off to write soft-core porn?
Me: Oh, okay. No problem. How ‘bout I talk about handcuffing her first?
Gothmog: Dood. I’d say you were missing the point, except your head would still puncture armor plate. Do you really need to remind me, again, that you’re doing her and I’m not? Especially, like, after you’ve convinced yourself that my wife thinks you’re cool?
Me: You’re right. I’m sorry.
Dweezil: It’s okay, man, we understand you have self-control issues not unlike those experienced by unmedicated seventh-grade boys.
Gothmog: Yeah, it’s not like we have expectations of you or anything. Just chill, mmkay? Next time you find it necessary to actually use the word “turgid,” we’re taking you to the talky-talk doctor, mmkay?
Me: But I like the talky-talk doctor.
Gothmog: No, assclown, the one who’s not my wife.
Me: Oh. Uhm, yeah, okay.
So anyway, our inflamed lips brushed together…
Dweezil and Gothmog: Dood!!!!!
Me: Oh. Right.
Uhm, lessee, previously on Survivor: Desecratin’ the Tooms:
One tribe or the other (they’re indistinguishable) is awed by crocodiles that in no way endanger them at all; another tribe is jarred as Bobby Jon git bit bah a fee-ish; Jiffy tells both tribes to drop their Buffs in the same tone of voice he uses to get Julie to crank down her panties, and we do the earliest tribal switch ever, making the tribes even more indistinguishable except in the sense that one of them is the Stephenie tribe and the other is the Bobby Jon tribe; Judd, who is on the Stephenie tribe, rants about how big his dick is; on the other tribe, Bobby Jon and Blake take a leak and seal a bargain, shaking on it without washing their hands; Stephenie brings home the bacon of yet another immunity challenge loss, despite Former Dallas Cowgirl Gary Hogeboom pretending he doesn’t know how to throw things at other things; and Judd pisses off Magrit by allying with his fellow New Joiseyan Steph to vote out some chirpy and irrelevant little thing whose main attribute was that she helped Judd and Magrit and some other old-skool homie maintain a numbers edge on Stephenie and whichever brothers in loserdom she brought with her to the new tribe. Whatever the hell it’s called.
We roll credits, and everything about the credits that doesn’t involve a specific media whore is gorgeous. But I gots me a problem here. Several contestants are shown swimming, and it occurs to me that we have, in fact, done some water stuff here in the place where we desecrate the Mayans. While fire is, of course, life, doesn’t that mean water is death? Specifically, in this here place where we desecrate Mayan temples, doesn’t waterdeath come at the hands of the crocodiles that the producers are working so hard (and there’s more to come on this one, oh yes there is) to convince us are a mortal danger to the little media whores? So…where were they swimming? I remember, eight or ten years ago when we started this season, some people getting out of the boat and taking mud baths and suchlike, but I don’t recall anyone actually swimming. And there may have been a swimming-related challenge somewhere along the line; this whole season is so wretched that I forcibly repress every single episode as soon as it’s over and I can get myself to someplace that isn’t my television tuned to CBS.
As much as CBS is investing in trying to make me believe that one of these morons is going to become croc brekkies, I really want some payoff here. And I’m pretty sure that if I were gonna get croc brekkies, I’d have heard about it somewhere in the liberal mainstream media.
We’ve been through the introductions and all—and they’ve been done by better men than me—so I’m not going to bother to list the contestants one by one; I’m just going to have at them as they dare to appear on my television screen. But first, it appears, it’s time for:
Commercials, sponsored by Chevrolet and by some movie that has a great deal of tween appeal:
a trailer, for the aforementioned movie, which appears to be Jumanji in space, and which involves children sucked into some fantasy reality that challenges them to do heroic kid things, but you know me, and I’m hoping that it challenges them to do heroic kid things like slumping over and being quiet and paying for their own damn college educations; those liquid metal terminator antelopes, for the all-new Chevrolet Impala, which has got to be getting along toward being one of the oldest, if not the oldest, of car models; children playing and splashing, and various adults offering fragments of commentary, for some new American Express card that allows AmEx to hold onto and use your money, rather than just charging you interest and fees, and all I can say is God Bless Capitalism; a luminescent CGI butterfly and very calm feminine voiceover, for some drug called Lunesta, which I’m guessing is some drug related to chick problems, although from the tranquil quality of the video and voiceover, it could just as easily relate to sleeping or being less insane, but I’m thinking that whole “Lun” root is pretty much a dead giveaway, and if I’m mocking some condition or disease from which you personally suffer and you are presently outraged by my callousness, then my work here is done, and done well; a light-skinned African-American family playing in fake snow, for K-Mart, and I am just too overwhelmed by that much symbolification to comment further; and CBS, for a show that involves Rob Morrow as an FBI agent (believability quotient? zero), and OMFG, that’s what happened to Judd Hirsch.
