Bitchy Survivor Blog

It's So Lonely At The Top

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Mon, 13 May 2013 23:05:00 +0000

If I had a band, I would call it 'Symbiotic Reciprocity'. Just a lute and a pan flute. Strings plucked and air kissed creating whimsical jaunty melodies. Working in tandem and feeding off of one another as pairs are often wont to do. Ribbons and lace, earth and sky, muses and nymphs, dimples and tweets, gin and glitter, dogs and bars. When two ideas, two entities, two seemingly uninspired attempts at greatness make love and absorb each other's essence, something fragrant and sweet is created. When once isn't enough, twice is always better. Why be alone when you can be together? Give and take. Take and give. If at first you don't succeed, try again a second time. Two. Dos. Deux. Due. Zwei. Hard syllables firm in declaration. Teeth separated by something soft and moist. Little enamel enunciations spelling out so much more than words. It has been a harrowing sojourn in Southeast Asia. We've been down and then down again. Once, twice, maybe three times we soared for the briefest of breaths. Only to crash face first in the mud and the sludge. Dizzy, confused and desperate, we sloshed about yearning for our high again. One thing we didn't do was give up. And neither did our intrepid victor. Give up and you can never smile at your own reflection. Give up and an understudy will sweep in to take over. Give up and the play will continue without you. But persist... persist!... and you might find your pocket lined with one million ducats (a cigarette butt and a used condom if you're Jeff Kent). Let's recap, shall we?

We continue our sultry saga under the cover of night. Blackness in our souls and blackness in the air. The only light is the soft reflection from that eternal full moon. Have you ever noticed how the moon never wanes in The Philippines? It is always robust, always hearty, always there to light our way and reveal our inner icky. Speaking of icky, the shaggiest of poodles teeters apprehensively on bony limbs. He grabs a tree branch and tries to steady himself, but the world whizzes by at breakneck speed. Plants, trees, monkeys, tarsiers, the coconut singers... whoosh! When the tree branch too escapes his grip and swirls on by, Erik collapses into a hairy pile while firmly clutching his head. It began back at Tribal Council. What was one Dimple became two Dimples and then three and then four. The fire spurted and sputtered seeming to swallow up the entire cast. He tried to ignore it. I mean, why not? Watching Phillip engulfed in a fiery inferno isn't so bad, is it? But when the fire and the visions and the world continued to twirl, Erik knew this was much much more than wishful thinking.

The remaining Survivors failed to make it out of the Tribal Council staging area before Erik's collapse. And it's a good thing too. A hundred yards more into the jungle thick and Dimples would have been back in his opium den planning his next talk show. Lucky for everyone involved, he's still here to offer a sympathetic hand.

Dr. Joe and Dr. Jen are quickly ushered in to give Erik the once over. With his blood pressure plummeting and the coconut singers still doing their do-si-do's, Erik is diagnosed with malnutrition, dehydration, low blood pressure, acid flashbacks and being terminally boring. Now, I'm not a doctor - although I sometimes play one in this here blog - but Erik just ate earlier in the day! Or did he? Was he too busy making hearts with his arms and giving the Darrell's head noogies to sit down and enjoy one of Bubba Cochran's burgers? How many calories a day does a person contemplating a grain of sand need? Let's not forget, this is the guy who goes on every Reward. Pfft!

And so, after some quick poking and prodding, Dr. Joe concludes that there isn't enough blood getting to Erik's head (I've been saying this since day one!) and he must be pulled from the game. Hearing this news, a slow smile spreads across Cochran's face. He tries to hide it by covering his mouth with his hand, but we know he's twirling his mustache behind those dirty nails of his. He knows the scraggly hippy in the sand just made him one million dollars richer. We can pretend that Theddie (Eddie) and Calgon (Dawn) are threats. We can tell ourselves that Theddie has his bros on the Jury and Calgon is the old lady in the shoe struggling to feed her children, but we know better than that. Cochran knows better than that! And if I didn't know any better, I'd say Bubba laced Erik's burger with arsenic, old lace and some sort of neurotoxin undetectable by your average toxicology tests.

Back at Edamame (Enil Edam), Cochran shuffles his feet across the peace sign in the sand while stifling giggles. The three players left aren't really a threat to him, but there is the off chance that Theddie could actually win the next Immunity Challenge. If that is the case, then Cochran needs to get to Theddie before anyone else can. Theddie is the one person that Cochran hasn't bothered to bond with so whether or not Theddie stays or goes, it is in Cochran's best interest to start feigning fascination with boobs, beers, and bros. But before Cochran can study up on beer pong and spring break in Daytona, it is Theddie who makes the first move on Cochran. The way Theddie sees it, Cochran has the best chance of winning if he goes to the final three with Freebush (Sherri) and himself. The two shake on what we know to be a very flimsy final three deal.

And this brings us to the big Reward Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's Challenge, you will use one hand to steady a balancing board while the other attempts to build a house of cards. The first person to build their house high enough wins an advantage in the final Immunity Challenge. Umm, I need to interject here - NO advantages in any way, shape or form should be given at this juncture in the game. Final Immunity should be won on your own merits. There is too much at stake for, let's say, a hugely unfair advantage to propel you into the finals. More on that later. Survivors ready, go!

I'm going to cruise this real quick because we've got a cantankerous jury to get to. Build, build, build, fall, fall, fall. Hands shaking like leaves. Freebush could never be Lady Justice. The scales of truth and fairness would slide into the dirt and the entire judicial system would lose all value. Build, fall, build, fall... COCHRAN WINS REWARD!!! Calgon promptly rushes him and applies a thick layer of compliments and that motherly guilt she's so darn good at. If "Congratulations" was an Olympic sport, Calgon would be champion of the universe.

Back at Edamame, Cochran is basking in the glow of his Reward win. And like that food challenge win, he won this last Reward Challenge fair and square. If I pull out my abacus and do some swift adding, that would make 2 Challenge wins for the lad. The one where he held onto 10 pounds of weight as the others held onto 2000 doesn't count and I will forever, until the end of time, refuse to count it. Cochran, on the other hand, counts it, gilds it, mounts it and polishes it. He is proud of those 3 (read: 2) wins. Now, I may not add the same as Cochran does and I may bitch endlessly about it, but the one thing those wins are doing for Cochran, the one thing I can never take away from him, is the effect they are having on his self esteem. To a person whose number one enemy is himself, that little extra oomph is invaluable.

On the other end of the spectrum we have Freebush. As interesting as bark and about as noteworthy as some sand in your bikini bottoms, Freebush is overflowing with self esteem - to a disturbing degree. Isn't that a pisser? A likable cerebral guy with a biting wit like Cochran fights day in and day out to wave away doubt and insecurity while a leathery broad who is about as interesting as a carpet fiber has too much self esteem for her own good. But the thing about an overabundance of self esteem is that delusion is commonly a byproduct. You see, Freebush has decided that she wants to go to the end with Theddie and Cochran. In that tanned hide she calls a head, she has decided that Calgon is too much of a threat were she to make it to the final three. With her tears and wallet photos of her 6 shoeless children, the Jury will have no choice but to award Calgon the million dollars.

And then we have Calgon. Nervous Nelly Calgon who has been the center of much Survivor chatter this past weekend. Others scoff and attack when she drops the Mormon act and loses her cool, but I, on the other hand, love those moments of paranoia and anger. Those glimpses behind the perfect facade are what I live for. Sitting around watching a do gooding Mormon mom whisk eggs and dustbust under the refrigerator is boring. But the loss of control, the red face, the angry fists, the accidental profanity... that's life, baby. That's the good stuff. Those primal urges that no matter how hard you try to suffocate, always, always, have a funny way of rising to the surface. Having said that, entertaining as her paranoia may be, it is tiresome and exhausting for someone like Cochran to have to deal with on a daily basis. Cochran has his own demons to conquer and quell. Having to babysit Calgon and whatever new emotion she is about to discover is proving to be not only difficult, but dangerous. Could Cochran screw up his game if, out of pure exhaustion, he drops Calgon? He'll have plenty of time to mull it over in this next segment...

... where a bunch of people died and I took the opportunity to pour myself another tumbler of gin. I boycotted the In Memoriam segment years ago and that boycott continues today.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's Challenge, you will race up a three story tower and untie a bag of puzzle pieces. Once you have your bag, you will launch yourself down a slide and drop your bag at your puzzle desk. Once you've collected all three bags, you will then construct a demon hellfire puzzle of Hantzian proportions. The first person to finish their puzzle wins Immunity and will secure their place in the final three. Cochran, since you won that advantage that has no business existing this late in the game, you will have all of your bags already untied for you. Survivors ready, go!

