Survivor 13, Episode One Black Beans
and Rice

By TeamJoisey


Dammit Agnes, there’s brown people on my telebision! Where’s ma damm gun? Git Homeland Sicurrity on the phone. These damndable furriners are taking more jobs from gud ol Amurricans! What the hell is hapnin to ma country!

Yes, my friends, it is time for Survivor 13: The Last Desperate Gasp for Attention. This season’s “social experiment” will address a major divisive issue in this great country: The predisposition among non-white folks for collecting unearned money after lounging around all day. (Except those little Asian people. They are just here to steal the good jobs, like delivering my kung pow chicken.)

You may have heard some fuss about this polarized casting. Politicians have spoken out. Ethnic organizations have spoken out. But I'm here to tell you, a journalist’s careful analysis proves that Survivor contestants have always been carefully profiled. Detailed charts will show that each and every player in the first 12 seasons fits into one of these four distinct profiles:

1. Domineering, self-important pricks
2. Language-mutilatin’ idjits and weirdos
3. Model/actor/bartender/rocket scientist wannabes with shining bodies
4. Clueless bozos and mincing nitwits that stumble their way to the final four.

And you’ll soon find that each member of this season’s cast fits into one of those groups. So why have they chosen to split this season’s tribes along silly headline-grabbing ethnic lines? Why? Because no one wants to watch this pathetic “social experiment” any more. Hell, no one even wants to play this pathetic “social experiment” any more.

Evil Pecker Mark Burnett freely admits most of this cast was dragooned into playing the game with the promise of free checking and hot monkey love with Julie Berry. Casting agents stalked Chinese restaurants, taco stands and chicken joints; they put headlocks on anyone who fit the previously stated four basic groups and wasn’t actually eating mayonnaise.

Like all the previous stunt casting, this is quite obviously a ratings ploy. It’s been pitched as a way to see if alliances based on ethnicity will hold as the game progresses. As in next week, when they smoosh them all together anyway.

Hah! “Alliances” and “hold” in the same sentence. What would have made this more interesting would have been to split them into completely diverse groups at the start, and see if ethnic alliances formed as the game progressed. That would have been a “social experiment.” Unfortunately it would prevent the producers from opening the show with a collection of jokes from the KKKatskills Book of Humor.

Is this first episode full of insipid racial jokes? Yes, yes it is. I, for one, am sorely disappointed. It really takes the luster off my own attempts to be horrifically offensive. What will I do with all my black beans and white rice? What will I do with my Speedy Gonzales pictures? It's a crisis I tell ya, and a cryin' shame. But let's get on with it.

So here comes another season no one wants to watch and no one wants to play. And still, somehow I’m watching Jeff Probst bounce along in the surf aboard some replication of the Nina, the Pinta, or the Santeria. Twenty people on the verge of vomiting surround him, and those are just his makeup people.

While Jeff gives us his standard opening blather about these people having to survive in the unforgiving wilderness on nothing but their wits, the assorted cast members begin looting the ship, accumulating more supplies than a U.S. platoon in Kabul… which they promptly dump to the bottom of the Pacific.

And just whom are these scrambling morons tossing all those live chickens out to sea?

The Beaners,
aka the Aqui Tribe



Ozzy Lusth, 25, was born in Mexico and spent most of his young life on the lam to avoid prosecution for pimping his seester. He eventually shimmied under the wire just east of San Diego. He settled in Venice, California where he spends most of his days surfing and most of his nights cleaning tables. He also owns a small poppy plantation in Panama. He has extensive wilderness skills and once “camped out” for five months to avoid execution by a Panamanian drug cartel.



Cecilia Mansilla, 29, emigrated from Peru when she was 15, learned English at 16, and grew large breasts at about the same time. She has since parlayed those puppies into a job as a “technology risk consultant for a professional services firm” although that probably means she screens phone calls for a cleaning service. I’m getting a Feisty Latina vibe. I need to come back and fill this paragraph out a little later, because right now Cecilia is a complete cipher.
Except for the boobs.