And we’re back, looking through some night-vision equipment that does not, sadly, include crosshairs trained on Former Dallas Cowgirl Gary Hogeboom. Back at the Stephenie tribe, we are subjected to a great deal of Stephenie’s big fat loserhead whining. We are also subjected to Judd’s nasal droning about how it’s a game and you gotta play the game and Sweet Irish Christ, not this line of squishy babyshit again.
As the conversation continues, it becomes apparent that Judd voted to exile Brooke mostly to piss off Magrit. Now, Magrit is a manipulative control freak, and an ineffectual one at that. Her claim to personhood is based entirely on having nursed some menfolk back to health after the grueling overnight trip through the jungle that started off this little enterprise. As time goes by, it is becoming more obvious that she did so in such a condescending and bitchy manner (although the editing chose not to reveal that to us) that she inspired every bit as much disdain as love for the nurse-mother.
This is not to excuse Judd, who is a fat honking arrogant pig who should be rendered for glue, not least because he reveals in the course of this conversation that he has reproduced. Think for a second about what might be married to Judd, and about what sort of offspring they might beget. But please, I love you all very much. Don’t think about it for more than a second.
The producers choose to follow Judd’s confessional about how much he hates Magrit with night-vision footage of a snake. We really need more evil critter metaphors, because the whole snakes and spiders thing is just way overdone, girlfriend. There was a juxtaposition of Judd and a monkey last week that worked pretty well, but still. We need more.
Another day dawns, over at the Bobby Jon tribe, and more is made of crocodiles; there’s a lovely underwater shot of a croc’s gaping maw, and I sure wonder about how they got that shot. Blake is confessionalizing in the dawn stillness about how cool he is and about how his position in the game is so commanding. Ow. Later efforts will be made to try to confuse the foreshadowing issue, but this is clearly The Big One. Night-night, Blake.
It will also become clear during the remainder of the episode that this is, in fact, a just outcome. Blake is a drunk fratboy date rapist, a braggart who talks endlessly about himself. I mean, this guy lays even Your Pal Landru to waste in the self-aggrandizement department, and I think we can all agree that this is quite an accomplishment.
At the Bobby Jon tribe’s camp, a giant flying beetle attacks Amy. This relatively bovine police sergeant from somewhere they don’t hate the Red Sawx jumps up and begins shrieking about the camp. Because of a bug. “Get it the fook outta heah,” she Bostonates. Police sergeant. Running. From a bug. Shrieking.
Okay. Somewhere it is chiseled in the rules of reality TV casting that one must cast the gay guy, and the giant hulking ape-men, and the pretty people, and the lunatic. Why oh why is it also written that every cast must include one Yankee fan and one Red Sox fan? Why has society devolved to the point where this is one of the pivotal conflicts around which literature and drama must revolve?
The elevation of the Yankees versus Red Sox to a level where it is studied in high school literary deconstruction alongside such classics as man versus man, man versus nature, and man versus the Empire State Building is, mark my words, a critical factor in the impending end of history and civilization. Future generations of theoretically intelligent beings will uncover the archaeology and wonder what compelled our culture to revolve around glorifying this conflict, rather than simply eliminating it from the face of this Earth.
The results of the recent American League divisional playoffs provide new hope for a bright future for all of us and our progeny. We can keep our culture safe for years to come by ensuring that, each and every baseball season, neither the Yankees nor the Red Sox play in the American League Championship Series. Won’t you help? It only costs pennies a day to keep these two franchises as financially impoverished as they are morally bankrupt. This year was just the beginning. Let’s keep hope alive! U! S! A! America, Fuck Yeah!
You can probably stop reading now. That right there was likely about as good as this summary’s gonna get.