The Challenge begins as the remaining Survivors burst forth. Up the stairs they go. Some taking one step at a time and some skipping two by two. But what we didn't realize, what we couldn't possibly have anticipated, is that those puzzle bags are tied into place using the most complicated nautical knots known to man. Alpine Butterfly intricately tangled with a Carrick Bend. A pesky Poacher's Knot wrapped around a Trucker's Hitch. Quick nimble fingers can tangle with the knots as agile as you please, but Cochran has already collected his last bag and is starting his puzzle.

Thankfully, the puzzle is much harder than it sounds. The flames of the ninth ring of hell are not only wily and deceptive, but they are wiggedy whack in nature. Flit, poof, hiss! Sputter, spoot, crackle! Even the most cunning of minds have difficulty navigating the chaos. And so, with all four players finally at the puzzle desks, Freebush makes a stunning Challenge debut (I say "debut" since she has drowned in all of the other Challenges up until now) and actually begins to lock in some puzzle pieces. Calgon is right behind her placing several pieces of her own. Poor Theddie and Cochran duck and weave under the raging flames while the women, probably used to hot flashes, simply perspire and trundle onward.

Cochran's lead has effectively vanished, but you kind of have to wonder where he'd be if he actually had to untie those bags. Would Freebush and Calgon be farther along? Would Theddie have traded in his buffoon giggles for actual concentration? We can "what if" ourselves until we're loco in the cabeza. It won't change the fact that that was a ridiculous advantage for such a crucial Challenge because... COCHRAN WINS IMMUNITY!!!

One more win and one more notch on Cochran's belt. Why, the lad is quite plainly arrogant at this point. In his mind, he has just won a million dollars. And while I agree with him wholeheartedly, I find the grandstanding to be a little off putting. The "now I have to decide who wins second place" is very Cochran of yesteryear. You remember him, don't you? The one his entire tribe hated with a burning passion. Catching that glimpse of vintage Cochran peeking through makes what he has done this season all the more remarkable. Imagine the effort it took to bite his tongue for the past 39 days. The restraint he had to hone in order to come across as not only nonthreatening, but likable. If he really wanted to, he could probably be a fantastic serial killer.

And then we have Theddie. Universally likable and silly. With not a strategic bone in his body, Theddie is smiles and jokes. He'll rip the top off of a beer with his teeth and leer openly at women's breasts, but we can't hate him! He is good times and noodle salad. A simple man with a simple dream to unite his two loves in life - dogs and beer. Puppy dogs are adorable and furry and well, beer is beer! Combine the two in a beachside establishment called Waggin' Tails Pub and you've got yourself more than a million dollars, my friend. You've got yourself the best idea since gin and glitter.

And this brings us to Tribal Council. I have to admit I was a little surprised when Erik came trotting in with the Jury. Call me crazy, but if you're pulled from the game, then shouldn't you be pulled from the Jury? It seems odd that one would retain full Jury privileges after a medical emergency. If it was a broken leg, they wouldn't be wheeling him in on a stretcher would they?

Nevertheless! Here we are and that barking mad entrepreneur, Theddie, is OK with Erik getting pulled from the game since he was under the impression that the Erik, Calgon and Freebush had a final three alliance. Whether this is true or not, we'll never know. The fact remains that Cochran couldn't be more pleased, or lucky, that Erik was about to walk into the light.

And so, as a wise man once said, "likability is a liability" as Theddie is the 17th person voted out of Survivor Caramoan. Good luck with Bars & Barks, my friend. Be sure to invite me to the opening.

The next day at Edamame the mood is relaxed and everyone is loosey goosey for the most part. They know a feast is coming and it is just a matter of watching the sun descend into the ocean before Cochran has the biggest night of his life. In the meantime though, Freebush is working on her closing arguments and wondering how one would define the word "pawn". Cochran, reclining in a bamboo beach chair, replies, "Pawns are worthless, basically. No strategic input. No strengths. And, they're expendable." Freebush nods and whispers, "OK." She looks down at the notepad in her hand and scratches out the word "pawn". That clearly won't work when trying to convince the Jury she should win. What about some of the other words on her list? "Sacrificial lamb", hostage, victim... Oh wait, here's one! Superfluous. It has super in it so it must be good. Superfluous it is!

And through the magic of time, here we are at the final Tribal Council. It has taken months to get here. Tens of thousands of words typed. Hours upon hours of thinking up different ways to describe things like air, water and acid trips. We laughed, we cringed, we cried, we threatened to slice our wrists with whatever sharp object we could find, but we made it. We did it! We made some new friends, caught up with old friends, drank too little, drank too much. We stumbled barefoot through day after's and somehow still managed to emerge with our dignity (long gone) and our nipples sparkling. What a long strange trip it has been.

And now gentle ladies and gentlemen, we will hear the opening statements from our finalists.

Calgon stands demurely while hiding the pickaxe in her flowing skirts...
"I look at all of you, my children, and I am deeply humbled. *a ninja star falls out of her bra and hits the ground* You know how difficult this has been for me this season... *she stares accusingly at the entire front row* don't you? Mother doesn't like it when her children disobey her." *a pipe bomb slides out of her headband* I gave myself permission to play the game because god knows you ungrateful brats haven't given me spit!" And then she covered her face and cried while using the tiptoe of her Ked to nudge the pipe bomb under Cochran's seat. I think she's grown this season, don't you?

Freebush is up next. She stands in a baggy pair of pants I'd wish she'd worn more throughout the season and then *plop!* she falls over and drools into the dirt. Cochran and Dimples almost lean over to help her, but decide, in the end, that it's not worth the effort.

Cochran is up last and, let's get real, the kid went to law school. He has literally studied how to address a Jury. He knows what words to put where, when to sound authoritative ("I had to be Calgon's therapist") and when to appear humble ("I wore a Survivor buff to school and wrote a Survivor newsletter!"). He has spent 13 years crafting this final speech and it shows. He is clear and concise with that perfect touch of whimsy.

And now, Jury, it is your turn to address the Finalists. First up is *dims the lights* Golden Boy (Malcolm). He begins by approaching Freebush and placing a paper bag over her head. He then tells Calgon and Cochran that his vote is still up in the air. Next, he does something interesting. Instead of asking Calgon a question, he offers her up some advice. He tells her that she needs to come out and admit that she's a cold-blooded (killer). Just admit it! Admit you stabbed people in the back. Admit you betrayed your closest friends. Embrace it and admit it. Golden Boy doesn't care for the innocent mommy facade when Aileen Wuornos is lurking underneath that gingham polishing her gun. To Cochran he asks, "What quality do you have that I don't?" And then he took off his shirt and let his hair down. Cochran had nothing to say. And neither did we.

Next up is the owner of Woofs & Giggles - Tuesday night is Bitches Night! Theddie, looking a little like Tony Manero, asks Freebush if she is finally ready to admit that she has been carried to the finals. Freebush does that clenched smile thing that is so infuriating and shakes her head no. The Jury erupts into a fit of giggles and, in that moment, Freebush's world, her onion fries, her Dorito pizza and her Chalupa nuggets all came crashing down around her. The Jury started throwing packets of ketchup and mild sauce at her head as she covered herself with a napkin.

And this brings us to *snaps to attention and salutes* Phillip Sheppard. "Freebush, by the power vested in me as a crackerjack girl scout, I am hereby stripping you of all of your merit badges. You will henceforth be forbidden to attend the annual jamboree. Your cookies will be confiscated and divided up amongst my myself." He then turns to Calgon, "Calgon, since I have been living at Ponderosa, I have had the great fortune to study acting with Dame Reynold..." And then he burst into tears and starting clawing at the ground. The Dame sat in the mezzanine and watched carefully through his opera glasses. Vocal projection - good. Subtlety and nuance - needs work.

Erik, that peaceful guy dying from malnutrition a day earlier, is up next. He spits at Calgon, "Are you aware of the damage you caused?" Damage? *looks around the room* The damage of, oh I don't know, voting out a strategic player and playing the game? Is that the damage you're talking about, Erik? This isn't a Phish concert. We're not passing around nitrous balloons and adhering to the honor code. This is a game for a million dollars. Calgon replies that she was simply playing the game and staying loyal to her alliance. It was a true answer to a moronic question and I applaud Calgon for it.

Next up is Gay (Michael). We didn't really get to know Gay, but he has always struck me as a level-headed kind of a guy. And level-headed he is indeed. Out of all of the Jurors, Gay is the only one to recognize that even though Cochran and Calgon essentially played the same game and voted the same week in and week out, only Calgon is getting the backlash from the victimized Jurors. And while this point is astute and accurate, it also further highlights the finesse in which Cochran played his game compared to how Calgon played hers.