Billy Garcia, 36, is a heavy metal guitarist who was born in New York and moved to Miami when he was seven. You can’t get more Hispanic than that. Fatso here is also an obscure professional wrestler working under the name “Spanish Fly.” He’s a former Marine, a former club bouncer, a former national AAU wrestling champion and formerly 100 pounds lighter. His teammates will have to drag his worthless ass to the finish line every three days until the coronary kills him. And then, in true “Survivor: Andes Mountains” style, they will cook him and eat him. After the copulatin', of course.


Cristina Coria, 35, a Santa Monica native and a police officer in her hometown, has beaten death twice. Once she was nearly crushed against her squad car by a drunk driver. After recovering from that, she was shot in a hostage standoff and was advised she might never use her left arm again. Through extensive therapy she regained use of that arm and went back to playing cop, just like her daddy did before he was shot and killed when she was 12. That’s three irrefutable messages from God. Clearly, Cristina is monumentally stupid and reckless.


J.P. Calderon, 30, is about as Hispanic as Tobey Maguire. He grew up as a worthless beach bum in Marina Del Rey, California and went to college on a full volleyball scholarship. Now he’s a pro volleyball player and a fitness fanatic who does some modeling. He also “coaches” a volleyball club for young girls. I’m certain he has an extensive video archive of high school girls leaping around in extremely small, tight panties. I’m not certain he’s as interested in those films as some other weasels might be. Did I mention J.P. lives alone in Long Beach with his Jack Russell terrier Frankie? J.P. Calderon is either flamboyantly gay or screwing packs of underage girls every other night. And here in Amurrica that gay thing is just unacceptable.



The Chinks,
aka the Pukey Tribe



Yul Kwon, 31, is the California-raised offspring of Korean immigrants. Like all other Asians, he was valedictorian of his high school class. He has a theoretic science degree from Stanford and a doctorate from Yale Law School. He has worked for numerous law firms and judges, and even Senator Joe Lieberman. Yul Kwon helped write our homeland security legislation, but probably not the part that says, “toss all the gooks back into Manzanar.” He also worked for Google and now does management consulting. He’s tremendously wealthy and highly educated, yet he roots for the San Francisco 49ers. He lists his favorite hobbies as boxing and politics as if they weren’t the same thing.


Jenny Guzon-Bae, 36, is currently a real estate agent in Lake Forest, Illinois. She is of Filipino ancestry, so they’re stretching that Asian thing a bit in order to get her cleavage on to the show. Jenny is a former print journalist and a former television journalist whose career started to sag about the same time as her breasts. Despite 13 years of ballet training, she was a fierce tomboy growing up. She still participates in a lot of sports, including volleyball, fencing and tennis. She has taken up belly dancing, much to the delight of her husband Don. I hate her. I envy Don. Folks usually have to fly to Manila to get women of this caliber for less than eight dollars.


Becky Lee, 28, the daughter of Korean immigrants, grew up outside Pittsburgh. She has all sorts of college degrees, including a Juris Doctorate and a degree in woman’s studies, whatever that is. (Is that the same as staring at videos of nubile girls in their tight panties?) Becky is currently an attorney living in Washington, D.C. while working for the prevention of domestic violence. In case that restraining order doesn’t work, she is also a kickboxing instructor. This little fortune cookie enjoys “hot yoga” and traveling to warm climates with her girlfriends. She’ll be the first to propose the chick alliance, if you know what I mean nudge nudge wink wink.


Brad Virata, 29, grew up outside Seattle. After graduating from college he traveled throughout Europe and Asia working as a "model" in "private fashion shows." He then went to Los Angeles to study fashion design and began a career selling crappy clothes. He’s now the director of Men’s Merchandising for Lucky Brand Jeans, and isn’t that just fabulous. The Bradster is another volleyball player and surfer born to live in Santa Monica where he can wander down and stare at the Muscle Beach show. Just loves orchids, Will & Grace, Pictionary and Fresca Pomegranate. I suppose it won’t be much of a surprise to learn he’s a volunteer with the AIDS Project of Los Angeles. I predict Brad will be the decisive factor in the “perfect pleats” challenge.