The tribespersons make much merry by convincing the unfortunate Amy that the beetle has landed on her shoulder. Brandon, the snarky asshole farmer who has emerged as a key narrator for this tribe, whatever the hell it’s called (I’m sorry, I just can’t be bothered with that trivia), mocks Amy’s citified nature. Brandon is in dire need of a severe beating, preferably by urban persons. Some discussion ensues about farming. It is dull. Amy is curious about the process of farming. Bobby Jonboy and the others chime in with loving and barely articulate descriptions of farm equipment. There is harmony over the appropriate brand of farm equipment; no International Harvester nancyboys here, baby. We’re all about the Deere.
Brian, the token mincing gay person (the other token gay person, who is currently a member of the Stephenie tribe, is in some state that goes so far beyond mincing it cannot be accurately described in a language we know), who has also emerged as a key narrator for the Bobbyjon tribe, tells us about how he’s just going along to get along. They’re into livestock and crops and Jesus; he’s into muscular jocky hunks and Emily Dickinson and heathenry. We’re no doubt impressed by the OscarFelixness of it all.
Not.
There follows a Jesus interlude. Danni leads the tribe in Christian prayer before they eat…whatever it is they’re eating.
I’ve said it before, and these ignorant tards are going to make me say it again. Let’s assume that there is a deity, and let’s further assume that said deity is or strongly resembles the very popular Christian deity. There follows a number of assumptions that are commonly made by reality television persons, and that are completely moronic, to wit:
1. The deity does not care about the outcome of a game show, any more than the deity cares about the outcome of the Colts-49ers game (unless the deity took the Colts minus the points). Shut up.
2. It is not entertaining to listen to or view the portions of your daily ablutions that include thanking your deity of choice for allowing you to have this day a healthy bowel movement. Shut up.
3. The fact that you are superficially “religious” and make a show of respect for the deity of your choice does not bespeak any evidence of your moral fiber, good, bad, or indifferent. Especially taken on the heels of number 2, above, there is only one conclusion that can be reached here: shut the fucking fuck up.
Believe what you want. Worship what you want. Vote how you want, even if it’s to impose a theocracy on us pagans. But shut. The fucking. Fuck. Up. Especially on national television.
Brian reminds us that it would be stupid for him to object to the Jesusification. He’s probably right, and I gotta give the guy his props for that. I typically stare at the floor during other peoples’ prayers and mumble respectfully. Heck, I even pulled the Lord’s Prayer outta my ear the other week at Grandma’s funeral (although my family’s common version includes important passages such as “Up the Queen, forever and ever, Amen”, and key lines from Ode to a Haggis, and words in which the letter “Y” is very heavily used as a vowel, like “Dwyffyd” and “Gonyffygdwaytchyllyn” and “Faerestwyylaernavyn”). But there’s always the temptation to shriek sacrilege. I mean sacrilege that doesn’t involve not reciting “Up the Queen.”
I digress, of course. What we will complete, before the next commercial break, is a reward challenge. We are inconsiderately given no tree mail whatsoever. Bastiges. I’ll just have to make some up, huh?
You’re hanging out here in the jungle, you’re roasting
So it might be keen to go out roller coasting
You’ll bash with a rock at a segment of rope
Or maybe you’ll saw, in which case you’re a dope
One team will win and the other will lose
Without any chance to partake of our booze
The winners will swim without fear that the crocs
Will gnaw on their bones, and spit out their frocks.
The challenge involves an ancient Mayan roller coaster. Team charges up the wooden rails, stopping for one team member to saw through a rope with a sharpened rock, “just like the ancient Maya would have.” This releases some handles for a turnstile. Next stop, another team member hacks at a log with a machete, releasing more handles. Team climbs up to a platform, four of them using the handles to turn the turnstile to crank a railcar up to the platform. The six team members who’ve already done tasks pile into the railcar, the seventh team member cuts the rope, and the first six ride. First team across the finish line wins.
And a fine challenge it is, the reward being a crocodile-proof swimming cage, with a deck, lounge chairs, umbrella, ancient Mayan margaritas, ancient Mayan chips, ancient Mayan guacamole, and an ancient Mayan window air conditioner powered by the tears of the losing team. Both tribes have full-blown orgasms as Jiffy describes the booty. Tight shots of Stephenie get inside her brain and reveal that she is already considering what a whiny little bitch she will be if her tribe loses. Danni’s orgasm is, much like Danni, singularly unattractive.