Everyone, shh. The great actress of stage and screen is up next and I have been deprived of his charms for much much too long. *the curtain parts*
"If we Jurors have offended
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but stumbled here
While all these vision did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
Fans versus Favorites, what a scream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck
Freebush, you do really doth suck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck, a liar call;
Do it to me Calgon,
Make me bawl!
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And this Dame shall restore amends."
And then he dropped a handkerchief as the crowd rose to their feet. *tear*

Then Mascaroni (Andrea) got up and said something nice. She's not bitter, she's grateful. *yawn* Next!

I've written and rewritten this next part several times and, for some reason, it's not coming out right. Stooping to the level of someone I find so abhorrent isn't what I want to do here. Instead, I'll just keep it simple...

Calgon, you've been a great friend to the blog. Not only did you laugh when I compared you to the mom in Psycho, but you played such a consistently interesting game that I was able to have some whacky fun with your character. Thank you so much for your support. I hope we get to see you back on social media soon. Love ya lady! And congratulations! Final three!!!

And with a whoosh and our hair blowing in the breeze, we arrive at the Survivor Reunion. I took one look at that devilishly handsome Golden Boy sitting there with his hair down and I knew - I knew! - that it was going to be a good night indeed. The stars were twinkling, Dimples was smiling, and there was a rightness in the air.

So, let's get to it, by a vote of 800,000 to zero, COCHRAN HAS WON SURVIVOR CARAMOAN!!!! Congratulations you spindly fop. You not only played a more mature game this time around, but you played a patient game. And that, I believe, was the key to your success.

But wait, there's more! A million dollars (a dead cockroach and some kite string if you're Jeff Kent) is nice and all, but it pales in comparison to this awesomeness:

*runs to drag the baby pool full of glitter that I keep on standby for such occasions* Come on everyone, we're all diving in. I broke through the fourth wall and that sassy Dimples actually said my name. It's naked time!

So, that's that. What did you think of Survivor Caramoan? Did the right person win? Why did Boston Rob get more airtime than people who actually played the game? Who wants to hit up Bitches Night at the Waggin' Tail Pub with me? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

I will see you back here in September for Survivor: There Will Be Blood or whatever the hell they're calling it. You can also find me this summer at the Bitchy Big Brother Blog and as a co-host on the Big Brother Gossip Show.

If you've enjoyed what I've done here this season, please click on my PayPal button and show a bitch some love.

It Makes Me Wanna Spit!

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 09 May 2013 21:27:00 +0000

Romans 7:20: Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.

Sin lives inside each and every one of us. Primal, vengeful, carnal, delicious sin. But if you neglect that kernel of ickiness, it will begin to fester, begin to bubble, begin to boil up through squishy innards and out through tiny holes where enamel once stood. When the pearly whites hit the earth, the blackened holes left in their wake gave a sinister peek into the darkness within us. The blackness of that inner demon waiting for an exit strategy. Sloshing in the bile and acid, he waits. He waits for good deeds gone bad, for humility masked in cunning craftiness, and then he strikes. Like a cobra to its prey, that once formerly dormant serpent uncoils and snaps everything - twigs, bark, bamboo, necks. Snap, crackle, pop, ye innocents. Crunch, you bystanders. Mrs. Hyde is spitting mad and now you will all suffer the consequences. Let's recap, shall we?

Our fertile fable continues with an effete foible at first light. Shaggy, worn, and depleted, Erik narrows his eyes at the rising sun while Theddie (Eddie), covered in filth and resignation, contemplates his Survivor dating history. Every girl he has ever laid eyes on has been vaporized. One second they're standing there as innocent as you please and the next second they are nothing more than a strand of blonde hair in the sand. But today, with no more fair eligible women to smile crookedly at, Theddie feels his time here in The Philippines is coming to a close. Unless, of course, he wins Immunity. If Theddie wins Immunity at the next Challenge, bespectacled chalky fop Cochran might be the one getting his walking papers. Theddie thinks it is only a matter of time before Cochran's alliance turns on him. They turned on one of their own last week, what's stopping them from doing it again?

What, indeed. Not a stone's throw away from Cochran on the beach checking his body for an expiration date, sits Calgon (Dawn) and Mowgli (Brenda) discussing what to do in the case that Theddie pulls out an Immunity win. Mowgli, having tasted the sweet syrupy goodness of a backstabbing last night, has an indescribable lust for it now. Like a drug, the idea of another blindside courses through her veins as she suggests to Calgon that they go after Cochran next. And here is where Calgon confirms the secret alliance I was wondering about just last week. While listening to Mowgli suggest blindsiding Cochran, Calgon reveals to us that while the idea isn't completely out of the realm of possibility, she has a little something-something going with Cochran and Freebush (Sherri). And just like that, the mystery of why the hell Freebush is still around is suddenly solved. What I'm wondering now is if Cochran actively sought out a Golden Girls alliance from the get go or was it something that developed organically over time? Perhaps it was a group love of cheesecake, needlepoint, and checkers on the lanai that brought them together.

While most of the camp sits and schemes, that poodle Erik is halfheartedly carving another notch into his calendar tree. *sigh* He's been playing Survivor for 70 days now (mind you, 70 days spread over 5 years) and he knows he should be happy right now, but he's not. It's exhausting lying around and doing nothing! It's backbreaking work napping in the sand and not fishing. Making finger trails in the sun all day will suck the life out of anyone, I'll have you know. Do you have any idea how many calories it takes to sing Rusted Root songs in your head 24/7? 'Send Me On My Way' alone is worth a good 50 if you flail your arms from beginning to end. All that twirling and arm waving, along with copious amounts of LSD, has left the tribe hippy depleted and spent.

Now when he looks up to the sky through the leaves of the palm trees, all he sees are coconuts mocking him. Their hairy heads bobbing up and down to 'Peace Frog' - Blood in the streets it's up to my ankles... What were once friendly fruits are now taunting demons. Demons that must be sacrificed. With a machete in his teeth and dilated pupils, Erik begins to inch his way up the precarious trunk of the tree housing the demon coconuts. But about half way up the tree, the visions begin. Visions of his lanky body tumbling down the tree and onto the blade of his machete. The color red singing to him as Dr. Ramona drags his lifeless corpse away leaving a sticky bloody trail in the sand. Blinking his eyes in an effort to quiet the echoes of a cackling Dr. Ramona, Erik second guesses his skyward climb and instead pushes play on the Blues Traveler in his mind. The scene ends with our defeated ball of hair staring upward and mouthing the words of 'Run Around' right along with the coconut singers... Once upon a midnight dreary, I woke with something in my head...

After a morning of disappointment, our remaining Survivors finally get some good news in the form of a Sprint telephone. Before Theddie can figure out how to turn the damn thing on, Calgon tackles him to the ground and screams, "No! Nooooo!!!" I love it when Calgon gets overtaken by her emotions and hollers things she doesn't mean. It's nice to see her let loose and unleash her violent side, but more on that later. So yeah, these chuckleheads are all a mess of tears and snot at the idea of seeing their loved ones send their stock messages of, "We're so proud of you. Everyone is doing well." Just once I want someone, someone like my mom, to be like, "Your sister has a new boyfriend. Why can't you find a boyfriend? You know, you're the oldest. You should be married already. Are you not giving me grandchildren because I sold your car that one time you went to New York?" Wouldn't a little honesty be refreshing?

Instead we get Mowgli's dad, Calgon's husband, Freebush's husband, Cochran's mom, Theddie's dad and Erik's brother doing that same old same old, "We're so very proud of you." My mother, the modern day Mrs. Bennet, won't be proud until she's married off her three daughters to Russian billionaires and is sipping margaritas from her terrace in San Miguel De Allende. She's a trip (and completely insane), my mother.

And this brings us to the big Reward Challenge. Come on in guys! The Survivors stand on tippy toes bubbling with excitement because they know what's about to happen. Let's trot out your loved ones!

First up is Mowgli's dad, Raymond. Raymond is the man we can all blame for Mowgli being a bore this season. After seeing her behavior on her first season, Raymond advised his daughter to be humble this time around. "Humble" equals "thumping bore" when it comes to Survivor. Thanks for nothing Raymond!

It is here that Dimples sneakily rubs some bengay on his eyes and pretends to cry. Tears equals ratings, baby!

Quick Mark, get a close up!

Next up is Erik's brother Justice. I mean, Richard. Brother! Brother! Brothers gotta hug.

Next we discover that Freebush is married to one of her teenage drive-thru workers. Come on out Jared!

The music then turns wistful and dreamy as Cochran's mom Arlene, with a fabulous pair of silver hoop earrings, embraces her son. Arlene reminds me of that wonderful art teacher we all had in high school. She always wore turquoise jewelry and Birkenstocks while whimsically describing a Vermeer with wild hand gestures. I definitely think Arlene has taken a pottery class. As a matter of fact, she's probably served Cochran cereal in misshapen earthenware bowls since he was a toddler. Precious.