Ahn-Tuan “Cao Boi” Bui, 42, is more than a little strange. He’s a Vietnamese refugee who left that country when he was 11. Last time we asked, they don’t want him back. Right now he’s working in a nail salon in order to fulfill the INS requirement imposed on all Vietnamese immigrants. He has never been touched by scissors. He is a veteran of the U.S. Army and has worked as a photographer, used car salesman, a fisherman and a farm hand. He has hiked the Appalachian Trail and biked across the country. He holds the world record for marathon softball. He believes neurological disorders are the result of adverse meteorological phenomena. And yet, somehow, this creepy little mystic is a high-ranking member of the Moose Lodge with a wife and two kids who lives in Christianburg, Virginia.


The Darkies,
aka the Hickey Tribe



Nate Gonzalez, 26, was born in Staten Island, but eventually found his way to California, land of casting agents. He studied theater in college and plays with numerous musical groups. That’s code for someone who can’t keep a gig for more than two nights. Right now he’s a shoe salesman and a sales rep for a hip new urban clothing line in which your jeans hang around your kneecaps. Would it surprise anyone to learn he really likes basketball and reggae? But let’s talk about that “Gonzalez” last name. Does this mean he can form an alliance with the Beaners? Holy cow… are there black Mexicans too!?!


Rebecca Borman, 34, got on this show because she was on the makeup crew. Seriously, that’s how desperate they are. Rebecca does the TV makeup for former Survivor player Elisabeth Filarski Hasselbeck, the bubble-headed but luscious loon on “The View.” Who knew you could win an Emmy for putting your gunk all over Elizabeth’s face? Rebecca grew up on Lawn Guyland in New Yawk and studied theater in college. Her mother is a school principal in snooty White Plains, NY, while her father is a retired banker living in Lawn Guyland with his new wife, a professional belly dancer. I’m sure Rebecca took that well. When she see dat belly-dancing Jenny, she gonna cut dat bitch.


Sundra Oakley, 31, wants to be an actress. She’s done some Off-Broadway theater (yes, Fantasy Show World is still there on Ninth Ave.) been in some commercials, been on “Sex and the City” and even “CSI: Miami Always Looks Orange.” The folks at Survivor probably got her resume during a frantic search of CBS file cabinets. It is possible Sundra slipped it under a cocktail napkin at her job as a waitress at a Hollywood nightclub. She lives in (surprise!) Los Angeles with her son, but she was born in New York to Jamaican parents. That explains the cloud of funny smoke, mon.


Sekou Bunch, 45, currently lives in a place called Los Angeles, but he was born and raised in New York. His creative streak has brought him recognition as a painter at age 7, as a renowned break-dancer after that, and as a musician since he began playing the bass at age 15. He earned his first gold record at age 19. Since then he’s played with a long list of stars. He’s appeared in several films, and will be in the upcoming “Dreamgirls” with Jennifer Hudson and Beyonce Knowles. He’s quite the creative type, unless you need a viable shelter or any kind of cohesive plan to survive outside a sound studio. Frankly, I don’t know how this guy even got to the beach. Survivor casting agents probably found him playing on stage during S11’s reunion show and withheld the paycheck until he agreed to do one episode on the island.


Stephannnnie Favor, 35, cannn’t spell her nnamme. Neither can herrr husbannnd, Roddddd. And I despise people named Stephannnnie anyway. She’s nnno threattt to annnyone, so she’lll stick arrounnnd awhile. Let’s dispense with this one quickly: Born in South Carolina, graduated from Clemson, served in the armed forces during Desert Storm. She’s worked in a few accounting jobs and now she’s studying nursing. She likes gospel music, and her favorite movie is “The Sound of Music.” I get it: nuns singing=gospel music. But hep us Lawd Jebus if she be startin’ ta sing, doh. Dat’s a sho way to get sent home. Can I have an AMEN on dat, sista Wanda?