There is no mention of using the sharpened rock to cut out the still-beating heart of an opposing tribe member and display it to one’s cheering teammates, no mention of using the rope to tie up captured prisoners for blood sacrifice, no mention of ancient Mayan HVAC repairmen. I think we know how this would’ve gone if I were the producers, yes?
So the teams take off up the rails. Brandon the farmer hacks at the rope with a sharpened rock for the Bobbyjon tribe. Jamie the dullard slices at the rope for the Stephenie tribe. Jiffy reminds the hosers that strategery is important. Brandon hacks through one rope in seconds, then the other, by using the corner of the wooden platform of the cutting station for extra leverage. Jamie keeps slicing away. His teammates suggest that he try a different rock. Jiffy drones on about how important strategery is, and how critical time is at the two cutting stations. Brandon finishes the second rope, as Jamie keeps chipping away at the first rope.
Jamie? Is a complete fucktard.
Bobbyjon viciously hacks through the log in nothing flat, twisting the machete as he swings. Jamie continues to lovingly stroke the first rope as his disbelieving tribemates watch. Jamie finally gets through the first rope as the Bobbyjon tribe charges up the hill and into some hot turnstile action. Jiffy continues to narrate in that wrong-verb-tense style that JOlene correctly indicted him for several weeks ago, sounding like Len Schneider’s Copyboy as he drones on and on, blissfully forsaking any use of conjugations of the verb "to be."
This is the worst challenge blowout in history, and Jiffy says so. The Bobbyjon tribe cranks the cart up to the platform as Jiffy points out yet again that Jamie is one of the dumbest motherfuckers ever to enter the jungle. The Stephenie tribe looks on, completely unamused as Jamie deepens the fuckup.
The Bobbyjon tribe rides the cart to victory, plowing into a pile of dirt put at the end of the line to slow down the cart, as Jamie? Finally finishes the second rope, urging his teammates to move along. “You wanna quit?” he asks, as his tribe stares at him in disbelief that anyone could be so incredibly dirt-stupid. “The challenge is over,” spits Stephenie at the unfortunate idiot. Judd, at least, manages to comfort the braindead losermoron.
Jiffy thoughtfully reminds the Bobbyjon tribe that they are winners and that their victory was massive and brutal. The camera focuses on Stephenie beginning to work up her daily dose of self-pity as Jiffy lists all the wonderful things that the Bobbyjon tribe has won.
Hey, I got a question. How come Stephenie never has hair in her pits?
Jiffy thoughtfully reminds the Stephenie tribe that they are losers, and quite correctly singles out Jamie as the sole responsible party for this abomination. He vanquishes the Stephenie tribe from his sight, and ours, and we go to:
Commercials, brought to you by Vicks VapoRub, and I can’t wait to see which of you steps up in the comments to take credit for a VapoRub fetish:
a sick blonde in a hot, steamy shower, for VapoRub, and now that we give this some thought I’m picking TJ for the VapoRub fetish, although I wouldn’t rule out other possibilities; a trailer, for the DVD release of Batman Begins; chicken chunks, for Wendy’s; a nineteenth-century pastoral scene involving someone who I’m supposed to believe is virginal, for Breyers, which is introducing some product to compete with some other ice-cream-maker’s extensively churned product, and is also ripping off Wrigley’s “double” theme, but without hot twins; a mother and daughter, for Nexium, which neither controls gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD) nearly as well as the drug I use (which has the unfortunate name of Aciphex), nor does nearly as well at restoring the effects of erosive esophagitis and limiting the ensuing risk of esophageal cancer—sorry, AstraZeneca, once I get educated on something, you can’t put one over on me (okay, I’m educated on heart attacks and RJR is still putting one over on me, but you get the point); a trailer for an Orlando Bloom/Kirsten Dunst date movie that I have previously and decisively ridiculed; and CBS, for CSI: Helgenblingen, and for the missing persons show.
And we’re back, with a lovely view of the croc lake. The Bobbyjon tribe jogs into camp eagerly, exclaiming vociferously and joyously about their new swimming cage and lounging deck. Amy Bostonates extensively on the rapture of their new toy. A nearby croc looks on forlornly.