And then we meet my favorite - Big Ed! Big Ed is jovial and funny. He's the life of the party with a heart of gold. In one fell swoop, he lifts up his grown son and smothers him with kisses. I loved it.

Finally, we're about to meet Calgon's husband, Dave. But not before Calgon does that opposite thing again and shrieks "No! Nooo!!! NOOOOO!!!!" into the trees. Dave isn't sure whether to run away or to run into his wife's arms. He opts for running into her arms and for a second I thought we'd get a little make out sesh. Calgon squeezes him tight and writhes against him before remembering she's Mormon and ending the reunion with a simple peck. Buzzkill Calgon!

For today's Challenge, you are going to compete with your loved one. You and your loved one will spin around in circles unscrewing rails. Once you've unscrewed all three rails, you will toss bolos onto them. The first pair to toss three bolos onto their rails wins Reward. The winning pair will get to devour an enormous barbecue feast just feet from your camp. You not only win food, but you win the privilege of rubbing it into the losers faces. Survivors ready, go!

The Challenge begins with Arlene giggling on the breeze and Freebush yelling at her husband to slow down. Erik and his brother quickly take the lead freeing their first rail with Mowgli and Raymond right behind them. The remaining Survivors begin to straggle in with their first rails leaving only Cochran and Arlene back at the start. It is here where Dimples takes his opportunity to hit on Cochran's mom.
"How old you are you Arlene?"
"She's about to turn 64 in a few weeks."
"Looking good, baby!"
"Stop hitting on my mom, Dimples!"

Alright, let's cruise to the end of the Challenge where we have a showdown between Mowgli, Calgon and Freebush. All have two bolos on their rails and it's a race to land the next one. Mowgli, who has been consistently missing her rails, passes her last bolo to Raymond who lands it and MOWGLI WINS REWARD!!!

Now it is Mowgli's chance to pick someone to join her on her Reward. Since Calgon is her best "I lost my teeth in a stank ass pond" friend, she picks Calgon and the four winners are as happy as they can be. But wait, there's more! Here's another Sprint phone and looky inside - more loved ones! For the first time in Survivor history there is a second set of loved ones living inside the phone. We have Cochran's dad, Freebush's son, Erik's other brother Darrell, Theddie's mom, Calgon's best friend and Mowgli's sister. Mowgli, you can choose one other Survivor and their loved one to enjoy a barbecue feast OR you can let all those other schmucks party with BOTH of their loved ones while you watch them from a laughingly close distance. What are you gonna do Mowgli? With Calgon wailing in the background, Mowgli doesn't even blink an eyelash as she decides to let the others have their loved ones.

Mowgli made her own bed and now she has to lie in it. Not only does she have to lie in it, but she has to lie in it while the crazy Mormon by her side completely loses her shit. Yessss! Sophie's Choice meet Psycho. At home I snickered to myself because I knew, I knew, that Calgon's inner demon was reaching its breaking point and I can't wait!

While you all grab your crucifixes and holy water (trust me, you'll need them), let us whisk ourselves to the Duffy offshore. We've got brewskis, some Jimmy Buffet playing and Bubba Cochran on the grill flipping burgers. Just a lazy day enjoying Duffy life. Now, I don't know if you've ever been on a Duffy, but they're like floating patios. They never take you very far and you basically just sit on them and do what could very well be done on your back porch. But they're on the water and that's what makes them neat! I can tell you many a story of sitting 10 feet offshore with a box of wine and some chinese take out. On the water that box is a bottle of Chateau Lafite and the Kung Pao is an exquisite Ming Tsai creation. Everything tastes better on a boat.
(I know Duffy isn't the correct term, but it's what I know and it sounds better than "floating dock")

So while Freebush is frantically reconnecting her umbilical cord to her son and Cochran is mystified by his cool daddy-o, one lady watches it all through gritted teeth from a nearby beach. Her name is Caldracula and not only does she like to pummel inanimate objects with her fists, but she also likes to spit! Toxic lethal venom spit. One drop of it on you and that body part shrivels up, turns to ash, and then falls off. Caldracula doesn't like to have things waved in front of her - things like her husband - only to have them so brutally taken away. Teasing Caldracula like that is a good way to end up with her standing over you clutching a shard of coconut shell as you sleep. She'll just stand there and stare. She won't stab immediately for she likes the anticipation of the kill too much. She likes to watch you inhale and exhale as you dream. When you roll over, her eyes (and the sharpened blade) follow you carefully. She may even let one tiny drop of spittle hit your arm. With a blank stare and a smirk, she'll watch your flesh quietly sizzle as you swat your arm thinking it's a mosquito bite. That moment when you finally flutter your eyes and stretch your arms overhead is when she'll strike. When you're at your most vulnerable is when she'll slice out your eyeballs and pop them into her mouth like candy. And this is why, every so often, go ahead and give in to that demon lurking inside of you. If you deny him pleasure of the drink, of sex, of wild carefree threesomes on a fold out couch, you'll fester, turn acidic and snap like Caldracula did. Your demon is your friend. Remember that.

Speaking of demons, here comes Cochran. While he is thrilled to have spent time with his parents, he is livid that Mowgli was able to appear so selfless to the others. "Likability is a liability," he says. This is very true. But let us ask ourselves, what is more likable than an awkward nerd fumbling his way through surviving on a deserted island? Not much. Not much at all and Cochran is a smart guy, he knows this. There isn't a story throughout the history of time more popular and appealing than the one of an underdog triumphing over adversity. But still, the fact that Mowgli was able to make what he calls a "game changing move" is bothersome to the lad. Furthermore, that sneakily crafty Arlene whispered to Cochran that Mowgli will win this game if sonny boy doesn't do something about it. And quick!

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's Challenge, you will be standing on a ledge over the water while holding onto a handle behind your back. That handle is connected to a wench and every so often Dimples will crank his wench (I think it's winch, but wench is funnier) lowering you closer to the water. Last person holding on wins Immunity. Survivors ready, go!

Standing at his pirate wheel with a parrot on his shoulder, Dimples cranks his wench as all of the Survivors tilt forward towards the water. Immediately we can see that the shorter you are, the better you'll do. I'm sure there's a scientific principle involving fulcrum and theorems to explain it, but I only need use my own two eyes to see that Little Man Leif would have rocked this Challenge.

In addition to being smaller in stature, triceps would also be an advantage which means Cochran is out first. Not surprisingly, probably because of his weight, we lose Theddie right after. Which, weirdly, leads to Erik throwing the Challenge. As long as Theddie was out, I guess Erik feels safe. And the dominoes continue to fall with Freebush falling next.

We're left with Calgon, Mowgli and Calgon's motherly guilt. She wields that thing like a sword as she tells Mowgli that she doesn't want to hang there all day. Plus! She hasn't won Immunity yet. Mowgli may be a bore and a silly decision maker, but one thing she's not is a quitter. So good for you Mowgli for hanging on. There is nothing worse than someone who quits at Challenges - especially when it is for final 5. Unfortunately for Mowgli, Calgon is shorter and stays up longer. And so, even though Mowgli will later insist she threw the Challenge anyways (she 100% didn't), CALGON WINS IMMUNITY fair and square and without her motherly guilt.

Back at camp, Mowgli is fairly confident that tonight's Tribal Council is as straightforward as they come. The plan will be to get rid of Theddie. But as we already know, Cochran is worried that Mowgli's selfless act could destroy this season long story of David and Goliath that he's been working on. And when something is about to destroy your carefully crafted story, you eliminate it. You highlight that paragraph and you delete it. It may have been a perfectly likable paragraph. Well-written, charming, funny and overflowing with 50 cent words, but if it doesn't bring you to the denouement you have planned, you have no choice but to send it to the trash bin.

But here's the conflict: what if sending the intruder to your perfect story results in making you the tribe bad guy? Cochran will have to play this decision with finesse. First, he meets with Freebush to see what her thoughts are about tonight's vote. Lucky for Cochran, she mentions Mowgli without him having to breathe a syllable of her name. Calgon is a little bit trickier, or is she? While Calgon is extremely loyal to her Golden Girls alliance she is also fearful of having others controlling her game for her. She messed up in the South Pacific by letting Cochran call the shots and let me tell you, she is about to do it all over again. There is no way Calgon wins this game if she is next to Cochran in the finale. Furthermore, he's not a vindictive kind of a guy. Cutting him loose right before the vote probably won't lose her his vote. If Calgon is wise, she'll ditch the ginger fop before the final three. But something, EDITING, tells me she's not going to do that at all.