The Crackers
aka the Lame-o Tribe



Adam Gentry, 28, is a very, very white boy. Born in Ol Virginny. Edumacated in Ol Virginny. Worked as a personal trainer in Ol Virginny. Eventually realizing he’d never get on television while stuck in Ol Virginny, he packed it all up and went to… Southern California. Now he’s a copier salesman who dreams of making it on TV. Or making it on the coffee table, and then on the TV, and then on the credenza. His hobbies include “going out with friends, going to the beach.” Those aren’t actual hobbies, you shallow jackass. Take up f’ing volleyball, fer crissakes. One other creepy element: His favorite actress is 11-year-old Dakota Fanning. Why do I think he has the grainy outtakes of her infamous nude scene?


Candice Woodcock (heh heh, you said wood cock), 23, is also a pathetically perfect Pepsodent person. She’s from Nawth Cahlina where she was president of her high school class and captain of both the soccer and cross-country teams. She got a perfect score on the math SAT and got full scholarship offers from Dook and UNC. She was smart enough to avoid Dook, and finished with two bachelor degrees and a minor in chemistry. Now she’s a pre-med student at Georgetown. She wants to be a doctor in developing nations. After watching Survivor Africa she decided to spend 10 weeks in a mud hut in Kenya atoning for the ludicrous behavior of Suthrin Idjit Big Tom Buchanan. After that she spent a summer studying health care in Chile and Peru. She loves to drink Red Bull, which explains a lot. I’m getting tired just writing all this stuff. Pretty, blonde, young, smart and rich. I think we can all agree she needs to be killed immediately.


Jessica Smith, 27, is everything Candice is not, and remarkably similar to someone we all hated last season. Shouldn’t there be a limit on fire dancers with stupid blond dreadlocks? This one also bills herself as a performance artist, and claims to be sociable. I think we’ll find that's spelled “sociopath” by the time she leaves. Jessica Smith is not just another fire dancer, by the way. She’s sorta well known by her Roller Derby name, Flicka Flame, and was the captain of the infamous undefeated VooDoo Dolls. What with all that tattoo ink, I’m not sure she qualifies as a white chick. But needless to say, she was born, raised and lives in California.


Jonathan Penner, 44, of Los Angeles, California. A native of New York. OK, I understand there are not a lot of Guatemalans in Idaho, but why do all the white people have to be from California? This attitude-laden jackass is an actor/writer/producer/director whose done bit parts and regular roles in various television shows. He was nominated for an Oscar in 1994 for a short film no one ever saw. To establish his Cracker cred he attended uberpretentious Phillips Andover Prep in Andover and Sarah Lawrence College. He also has a wife and two children with the insipid names of Cooper and Ava.


It's nice to see a contestant so conveniently labeled. Parvati Shallow (yes, shallow), 23, is a toothy waitress in Los Angeles who also boxes. Yes, boxing. Punching and stuff. In fact, her bio says she is most proud of being a boxer for Perfect 10 Model Boxing. You know, Perfect 10, that “classy” nude magazine. And OK, I checked: She didn’t actually make the magazine’s final cut. So Parvati is most proud of taking off her clothes to pose for a cheesy nude rag that found her so revolting as to be unpublishable. Maybe she ought to just stick to the tight-panty volleyball movies. But here’s the good part: She grew up in a commune, left her family at age 17 and put herself through college to get a degree in ... journalism! If it weren’t for that apparently hideous nude body, Parvati might have a career as an “editorial assistant” with a major player in the Eastern Liberal Media Elite.


That’s it. Twenty people who don’t deserve our attention, never mind a million bucks. I don’t know what you’ll do on Thursday evenings, but I’m going to TIVO a week’s worth of Howie Mandel and watch that instead.

Commercials
Ashton Kutcher is an action hero out to save Kevin Costner’s career in The Guardian … Dog food that turns Pomeranians into basketballs … Lysol food sanitizer will prevent Mom from killing her children … Stepin Fetchit be sellin Radio Shack in a laughably racist ad … Taco Bell got the casting memo, and they’re on board … CBS promos …

When we return, the teams are furiously paddling their little stick rafts toward the one big island in the distance. Parvati is breastfeeding a chicken. Various contestants comment on the ethnic division, including Yul’s concern about caricatures and stereotypes. Damn slant eyes are always whining. And Parvati asks if ethnic casting is “kosher.”