The tribe roundly praises Brandon the farmer, worshipfully…uhm…worshipping his rope-chopping prowess. Brandon confesses some self-worship, making a completely unconvincing attempt at professing humility over his manly agrarian manliness. The tribe digs into the chow. The quarterback person asserts his joy over there being another hero in the tribe.
Huh? You were a hero? This was when, exactly?
The tribe tests out its new swimming cage, and sadly, no crocs were trapped inside the cage when it was constructed. I’m still hoping the whole thing is a trap, and that the mesh cage is, in fact, large enough to admit a determined psuedodinosauran reptile.
Back at the Stephenie tribe, things are, of course, morose. The dumbass losers actually console their fellow dumbass Jamie, rather than tossing him into the croc-infested waters; this is inexplicable. Judd confesses that it would be unseemly to beat up the biggest loser of them all for abjectly failing to perform within seven minutes a task that a relatively uncomplicated Kansas farmer figured out and destroyed in less than two minutes. Judd publicly defends Jamie, mocking some nameless female tribemate—oh, it turns out her name is Cindy, and as usual, I am startled to discover that there is a “Cindy” hereabouts--and calling out Magrit in the bargain, suggesting by omission that they are useless and that they should have done it themselves. Cindy confesses that Judd is a dumbass.
Judd is a fuckpig and a bully. Bet he’d make fine eatin’ for one a them crocs.
But the big fat loserhead Stephenie knows different. She is in the pits of despair, which are, oddly enough, perfectly smooth and not the least bit hirsute. She bitches about Bobbyjon cheering when his tribe wins, then allows as how she’s just gellus gellus gellus. Back at camp, Jamie continues to whine. Judd continues to defend him. Stephenie confesses that Jamie is a dullard and that she is absolutely suicidal over being a big fat loserhead. She cries in the confessional. It begins to rain. Torrentially. Floodingly. Wetly. Stephenie continues to confess, blaming her big fat loserheadedness on her tribemates. And we’re off to:
Commercials:
a trailer, for a bad horror-terror-like movie starring people I do not recognize...oh, it involves Ewan McGregor and is therefore beneath my notice; an extreme and unflattering closeup of a man’s head, for the War on Drugs; an elderly woman, for the Outback; CBS, for the Jennifer Love Whorewit corpse-fucking show (and really, the Marlo Thomas do needs to go), and for CSI: Don Johnson, and for TAR, which promises to be no less annoying and putrid that any other episode so far this season, and for Dave; My Local News, teasing for some drug-scare story; Tim Kaine, for himself and his Virginia gubernatorial campaign, making promises he can’t keep and slamming his opponent (who is a theocratic, racist piglet); happy people, for Ruby Tuesday and its hamburgers, followed by another, slightly different, Ruby Tuesday burger commercial; and My Local News again, with the improbably named weatherman teasing his weather report, which will be no less gloomy and dreary and depressing than the weather forecast for the last eight consecutive days in this once-sunny and dry region that has now turned into a Biblical warning against the dangers of whatever we do that causes us to be punished by having to build arks.
And we’re back. At this juncture, the Wheezus would like me to tell you that I’m all hot for her “hearty, hot, slick red” lips. I would like to point out that I am not about coveting Mr. Wheezy’s wife, even though she’s turning into a bit of a tart.
Emailing your friends while writing a summary. Bad idea.
We get footage of leafcutting ants. I did a little research and found out amazing things about these creatures. They cut the leaves to fertilize fungus that they grow for food. This is just wacky-amazing. Check out the site, or Google “leafcutting ants” for other related sites.
The rain continues to be torrential. The Bobbyjon tribe huddles under its umbrella. Brian and Blake sleep under the shelter, unbothered by the rain. The rest of the tribe thinks that this is “unfair.” They are idiots. Amy nicknames Blake “Golden Boy,” which does not appear to bear any relationship to any aspect of Blake that we have thus far been allowed to observe, nor does it bear any relationship to any aspect of Blake that we will be allowed to observe, because this here episode? Is the last observing we’re gonna do on Blake.
We commence to focus on Blake’s constant self-discussion. He talks about himself incessantly, Brandon bitches about it, not that it takes much to get Brandon to bitch about anything. Blake tells us, as Danni scratches his back (Danni frightens me, a lot) about his girlfriend’s gigantimongous oobies. Further discussion ensues about the appropriate size for oobies.