With only 3 days left in the game, players need to be thinking about every scenario. What happens if Theddie stays and wins? Who does he take to the end? Are you looking at me because I have no idea. I still don't think Theddie knows he's playing a game for money. Erik is a similar mystery. His loyalties are to blotter and Northern Lights, but as far as this game goes, I'm stumped.

And this brings us to Tribal Council. We begin with Calgon and how she feels finally wearing an Immunity necklace. Obviously, she feels grand about it. She can finally breathe without crying and the demon juices within have been satiated for the time being.

Next we turn to Theddie. Delightfully unaware Theddie. He's a hard guy not to like, but he's an even harder guy to root for. Week in and week out, he thinks he's on his way to that frat house we call Ponderosa. Yet, week in and week out, the guy goes nowhere. With some good-natured ribbing from Dimples, Theddie shrugs his shoulders and wonders again if this will be the day to he'll finally be sent packing.

And now it is time to discuss those loved ones and Mowgli's selfless act of generosity. Calgon quickly points out that such an act could definitely buy Mowgli good favor from her peers while Freebush quite simply calls Mowgli a "saint". But when Cochran chimed in saying that voting out Theddie is the easy vote, but not necessarily the smartest, we knew. I knew, you knew, everyone knew! There is no mystery with this vote. Get cozy for at least another night Theddie because Mowgli is the 15th person voted out of Survivor Caramoan.

So, what did you think of last night's episode? Did Mowgli make the right decision giving up her Reward? Was Calgon heartless to vote out the girl who saved her teeth? Who do you think will win Survivor Carmoan? More importantly, will Golden Boy wear his hair down at the Reunion? Comment it out bitches and have a great day! I'll see you back here on Monday for my final assault on the season.

And if you've enjoyed what I've done here this season, please click on my PayPal button and show a hardworking bitch some love.

What?!

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 02 May 2013 20:08:00 +0000

And once again the curtain drops. This is not the black curtain of my depression. Rather, it is the scarlet curtain of a performance that has reached its end. It is closing night and the tattered playbills are littering the sidewalk. Pages waving au revoir in the breeze. The theatre once alive with the roar of an audience stamping and clapping in approval now sits in silence. No more are there rosy powdered reflections in the mirrors. No more pins and corsets and tape and hose. The dressing rooms grow dank with neglect. Threadbare crinolines sag limply. And in the playhouse, where art imitates life, a property blade is all that remains. A grim reminder of how every action, whether good or bad, has a reaction. "Drop a handkerchief and it will return to smother you," John Wilmot insists. As a thick layer of dust begins to form on the stage, the chairs have no choice but to hug themselves in depressed loneliness. Like you and I, they sit and wait for an encore. But if you stop for a moment and listen, if you reach back into the dark recesses of your mind, you can almost hear the applause… the clicking of heels across the floorboards, skirts sashaying stage left to right, roses plopping one after the other into a fragrant pile. Hold onto those memories, my friends... I remember the time I knew what happiness was. Let the memory live again. Let's recap, shall we?

Our hopeless opus continues under a starry sky. Had they a choice, the stars would have dimmed out of respect for everything we have lost. They would pull down the shades and shame their luminescence into hiding. But, like us, they have no choice. And so together we must dust ourselves off, dry our tears and trudge on. It is under this starry sky that the tarsier spits and farts in the faces of the returning Edamame (Enil Edam). You heathens choose to congratulate yourselves? Pffft! Loogie incoming. You pat one another on the back in celebration? A toot up your noses and a pox on your families! And it is here that Dame Reynold rises to make an announcement...

Oh, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt,

That, and resolve itself into a dew,

Or that the Everlasting had not fixed

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God, God!

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

Seem to me all the uses of this world!

I have no choice but to carry onward,

To win immunity five times over!

Too right, Dame. Since you cannot take your own life, you have no other option but to succeed. To win! Prosper! To kick sand in the faces of those who have sent the Golden Boy (Malcolm) to the Poop Water Lagoon.

Upon hearing these optimistic and determined words from Dame Reynold, Mascaroni (Andrea) simultaneously stifles both her giggles and her panic. She giggles because the Fans are hopelessly outnumbered, but she panics because week in and week out her MeMeMe disease rages and festers. What began as mere hallucinations are beginning to take hold and putrefy. Those wistful "Me Me Me's" whispered over the past 288 weeks have finally come to fruition. They've latched onto both her flesh and her circulatory system. The stench of rot and plague follows her everywhere now. Even young Cochran has noticed it. He's noticed it and, quite frankly, he doesn't care for it. Instead of letting the tribe leper call the shots, he'll call the shots from now on. He'll grab the game by the short and curlies and give it a good jitter.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's Challenge, you will balance on a triangular platform in the water with your bare feet perched on narrow footholds. At regular intervals you will move your feet higher up the platform. The last person standing not only wins Immunity, but a Reward in the form of information. Survivors ready, go!

With the wind blowing all around them (note: the wind was me frantically doing the dance of the seven veils in the direction of everyone not named Dame Reynold), the Survivors stand on the widest perch as the challenge begins. But how boring would a challenge like this be without a sassy seducer tempting the starving innocents with tray after tray of tantalizing treats? And that is exactly what Dimples does. Not 30 seconds into the Challenge, he emerges from behind his podium to reveal a plate of donuts and an ice cold glass of milk. Immediately, Erik mumbles, "I want that." Not so fast patchouli breath. Theddie (Eddie) also wouldn't mind getting a little frosting stuck in his neck beard.

(Little Darlings, 1980)

At home I wanted to be surprised by Theddie's willingness to give up so early in the Challenge, but let's face it. Theddie doesn't even realize where he is let alone that there is a distinct possibility Dame Reynold could win Immunity thus making Theddie the next target. For all Theddie knows, he's away at Camp Tomahawk for the summer. Yesterday he made lanyards, today he'll eat donuts and tomorrow he'll try, yet again, to get Kristy McNichol to give him her virginity. Survivor is a carefree coming of age romp for the lad where he'll get to roast some marshmallows, meet some new buddies and maybe, at the end of it all, go home with a million dollars in his pocket. And so, without a care in the world, both Erik and Theddie dive off their perches for some donuts.

Some time passes and the Survivors must move their feet up to the next perch. Again, Dimples runs to his podium for yet another platter to tempt them with. This time it is hot dogs and a soft drink. Pasty and slumped, Cochran looks to his fellow alliance members and asks, "I'm going to take this, ok?" Mascaroni sneers as Calgon (Dawn) shakes her head in disapproval. Cochran whines, "My thighs are killing me." His entire alliance then turns their back on the lad as he stumbles face first into the water. Even Dimples is disappointed as he puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. So much for being a Challenge beast, eh?

Giddy from the anger wafting off of Cochran's former friends, Dame Reynold beams and begins to taunt the others. With a point and a karate chop, he teases Calgon with dance moves from Rock Of Ages. Not the Tom Cruise vehicle Rock Of Ages, but the Constantine Maroulis Broadway Rock Of Ages. An unsullied Rock Of Ages, if you will. The problem is that dance moves from the 80's require a lot of hip gyrations and pelvic thrusts that aren't exactly conducive to standing on a shaky perch in the middle of the ocean. Lucky for the Dame, he, like Gene Kelly, has a very low center of gravity and is able to redeem himself.

Finally, we arrive at the final tippy top perch where the gravity of plunging estrogen is simply much too much for both Freebush (Sherri) and Calgon. Splish, splash... both ladies tumble into the water leaving Dame Reynold, Mowgli (Brenda) and Mascaroni still alive. But what's this? It's Freebush and she's swimming in front of Dame Reynold's perch with wild abandon. She pauses in front of him like a spastic mermaid lurching her bosoms back and forth in hopes of toppling our dandy. Fortunately for the Dame, Freebush cheats about as well as she competes and he is able to recover and regain his composure.

But like Cats, all good shows must come to a close. All wigs must be returned to the prop master and all theatre lights must dim for the Dame was only able to hold on for so long. But what do you expect from a guy who starred in the second longest running show on Broadway? Eventually he'll lose his oomph and motivation. It happens to the best of us. 8 shows a week wearing a tail and whiskers makes one rickety and nervous, not agile and graceful. And so, with a most balletic splash (his toes were pointed!), Dame Reynold is out of the Challenge.