As Team Aqui paddles toward the island, Billy comments on his parents’ illegal immigration status, and then proceeds to declare the Hispanics will do well because they are all from a tropical setting. Greaseball Wetback here lives in New York, of course. When they hit the beach he starts “explaining” everything to his teammates and then proceeds to demonstrate complete ineptitude. Ozzy, on the other hand, builds the shelter and climbs a tree to knock down coconuts. I saw a spider monkey do that once outside Cancun.


As Team Pukey paddles along industriously, Cao Boi starts spouting Asian jokes. He continues on, despite his teammates' pleas that he stop. His first confessional consists of telling us yellow people have all the brains, none of the strength and they will be underestimated. He seems to be speaking in haiku. His tribe dislikes him immediately. He admits he doesn’t fit “the Asian stereotype.”
No, he fits the other stereotype: inscrutable weirdo.


The colored folk of Hickey decide to “represent” for the African-American culture. They want to show that black people can swim and that all those stereotypes are wrong. They proceed to build a shelter by braiding palm leaves into cornrows. The arguing starts and eventually their natural stupidity and laziness takes over. They lie around waiting for FEMA to arrive. Sekou boasts about his leadership, which consists mostly of ordering the women around him to assemble a pathetic pile of palms that won’t survive a brisk wind. He declares it to be “low income housing” and suddenly they all feel comfortable again.

And what of our Crackers? Team Lame-o has already ostracized Flicka by making her swim along behind the raft for six miles while the beautiful people sit in the sun. Jonathan gives us a
confessional full of big phrases like “cultural similarities” and “specifically cohesive.” The whiteys don’t think the ethnic thing is going to matter much, probably because their sense of entitlement has already told them one of the shining perfect white people will win. Except for Flicka, who quite clearly does not fit in with the sorority chicks.

They gather on the beach to congratulate themselves, and Jonathan admits he choked the Chinese chicken. They carefully contain the chickens beneath a wooden box. Minutes later Flicka accidentally frees the chickens, setting off an inane and futile chase through the jungle. The crowing rooster torments them. The shining white people prepare to pluck and roast Flicka.

Commercials
Careers over - Martin Lawrence and Ashton Kutcher are now voicing bad cartoons … British dude Bams away toilet scum … a birth control pill that shortens the menstrual period … get email on your phone … Amazing Race promo featuring beauty queens and a marathoning female amputee. Pfft. That’s easier than watching this stupid show for nine hours … James Woods is an intense lawyer, and Dennis Haysbert is proud of his unit …

When we return to the show, we get a quick travelogue shot of Stingrays of Death and a moray eel. It is slightly less unnerving than the shot of Cao Boi pretending to be Yoda.



Meanwhile, the dusky damsels of the Hickey Bunch get all Baptist-preacher excited about “finding” the clearly identified barrel of water provided by the producers. We get a few minute of expository bonding between Sundra and Rebecca, followed by the inevitable outcast jealousy from Stephannnnnie. For those new to the show, this means Team Hickey will lose the challenge. Stephannnnie will become the swing vote deciding between the two guys and the two best friends.

Time for the obligatory fire building exercise, in which Sekou vows to never give up. Moments later he’s expended all his energy and is again lying around wait for FEMA to show up. Swinnngvotin’ Stephannnnie complains about him.

It’s night two at Camp Lame-o, and the Candice is getting chilly, and perhaps a little nipply in that Perky Pepsodent way. FlickaFlame says she’s “freaky cold.” The tribe decides to snuggle together while they sleep. Jonathan snuggles up to Parvati's back, Parvati snuggles up to Candice’s back, Alex snuggles facing Candice, Flicka snuggles up to, um, nobody. No one else cares or even notices. But they certainly notice Candice and Alex can’t stop “warming” each other all night long. Romance, or just frottage? Who knows. But there was “grinding” going on, and that’s a word with very unpleasant memories.