Ilse’s oobies are perfect in every conceivable respect. I have no other position on this matter. Nor will I. Ever.
Brian confesses that Blake is an idiot. This is more foreshadowing. Out at the pool, Brian gets Blake to tell more about himself and his drunkenness. Brian is proud of this.
Woohoo, there’s treemail! Let’s smell the literature:
We’ve chipped around the edges
of football, front and back
That big tall guy alleges
that he’s not a quarterback
We just can’t give it up, though,
our quest to out this guy
A catapault will do the throw
You catch it on the fly
Cooperate and maybe
you’ll get to stick around
Act like you got rabies
and we’ll cast you on the ground!
Yecch. That was really hard, let’s move on. The treemail includes a little black ball, maybe about the size of a softball, maybe a little bigger, on a short length of rope with a loop at the end.
We stay with the Stephenie tribe for a bit more, because what with all the Blakeshadowing, we’re gonna get another crack at the Bobbyjon tribe at the end of the show. Staying with the Stephenie tribe involves, of course, having to listen to more of the big fat loserhead’s whimpering about being on tribes that have losing streaks.
At the risk of offending your legions of fans, Stephenie, might I just point out that perhaps the problem is you? Perhaps you are a scourge, a drag upon the very soul of any team that dares to accept you into its midst? Perhaps whatever tribe you’re on would be best served by dragging you up to the top of one of the temples they haven’t desecrated yet and cutting out your heart with an obsidian knife and showing it to you while it’s still beating?
Yeah, yeah. I hope too much.
There follows a sequence in which Lydia starts singing to the theme from Mighty Mouse, cheering for the tribe as the moron Stephenie claps for her. “I woke up today and decided to be a motivating person,” says Lydia.
She is that; I am motivated to want to commit crimes. Against Lydia. Crimes that shut her up. Crimes that, perhaps, involve accidentally knocking her into crocodile-infested lakes.
After some dancing and cheering and generally nuisanceriffic behavior, she incites Rafe to dance. The team spirit is infectious. In a, y’know, diseased sort of way.
Thankfully, we head off to the immunity challenge. Jiffy gives the Bobbyjon tribe a chance to rub the loserSteph tribe’s nose in the dirt over the whole swimming pool thing, and Danni happily obliges.
Then Jiffy points out that the loserSteph tribe looks “ticked off.” I would’ve described them as intense. And y’know, Jiffy, perhaps I’d be ticked off too if you had just rubbed my face in that whole swimming pool thing like I was a puppy who just pooped on the carpet. The dullard Jamie tells Jiffy that “we’re not smiling until we win.” There is a brief camera cut over to the Bobbyjon tribe, which is somehow supposed to understand that this means their doom. Or maybe we’re supposed to understand that. I dunno, I get confused.
Jiffy reminds the tribes that teamwork will be crucial for this challenge. The little black softball will be loaded into a catapault and launched. Two teams of three from each tribe will be down in the impact area, each threesome handling a little basket-thingie that Jeff calls a “Maya catch-net” with which they need to catch the ball. First tribe to catch five balls wins.
Significantly, no mention is made of concepts like pass interference. I, at least, think this is significant. If I’m in this challenge, and I’m not gonna catch the little black softball? You sure as hell aren’t gonna catch it, either.
Brian launches for the Bobbyjon tribe, and Lydia launches for the Stephenie tribe. Brian launches first, far downfield, and it develops that Former Dallas Cowgirl Gary Hogeboom, coupled with the breathtakingly anoxexic Danni and he-man Bobbyjon, makes a fine receiver, too. Big shock. The Stephenies don’t even get close.
Lydia aims left, apparently looking for the Stephenie group of receivers, which includes Rafe and Judd. They’re so busy worrying about the other teams that they miss a catch, Steph and Judd carping and bitching at each other in the aftermath. Judd, it seems, has grokked the whole PI notion and is worried about the Hogegroup. But they pick off Brian’s next launch, jumping the route on the Hoges to score a point.