This leaves us with Mascaroni and Mowgli. Two Survivors unwilling to make a deal with one another. Two Survivors happy to duke it out to the very end. As it should be! Quitters in Challenges are shameful! (*ahem Theddie, Erik and Cochran*) Only, Mascaroni doesn't view Mowgli's persistance and determination as respect for the game. In fact, she sees it as a personal attack on her very being. Oh give me a break, Mascaroni. You expect Mowgli to quit for you but you won't quit for her? Such hypocrisy. The MeMeMe coursing through your veins is most unbecoming especially since after all your bitching and moaning, you won anyways. Burble. Mascaroni wins Immunity despite her penchant for bitchassness. No pictures or capital letters for you.

Back at camp, Calgon does what Calgon does best - she gushes over Mascaroni's win and then prepares the batter for a bundt cake. You'd be surprised how easily monkey droppings can mold themselves into a ring shape. The Dame, however, is preparing his eulogy. That last Challenge was a do or die situation and things are beginning to look a little grim for our Dame. Hark! Those pesky Favorites do have an alternate option though. What if they were to take this opportunity to blindside one of their own? That Jury will be stacked with a whole mess of Favorites come Judgment Day so why not use this time to take out a threat with the voters? No matter how much we can surmise or wish or hope, ye olde Dame Reynold isn't the conductor of this orchestra so he'll just have to wait patiently and hope for the best.

As it turns out, he didn't have to wait long at all. Mascaroni is still bunged up that Mowgli stayed on her perch as long as she did. To hear Mowgli tell it, she doesn't have her panties in a twist over the fact she lost, she just didn't want to lose by quitting. That's all. Mascaroni's mind, quickly turning to sludge from the MeMeMe-itis, interprets Mowgli's audacity of playing the game as a secret mission to take out Mascaroni. In Mascaroni's world, if you don't quit and give her what she wants, then you're an enemy with a Mascaroni burn book hidden under your bed.

To make matters worse for Mascaroni, she promised to share her Reward Information with Mowgli. I'm not going to pretend to understand the logic in Mascaroni's head especially since she inexplicably also decides to share her Reward Information with every other member of her alliance as well. She says it is so she doesn't appear "suspicious" and that could very well be true. Suspicious you are not, Mascaroni. A greedy clepto, you are. When the information turns out to be a clue for the Hidden Immunity Idol, the Favorites, en masse, go hunting for it. And when that shaggy poodle unearths it and then holds it up for all to see, Mascaroni snatches it out of his hand and looks very pleased with herself. Both Cochran and myself stared in disbelief, not at Mascaroni being a sticky fingers, but at Erik not shoving it down his pants and using it for himself! It's like the guy is in a never ending game of hot potato whenever he gets his hands on an Idol. Ouch! Hot, hot, hot! Here, take this!

Feeling the power of I don't know what in her hands, Mascaroni fondles the Idol and wonders to herself if perhaps now is the perfect time for a blindside. Between blindsiding someone else or getting blindsided herself, she'd much rather it happen to someone else. And that someone else is Mowgli. She workshops the blindside scenario to both Cochran and Freebush as they all loll about lazily in the water. Freebush nods and tips over while Cochran is annoyed that people are already thinking about their individual games at this point. He would rather the alliance of 6 keep moving forward together as a single unit which makes me wonder... what final 3 alliance has he already made? I think it's obvious he has something going on with Calgon, but could his other secret alliance be with Freebush? If you think about it, back during that amazing Tribal Council when Golden Boy whipped Idol after Idol out of his pockets, why didn't the Favorites dump Freebush? Why was it such a frantic drama trying to figure out who to get rid of? Freebush brings them nothing of value, she's crap at competitions and she's not even a Favorite! Something is going on, something we're not seeing. There is a strategic subplot that has nothing to do with Dame Reynold being a threat. Or maybe I'm just so bored with this show right now that I'm making crap up to numb the pain I'm feeling from having to write this drivel.

And this brings us to Tribal Council. *dims the lights and puts on some smooth jazz* Dimples asks someone something about something, but I wasn't paying attention. My notes simply say, "HAIR DOWN." In the background, voices are doing that Charlie Brown teacher thing where all you can hear is "wah wah wah wah wah" while in the foreground a bowm chicka wow wow thumps with a merengue backbeat.

I think I heard Theddie mutter something about trading in his pride for donutsth, but at home I was doing the Kim Basinger stripper dance from 9 1/2 Weeks which got me this reaction from Golden Boy. Look, even Phillip is happy about it. And Gay (Michael), well he's gay so of course he has to put his head down and wait for the song to end.

As Tribal Council continues Dame Reynold offers up his services as an instrument for anyone who wants to use him. Calgon thinks about it for a second, but then turns her attention back over to the bleachers. She may be an older gal fighting off the menopause, but she's not dead yet. She knows a succulent piece of man meat when she sees it.

Alright, let's get to the votes. As if one week of stabbing me in the heart wasn't enough, these jackasses go ahead and do it again. It is with great sadness that we bid adieu to one of the most favorite characters I've birthed from my own loins. Dame Reynold, you are the 13th person voted out of Survivor Caramoan. The show may have come to a close, but you received rave reviews. Now blow us all a kiss and take your final curtsy.

Back at Edamame the starry skies once again have no choice, but to go on. Once again they have to listen to Mascaroni and Calgon yap yap yap about how great they're feeling right now and how close knit this tiny little group of chumps is becoming. At home I watch it all with indifference. Who am I kidding? I don't care anymore. I don't. All of my interesting characters are gone and with them, my inspiration. So when Mascaroni stands there talking about blindsiding either Mowgli or Calgon I fight off a yawn and pry my eyes open with some clamps.

Cochran, however, sits up wide awake hearing the name Calgon escape Mascaroni's lips. As we've always suspected, Calgon and Cochran are tight allies and most likely in a final two deal. Just the fact that Mascaroni is even considering her sends Cochran into damage control. With Mascaroni off somewhere polishing her Hidden Immunity Idol, Cochran scurries to Calgon and Mowgli and tells them that Mascaroni mentioned voting the both of them out. Calgon and Mowgli take one look at each other and, without a word being spoken, they know what they have to do - get rid of Mascaroni.

And this brings us to the next Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, you will push a buoy through a series of obstacles to a post holding a key. Once you have the key, you'll unlock the chest filled with ladder pieces. The first person to build their ladder and raise their flag wins Immunity. Survivors ready, go!

The Challenge begins with Erik and Mowgli off to a quick start. Freebush tries to push her buoy from one obstacle to the next, but somehow her foot got tangled in the ropes and there she stays for the rest of the Challenge whimpering for someone to come untie her.

Erik and Mowgli maintain their lead throughout the Challenge with Mascaroni joining them as they unlock their chests. After some complications finding his first step of the ladder, Erik begins to make headway pulling ahead of both girls. No matter how quickly Mowgli begins to piece her steps, it is too late to catch up with Erik and ERIK WINS IMMUNITY!!!

Back at Edamame, Calgon once again lavishes the Immunity winner with compliments before retreating to the kitchen where she checks on her jello mold with chunks of clam inside. Mascaroni, on the other hand, has other things on her mind more important than her stomach. She yanks Calgon out of the kitchen by her apron strings and grabs Cochran by the scruff of his hair. Once she has them all to herself, she makes her case for getting rid of Mowgli tonight. A) She hasn't pissed anyone off. B) She's a fierce competitor. C) She didn't quit when Mascaroni wanted her to. Plus, Theddie will be so grateful that he's staying in the game that he'll vote however Mascaroni wants him to vote. And with a wipe of her palms and a smug satisfaction, Mascaroni is confident that tonight will play out exactly like she planned.

Speaking of Theddie, he's just happy people are talking to him. It's been 900 days of being on the outside and not knowing what the hell is going on so it's sthuper excthiting for him when Mascaroni tells him they'll be voting out Mowgli tonight.

Where Mascaroni screws up is when she asks Cochran what he thinks would happen if Theddie made it to the final 3. Strangely, Cochran thinks Theddie would win. I disagree most ardently, but that's not what is important here. What is important is that all of the pieces are finally coming together in regards to Mascaroni. The fact that she even mentioned taking Theddie to the finals means that it is something she has thought about. It also means that she's probably not planning on taking Cochran with her. Mascaroni's best case scenario would be taking someone like Freebush with her. If you'll remember way back in the beginning, Mascaroni's end game has always been stacking the Jury with as many people that will vote for her as possible. Well, sitting between 2 Fans at the end sounds like a sure way to stack that Jury with fellow Favorites.

Cochran quickly tells the other Favorites how Mascaroni wants to take Theddie to the finals. As a group, they agree that she needs to go now. The only hiccup in the plan is the fact that Mascaroni has the Hidden Immunity Idol. Cochran suggests to the others that they split the votes with Theddie just in case Mascaroni decides to play the Idol.