Day 3 dawns at Pukey, and Brad is complaining of a sinus headache from being seasick all day. More likely it is dehydration, caffeine withdrawal or hunger, or perhaps allergies to something in this new environment. But mystical weirdo Cao Boi decides he has the “bad wind.” Personally, I sometimes get the “bad wind” when I eat with Aqui Tribe. I'm not sure it is the same thing, but both requiring nose pinching.

Cao Boi goes all HongKongfooey on Brad’s head, finishing by repeatedly pinching and yanking on the center of his eyebrows. Once a humilating welt starts to form, Brad is declared healed. The girls laugh at Brad’s bruise, and HoChiMinh there ridicules them for losing touch with the ancient ways of the old country. Dude, she's from Indiana. Yul calls him a random kook (that’s with a k) but feels that some of his nuggets are actually useful. With sweet-and-sour sauce maybe. But you better get him a hairnet.

Commercials
Some penguin cartoon … Ethnic humor for a coat store … Energizer for skydiving … college football … CSI … Letterman … news promo … Chevy … casinos … Beauty and the Beast on Broadway, now starring Donny Osmond.

Finally some tree mail.




Teams arrive at the challenge, and find Jeffy wearing a very silly hat. He asks about the stolen chicken, and we find out Jonathan took a chicken rightfully belonging to the Pukey Tribe. Jonathan claims he didn’t know it was someone else’s chicken, and he'd choke it again tomorrow.

Jeff describes the challenge. Assemble seven pieces of a puzzle boat. Use seven braces in specific spots to lock it together. Paddle out and light a torch. Come back to the beach and take the boat apart. Use 16 blocks to build four small puzzles representing the points of the compass. Use the boat braces in specific locations to climb a tower, put the small compass puzzles in the right holes, and get your team to the top and light another torch. That’s three puzzles in one event. No spears to be chucked. No lawns to be mowed. No crosses to be burned. Only brains required; I think we know how this is going to turn out.

The first three tribes to finish will get flint to start fire. The winner gets an additional box with matches, kerosene, kindling and tinder. Losers go to Tribal Council. Jeff reveals the three-piece idol statue, and holds up a secret note that he’ll describe after the challenge.

The challenge begins.


Was anyone else surprised to see the Asians put the puzzle boat together in seconds?
And how about those hard-working Mexicans?
Was anyone else surprised to see the black team fail?
Was anyone else dismayed to see the knee sock fashion statement?

The Challenge
Teams, competing.
Jeff, narrating.
Blacks, failing.
Billy, stumbling.
Asians, winning.
Latinos, finishing.
Blacks, catching up.
Crackers, being stupid.
Jeff, favoring whitey.
Flicka, cracking butt.
Honkeys, keeping down the homies.

Still wearing that silly hat, Jeff distributes the prizes and pieces of the idol, and then reveals the latest “twist.” Which isn’t a twist at all. Welcome to Return to Asshole Island. The losing tribe gets to send someone from a winning tribe all the way to godforsaken Panama for two nights. And yeah, there’s a double secret immunity idol. Same schtick as last season. Twist this, jerks.

Nathan actually says, “Das what I’m talkin’ bout.” He and Willis step away from the ovary-addled members of the tribe to make a man’s decision. They choose chicken thief Jonathan. Nathan actually says “karma iz a bizzle.”

Jonathan gets a group hug that involves much fondling of genitals. Jeffy gives him the Big Book O’Clues. Chickenboy sets off for Panama, the others go back to camp.