Lydia aims deep left, again at Steph and Judd, and a group consisting of Blake, Amy, and Farmboy tries to pick it off, managing only to foil the catch, which is certainly next best. Brian launches deep, and the Hogegroup can’t catch it as Steph knocks Bobbyjon abs over teakettle. Lydia completes one to Steph, Judd, and Rafe; Brian connects deep, in the exact same way, with the Hogegroup. Lydia reprises, hitting the same team again, and then the other Stephiegroup, consisting of the dullard Jamie, Magrit, and the other one…oh, right, Cindy—jumps the route on the Hogegroup, picking one off. It’s 4-2, Stephenie, and it’s time to start thinking about how the giant cloud of bad luck that is Stephenie can possibly screw this one up.
But it is not to be; Lydia launches another bomb into the corner, and the Steph-Judd-Rafe team snags it at the water’s edge. The Stephenie tribe exults wildly; “Who’s smilin’ now,” woofs the dullard Jamie, as Bobbyjon looks on in dismay, woofing back briefly. Jiffy does the usual brakage, and after a brief exhortation to buy the new Survivor buffs, we’re off to:
Commercials:
geometric swirling light, which sort of resolves, very, very slowly, into an automobile that turns out to be…wait for it…oh, some kinda Pontiac; a trailer, for some dark, foggy, misty movie that appears to be quite horrifying and involve women in sleepwear; a kid in a stroller, and his mom, for the Visa Check Card, and it’s that stupid misogynistic commercial where the mom has the stroller piled 23 feet high with packages; a model in pearls, for some Olay product that will make men want to do you; various women, for breast cancer awareness, and peripherally pimping AstraZeneca again; and CBS, for CSI: Bling-Bling, again, and for some annoying-looking thriller-type show that does not star Jennifer Love Whorewit.
And we’re back, with more leaf-cutting ants, and we will of course dwell in the house of Bobbyjon for the remainder of this episode. Tribe Bobbyjon is, of course, distressed. There is much bitching about Jamie’s woofing, which is just purely vile hypocrisy, considering the way Bobbyjon woofs and barks every time his tribe wins something. This tribe is a pack of graceless peckerheads. Much like the other tribe, of course, but this is the tribe on the pecker’s head at the moment. Bobbyjon reminds us that he is from Alabama and Jamie is from Georgia, and they all just don’t lahk each other. Brian doesn’t understand this, since he goes to Brown or some such prissy wankoff school that doesn’t have much of importance, like an athletic program.
There is brakage about the numbers, since there are four from one old tribe and three from t’other, and it appears that Brian, Gary, and Amy are feeling minoritized. They start a campaign to get someone from the other side to vote for the gratingly annoying Blake.
This should be pretty much a no-brainer; you want ol’ Gary gone, here, before he has a chance to assert his testosterone. You’re left with enough brawny manliness to win challenges, and the guy just oozes skeeviness. But we vote off the one we don’t like, and the ones we don’t like are Brian, who is an annoying bitch, and Blake, who is an annoying punk. Thus, the campaign.
Bobbyjon gave his word of honor to fratboy Blake, so he won’t be the swing vote. It’s time to appeal to Danni’s sense of wanting to do a quarterback. It’s pretty obvious that she’s going to be all about that, especially since the producers punctuate the Gary-Danni conversation with snake footage. Let’s just wrap this nonsense up, then, shall we?
No. We need more brakage, we always need more brakage. Danni talks to Brandon, who won’t vote to do Blake, either.
Closeup of a crocodile, then back to stress the eventual outcome by zeroing in on another of Blake’s endless self-aggrandizing stories. You can feel the eyes rolling. Danni confesses about how she don’t like no Blake stuff. She’s perfectly aware that she’s the swing vote. She doesn’t like hurting peoples’ feelings, but she’ll marypoppins all that bad stuff away and do the right thing. Well, as right as a thing that doesn’t involve ending our weekly visitations with Former Dallas Cowgirl Gary Hogeboom can possibly be.
So we finally get to Tribal Council. Let’s transcribe:
Jiffy: How was that storm, there, Gary No-No-Not-A-Quarterback-At-All?
Former Dallas Cowgirl Gary Hogeboom: Character-building. The rest of us slaved like donkeys to keep the fire going, but those little bitches Brian and Blake slept through it.
Brian: In my defense, I woke up and took a late shift.
Blake: I figured they were awake anyway, they had it covered.