And then there's the matter of that curious question mark, Erik. Erik, the guy who plays with an imaginary hacky sack and waits day in and day out for someone else to tell him how to vote. And then when those two opposing sides finally do tell him how to vote, he marvels in the misconception of how he's running the entire game. I don't know, I guess it's a strategy to be completely aloof and spend your days watching the wind blow. I mean, it has gotten him this far. Still, it doesn't make him interesting and it doesn't make him someone you want to see win the game. And if there's anything that I take as a personal insult, it is boring people on reality shows... and Erik is their king.

And this brings us to another Tribal Council. *puts on something groovy and spins the disco ball* One night with The Fornicator and our once demure Dame has morphed into John Holmes. What in the sam hell is going on back at that Ponderosa? I'm picturing shag carpets, mustard colored walls, a slew of underage Filipino women, and Gay behind the camera shouting "That's purrrrrfect Phillip. Yes, Golden Boy just like that. Dame, stroke your mustache while you thrust." I knew that Dame would find a way to keep performing. I just didn't think it would be in a 70's-style orgy. I guess you take the parts you can get.

Since Golden Boy put his hair back up I can actually focus on what's happening here at Tribal Council. We begin with Dimples noticing that Theddie is the last standing Amigo. He wonders if maybe the Favorites plan is to keep Theddie around for a little longer. Theddie nods and then does something remarkable - he quotes Cochran, "Timing isth everything in thisth game." Who knew Theddie was even paying attention? Here I thought he was planning a panty raid over at the girl's camp after the camp counselors went to sleep. Anyhow, Theddie says that if a blindside were to happen, now would be the time. Actually, people have been saying that for the past 3 weeks so maybe Theddie isn't that profound after all. Back to your s'more's Theddie.

The conversation turns to lying and, no surprises here, but everyone assumes they've been lied to in this game at one point or another. Cochran then chooses to go into detail about the lies people have possibly told him. Specifically, lies about wanting to go to the final 3 with him. At home I began to freak out a little. I thought the point was to make Mascaroni feel completely comfortable and safe so she doesn't play her Idol. But hearing Cochran talk about final 3 lies, we get the concerned look above from Mascaroni and I begin to worry.

Alright let's get to the vote. If anyone wants to play their Hidden Immunity Idol, please don't do it now because I want your ass sent home. Mascaroni sits quietly and does nothing. At home it was my turn to sit in smug satisfaction as Mascaroni is the 14th person voted out of Survivor Caramoan. Finally! It doesn't make up for the loss of my men, but at least it's something.

So, what did you think of last night's episode? Do we all have the will power to finish out the season together? Who would you like to see win the million dollars? How much do you think Gay will charge for Ponder-HO-sa? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

And, if you've enjoyed what I've done here all season, I ask that you please click on my PayPal button and show a girl some love.

Dammit

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 20:06:00 +0000

Crumpled on the floor listening to the clock go tick tock, tick tock, an ambulance whizzes by in the distance. Has it come to retrieve my heart? Take it away! Begone with it! Throw it onto the fire. I have no use for it anymore... this crumpled black thing churning in my chest gurgling and spewing sludge before the ash. The last remnants of my life force reduced to an inky black tar. Sluicing through my veins like an infinite serpent slithering its way into wrapping around my insides. Squeezing my guts like a sponge and crushing my ribs as if they were made of toothpicks. For what is my purpose if there is nothing shiny to look at? For whom do I scratch flowery musings onto this parchment? And why don't I hear the wail of the ambulance anymore? For whence has it gone? Another fraulein perhaps. Another crumpled pixie tangled up in hair and sadness. Another tiny breath in the darkness trying to pick up the shattered pieces of what used to be inspiration. Pieces too tiny to glue back together. Tiny shards to be swept up and shaken around in cupped hands before being thrown against the computer screen where hopefully they'll piece themselves together into an overly melodramatic blog about a reality show. Le sigh. Let's recap, shall we?

We continue our tragic tale with the night hanging thick around us. A lone bat sits high up in a tree and waits for her camp companions to return home safely. When she finally hears their footsteps in the sand, she spreads her wings and flutters away to the tent where she is most likely to get a contact opium high. The tent of the 'Dimpled One' with its chiffon mosquito nets, beaded curtains and melancholy lute players sprinkled across hand woven rugs is where she'll spend the night tonight. Back at Edamame (Enil Edam) the only contact high one can hope for is from the manly musk wafting off of the Three Amigos. Dame Reynold, in particular, is especially intoxicating this midsummer's eve. Surrounded by the six sycophants his best mate Golden Boy (Malcolm) just cuckolded, the Dame basks in the glory of safety. He signs autographs, blushes appropriately and tucks the pair of panties offered to him by Calgon (Dawn) deep into his pocket. Tis good to be a Dame tonight. Tis very good indeed.

Similarly, Golden Boy is also feeling a sense of pride and rightly so. It wasn't easy to finance the corporate takeover of Slurp-R-Futz, but he pulled it off and now he can wheel that executive chair out into the ocean once and for all. Edamame is finally through with board meetings, through with H.R. seminars and, most importantly, through with Panty Casual Fridays. Shaggy poodle Erik is grateful for the takeover and immensely satisfied with the changes around the office. No longer does he have to avoid looking everyone in the eye and keep his head down at his desk. Golden Boy has released him from the copy machine and now he is free to socialize with his colleagues at TGI Friday's Happy Hour like he always wanted. But not all of Edamame is pleased with the corporate takeover. Bespectacled fop Cochran puts on a brave face on the outside, but on the inside his anxiety levels and allergies are all a jumble of confusion and concern.

The next morning, as reality begins to set in and the executive chair washes ashore covered in seaweed and barnacles, the remaining Scruff-R-Nuts find themselves exhausted and spent. The candy jar at reception is empty, the vending machines offer nothing but cobwebs, and all that remains in the coffee can are some guano and post-its. With the mood bleak and the sky gray, the gloom is much too much for Mowgli (Brenda). What was once quiet and meek suddenly erupts into weeping and snot as Mowgli breaks down and succumbs to the hunger that is ravaging everyone. Naturally, Calgon's motherly instinct kicks in and she does what every TV mom does - she rushes to get a glass of questionably clean water because, as we all know, water fixes everything. We've seen it before on the silver screen. A heroine breaks down and she's weirdly offered a glass of water as a remedy. Oh, your son died? Here, have a glass of water. The aliens abducted your baby? Here's a nice refreshing glass of water to make it all better. Unless water is code for "gin", I don't see how it can help. Especially if the glass of water is tan with tadpoles frantically swimming hither and thither trying to get out.

But fear not damsel in distress, here comes Tree Mail to make it all better.

And this brings us to the big Survivor Auction. Come on in guys! You've all been out here for 800 days and even though Survivor regularly stuffs you with obscenely extravagant Reward buffets, here is yet another chance for all of you to shovel food into your gobs. You've each been given $500 for today's Auction. Bidding will be in $20 increments. There is no sharing of money and no sharing of food. The Auction will end without warning so don't screw this up.

Oh believe me, Golden Boy won't screw this up at all. He's the man with a plan. Who needs food? He's after anything that can help him stay in the game just a little longer. That's my Golden Boy. Always thinking. Always planning ahead. Always shunning the pleasures of life for good old fashioned common sense.

"We begin the Auction with a nice cold Heine..."
"$20!!!"
"I didn't say what the item was yet."
"You said Heiny and I'm pretty sure you weren't offering strippers."
"3 beers and nuts sold to Golden Boy for $20!"

It all happened so fast that at home I stared at the TV and then down at my blank page of notes again. Did he just...? He didn't really... Oh, hell no. And then I saw this:

So, not only does coffee unleash the lad's libido, but a brewski on a hot summer's day is simply too tempting to pass up. And like someone wearing a co-ed naked lacrosse t-shirt, Golden Boy chugs his beers one after another strapping on a nice healthy buzz before Dimples can even plate the next item. At home I shook my head in disbelief at first. But, let's get real. Had I been out there and Dimples unveiled a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, I would have punched Calgon in the face and ripped the cork out with my teeth. Cheers, Golden Boy.

The next item remains covered and the bidding slowly creeps upward with Calgon, Erik and Mascaroni (Andrea) all tossing in bids. But then, the Dame. Always one for dramatic flair and precision timing, the Dame waits until Dimples has his gavel in the air before shouting, "$180, my liege!" Sold! But, not so fast. You can either have this here covered dome or what is under covered dome number 2. *pause* OR, what is under covered dome number 3. The Dame stares wide-eyed while frantically fluttering his hand-painted fan back and forth. What to do, what to do. Cochran begins to whisper something about some guy named Monte Hall, but the Dame isn't familiar with that particular actor's stage work so he sticks with his original choice and takes number 1 - a gnarly piece of pizza shriveled up in the Filipino sun. Unfortunately for the Dame, dome number 2 was the rest of the pizza which Freebush (Sherri) ended up nabbing for a cool $500.