Commercials
Audrey Hepburn’s corpse is violated for a GAP commercial … some drug-induced drama with Abe Lincoln and a woodchuck, designed to make you want these drugs … The Rock in the ripoff “Remember the Titans’ Longest Yard” … CSI is back, and Sarah’s “dusting for fingerprints” in Grissom’s lap … Amazing Race promo … promos for other CBS crap … Heideous and Jenna take their clothes off for peanut butter …















Off we go to Asshole Island, where a fake shipwreck has been verrry carefully arranged on the sand. Jonathan reads the clue, and for some reason, he can’t immediately solve the puzzle. I’m 5,000 miles away and I can see the answer on my television.
A top grade = the letter A. See those two masts jutting 30 feet out of the sand and joined together at the top? With one log crosses between the two? Yeah, I saw It’s Mad Mad Mad Mad World. Get your Alan Alda whitebread ass up and walk around staring at it until it looks like the letter A.

Now, Jon, you’ll notice the sun is setting. Quite often that occurs on the western horizon. Face the setting sun and look to your left. That’s the southern island. What might obscure your view of an entire island in the distance? Perhaps that big ship thingy?

Now using these visual elements, find the location where you can see the big letter A, and not the southern island. Dig. Win game.

You’re welcome.

What does Jonathan do? He digs randomly around the base of the big letter A. Whines about missing his children instead of doing something that might benefit the little bastards. Looks under deck boards. He doesn’t deserve to win a dollar.

Back at Camp Hickey, the mis-representin’ has begun. The men conspire, the women conspire, Stephannnnie is torn betweennn two cammmps. Sekou is to blame for all the troubles, Rebecca and Sundra need to be split apart. Yeah yeah. Sekou tries to persuade Stephannie to keep him because he can start a fire. Uh-huh. Whatchoo tawkin’ bout, Seiko? Deys no fire here. Blah blah blah, we've seen this a hundred times. Get on wit it, yo.

Off to Tribal Council, a large wreck marooned on the sand like a beached whale. I’m struck by the apt metaphor for this whole series, which has swum to shore to die. Jeff invites them all onto his Deck of Death and has them light torches. The questions begin.

Jeff: Rebecca, is any one of the homies steppin up to be the fly?

Rebecca: We gots ahh sevvs a big guy. Dat Suko, he be building shit and shit. Like dat.

Jeff: Sekou, did you play on dat?

Sekou: Homey don’t play dat. Dey jes knowed I be da man. Jes sayin is all.

Jeff: Nathan, have you started feeling up da bitches?

Nathan: There’s a beautiful spirit here. We are as a family. I will not have you tarnish it, sir, with your vile insinuations. We are a beautiful people God hath most favored.


Jeff: Did youse notice you all is black? And whitey put youse off on yo own eye-land so’s we doan hafta even smell youse? Whazzup wit dat? Fo shizzle?




Nathan: It is apparent to us that this striation is merely a ploy. However, we are not persuaded it will achieve the effect you desire. If, in the short term, we must endure such humiliation, we will present our best efforts, sir, and racial bias be damned. Damned, I say!


Jeff: Sundra, anybody been hooking up yet? Has there been any grindin’? We love grindin’.

Sundra: I been lockin on Rebecca, she my flygirl. And damn, dat’s a fine fine bootay.

Jeff: Stephannnnie, you have no friends.

Stephannie: Dose hoes wanna get down, I’ll cut them up. I be waitin for the moment, and then bam, I slice they face. Annnnd didyyall nottice I gotts ann exxtra lettter inn maa namme?

Jeff: Rebecca, wif onny tree days to figger, hows can you vote awreddy?

Rebecca: Hell, Sekou screwed up and he’s got a big mouth. We gonna “correct” that shit right here right now.

Jeff: Start the pig roast!!

Voting. Sekou picks Sundra, Rebecca writes Seko. The rest are all "secret." Blah blah blah.

Tally the votes:
Sandra
Sekou
Sundra
Seko
Seiko
Psycho
P Diddy

First person voted out: Sekou. Small tears from some, but the big guy is not at all surprised. Snuff, go away. Jeff sends the Hickey Tribe back to camp with a flint. As soon as Sekou is out of earshot they start singing Kumbaya.

What, no Febreze moment?

Next time on Survivor:
More bad ethnic jokes, and Aqui considers throwing a challenge to get rid of the fat, greasy, lazy wetback. Well yeah, that describes all Latinos, but this time they mean Billy.  ¶ 2:37 AM