Amy still thinks “Golden Boy” is funny, but don’t worry. We won’t have to put up with that for long.
Jiffy: Blake, you were totally deceased after the Bataan Death March. And yet, you’re all manly and virile now. Wassup widdat?
Blake: I’m feeling better, I’m ready to ride it out to the end.
Significant looks are exchanged; everyone here who isn’t Blake can count snouts.
Jiffy: Brandon, you’re a complete social retard at a point in the game where society is beginning to count. Does this worry you, or are you too stupid to know that your tribemates are going to figure out that you’re a conniving little bitch?
Brandon: I’m from the great state of Kansas. We don’t have society there.
Jiffy: Gary, can you count? Do you know that this is Lord of the Flies? Are you worried about that?
Former Dallas Cowgirl Gary Hogeboom : That wasn’t me. I didn’t play football.
Jiffy: Amy, what about you, can you count?
Amy: Theah’s no reason for them to vote out me and Brian. We’ah all loyal to the Bobbyjon bannah heah.
Jiffy: Blake, do you have any idea they’ve spiked your corn meal with Roofies and they’re about to have a party inside you?
Blake: So once, I was at this party, and this girl with really big tits wanted me so bad, and I…
Jiffy: Jesus, I can’t even stand you, and I’m paid millions of dollars to pretend to like snotballs like you. Brian, what if you’re the one getting gangbanged here tonight?
Brian: Well, that would just be unfortunate, and if it happens, I’ll be the victim of a minority.
[That last bit is an actual quote. Brian’s Ivy League education has led him to believe either that a majority is a minority, or that he’s about to get mugged by non-Caucasians.]
Jiffy: Bobbyjon, make women moist.
Bobbyjon: Ever trahbal cownsill is a tough one. Ah don’ lahk it no more’n anybody else.
Jiffy finally sends everyone off to vote. We are shown the obvious; Brian votes for Blake, with some trivial and nonsensical comment; Brandon votes for Brian, because he doesn’t like effete big-city snobs. Former Dallas Cowgirl Gary Hogeboom votes for Blake, and Blake, of course, votes for Brian. Danorexia is shown writing the letter “B.” Loves me some obviousness, don’t you?
Jiffy goes off to fetch the Tiki Ice Bucket of Damnation, and reads votes. Blake, Brian, Brian, Blake, Blake. Brian is twitching. Blake is just beginning to form an idea in his little alcohol-and-testosterone-ravaged lizard brain that he just might be in a spot of trouble here. Sixth vote is for Blake, who is disgusted, far too disgusted to be gracious.
Jiffy asks us to contribute to Guatemalan relief in the wake of Hurricane Stan, and Febreze brings us the Loser Family Moment, in which Blake’s mother promises to make him a pork sandwich.
What the fucking fuck is it with these Texas boys and their mothers? Wasn’t Colby’s mom making him a Pork Sandwich in the back of an Aztec in Australia enough? Ewwwwwwww.
Commercials:
a mom cleaning up the living room with Febreze, for Febreze; a trailer for some movie starring Vin Diesel or the Rock or some such dolt; the old folk-singing couple, forgetting one verse of their song, but it’s okay, because Citi will take all their money when it goes under, leaving them penniless and bankrupt, but at least they’ll have their zither and mandolin (I know that you all just can’t wait for me to make a movie); a vehicle driving thorough a nighttime city strobing in red and blue , for yet another Pontiac; that Survivor Search in the City thing, and I don’t know why it’s so damn hard to zero in on the sounds of Ethan Zohn and Jenna Morasca having hot monkey sex somewhere; and CBS, for Dave, and for some other Law and Order ripoff.
And we’re back, with scenes from next week, during which Magrit and Judd will bicker, and Amy will get run over by a giant Indiana Jones boulder thingie, and Bobbyjon and Jamie will get in each others’ faces and puff up their chests and howl at each other for reasons unapparent at this writing, but I gotta tell you, every single one of the Bobbyjon fans I’ve spoken to since this preview aired has made it real clear that she just had to go change her underwear.
Blake confesses that he’s dumbfounded and attributes it to tribal gellusy over his manly manliness and fear of his invincibility. The vote display reveals that Bobbyjon did, indeed, vote for Blake. Huh?
And we’re out. Thanks, as always, for reading.
¶ 12:46 PM 15 Comments