Continuing on, Calgon blows her entire wad on a roast chicken. And then we get to what Dimples describes as "information in this game". Golden Boy shouts, "$480!" At home I put my head in my hands knowing one of other douche nuggets is going to bid $500 and steal it away from him. I waited and I waited and, oh my god, no one bid $500! What the...?!? Miraculously, Golden Boy ends up with a clue for another Hidden Immunity Idol. He has 60 seconds to read and memorize it which, let's face it, probably would have been a lot easier had he not been three sheets to the wind at this point.

The next item remains covered and a weirdly weepy bidding war breaks out between Mowgli and Mascaroni. I'm not exactly sure why Mowgli starts bawling again since the bidding is only at $280 and she has $500 sitting her in hand. Nonetheless! Mascaroni wins the item for $280 sending Mowgli into another tailspin. Maybe the next item up for bid is a bottle of Lexapro. Lord knows, Mowgli could do with a little pharmaceutical assistance at this point. Anyhow, this is where a big fat moral dilemma weasels its way into the game. Morality, pfft! My views on morality are very Wilde-ian in nature. Basically, I don't believe in it and think it's a waste of time. So, when Mascaroni chooses bags of rice and beans for the tribe instead of a most tantalizing bowl of spaghetti with meatballs, garlic bread, and *gasp* a glass of red wine, I tut tutted in a most disapproving manner.

Moving on, Dimples announces that the next item is an advantage in the next Immunity Challenge. At home I clapped knowing Theddie (Eddie), whom I've recently welcomed into my elite society of Survivors who don't suck, will abstholutely bid on thisth. Not only did Theddie not even bid on it, but the advantage ended up going for a measly $380 to Cochran! What the hell is going on here?

The next item remains covered and finally, FINALLY, Mowgli gets the lady balls to make a significant bid. When Theddie bids $20, Mowgli strangely bids $300. Hey, at least it's a step in a bidding direction. A nonsensical bid, yes, but at least it's a bid and the bitch has stopped crying. Let's see what she's won!

"A plate of pig brains!"
"Oh."
"We had this in the Food Challenge."
"Ironically, *sniffle* I don't feel like crying." *tears plop all over brains*
"Do you want to try it?"
"It's probably good for you, right? I mean, it is brains after all."
"Hell if I know. That shit is nasty!"
*Mowgli scoops up some brains and eats a bite*
"Oh wait, I just remembered I don't eat pork."
"Sucks to be you."

Next up are letters from home available to anyone who wants them for $20 a letter. Calgon and Freebush immediately crumple into a crying jag since they're all out of money while Golden Boy (also out of money) sits and shrugs his shoulders. Remember way back when in Survivor Philippines when Golden Boy revealed that he had a fluffy little puppy die in his arms and he didn't even cry? Well, if Snowball gasping his last tiny breath didn't make him cry, then a letter from Madeline sure as hell isn't going to make him cry either. The weeping around Golden Boy continues to grow louder and louder as he continues to toss peanuts into the air and catch them with his teeth. When a stray tear lands on his knee, he remarks, "I'm totally sad too. I'm just not going to cry like a little bitch about it." RIP Snowball.

And finally, the last item. It will remain covered and it comes with a twist. Mowgli bids the last of her money, but Theddie ends up nabbing it for an easy $200. Here you go Theddie, a giant bowl of peanut butter. Only, you have to share it with everyone else and you all have 60 seconds to eat it. Whatever peanut butter is left on your person can be taken back with you to Edamame. And so began the Peanut Butter Orgy of 2013. Smearing peanut butter around nipples and nether regions, the cast of Survivor Caramoan erupted into an erotic feast of sticky sweetness. Even Calgon participated!

Back at Edamame, the spent Survivors drag their carcasses into camp and, in what has to be the most disgusting scene in Survivor history, they begin to scrape whatever peanut butter managed to stick to their sweaty unshowered bodies into a hollowed out coconut shell. Mowgli, however, is in the middle of another crying jag so she steals away to read her letter from home. I'll never understand the weeping over letters from home. I love my family, well most of them, more than anything in the world, but I can certainly go 29 days without hearing from them. Besides, a letter from Brother #2 would go something like, "Dude, you're missing that new show Vikings. I'm sure you can Netflix it when you get home. Later." My mother would say something like, "Steal an artifact so I can put it on my mantel next to the pieces of Chichen Itza that I stole." So, yeah, when all the weeping and snot and whatnot is going on I feel a little like Golden Boy did when Snuggles died - I don't care!

While the others are busy wiping their noses and justifying their tears, Dame Reynold, Golden Boy and Freebush have a little meeting unto themselves. The Dame may not have gotten along with Freebush in the past, but it would behoove the both of them to start working together from this point onward. Freebush is number 6 on her alliance's totem pole, but if she works with the Amigos, she can move up to at least number 4. Dame Reynold tells her that if they get Erik to join them, then the new and improved Amigos alliance will have a majority. Freebush pauses to think about it and tells the boys to pull something out of their butts. I think she's talking about a Hidden Immunity Idol, but who knows? She could be a total freak and be talking about some sort of Asian kinky sex fetish beads. It is always the quiet normal looking ones who are the freakiest. Anyhow, the boys decide that Dame Reynold and Theddie will get to work on converting Erik while Golden Boy and his smoldering good looks will concentrate on that freak in the sheets Freebush.

Night falls on Edamame and with the full moon high in the sky and the Survivors sleeping soundly in their beds, Golden Boy uses this opportunity to go hunting for the Hidden Immunity Idol. The clue said to head towards the water, which he interprets as the well, and then to look to the left for the troll under the bridge and then somewhere around there you dig six inches. However, there are two problems with Golden Boy's clandestine plan. 1) Mascaroni is wide awake and watching him and 2) Golden Boy was a little bit tipsy when he saw the clue. What was left could be right and what was water could be tree. I know when I've slurped back a few too many tumblers of gin, I can't remember where the phone number tucked in my bra came from let alone my own name so the odds of Golden Boy actually finding the Idol are pretty slim.

Dusk arrives and Golden Boy still hasn't found the Idol. To make matters worse, here comes Cochran and Mascaroni being all annoying and clingy. Mascaroni actually plops herself on top of the well while Cochran gets bored and does the tinkle dance before excusing himself to go to the loo. Mascaroni is the wingman you never wanted. She's the cock blocker ruining all your potential hook ups. She drinks club soda in a bar and keeps her antennae on the lookout for drunk girls approached by unsavory men. Basically, she's a total nightmare. She refuses to leave her spot on the well while Golden Boy refuses to dig for the Idol in front of her. Eventually, the two call a truce and both return to camp Idol-less.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, you will hold onto a rope connected to some very large beams. Every 5 minutes, you will lower your hands down to another knot. The last person holding on wins Immunity. But, we also have the matter of dealing with Cochran's advantage that he won for a measly $380. At any point in the Challenge, Cochran is allowed to move his hands up 2 knots. Let's face it, that is most ridiculous advantage I've ever heard of. Last season, the lovely Shakira (Abi-Maria) was merely propelled into the final heat with her advantage. She still competed on the same level and had to complete the obstacle course just like everyone else. This moving up of two knots is preposterous. I'm trying not to use profanity anymore in my blogs, but it's bullshit! Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Survivors ready, bullshit.

Rather than go through every second of this bullshit Challenge, I'll wrap this up very quickly. On round 3, Cochran moves his hands back up to the top which means that by the time everyone is, literally, at the ends of their ropes, Cochran is comfortably nestled in Easy Town. One by one Survivors begin to let go of their ropes and we are left with Theddie and Cochran. Theddie's muscles are pulsating and trembling while Cochran yawns and continues to hang onto to his piddly 10 pounds of weight. Obviously, Theddie drops and obviously Cochran wins Immunity. Obviously! I'm not giving him any capital letters because it was a bullshit win in a bullshit Challenge and I think it was all completely unfair.

Back at camp, Cochran is actually gloating. Gloating! He now thinks that he is the winningest Survivor of Survivor Caramoan which we all know is bullshit. I'll give him that Food Challenge that he won. He kicked ass in that and did very well, but a win by a ridiculously unfair advantage that is so far out of the realm of reality doesn't count. I'm sorry, but it doesn't. Had he won by competing at the same level as everyone else, then it would count and he would have a right to gloat. Until then, pipe down you spindly fop.

Unfortunately, things aren't looking peachy keen for the Amigos unless they can get Freebush and Erik to flip. Golden Boy confesses to his comrades that he is extremely nervous right about now. And oh the irony of it all. When he didn't have any clues for Idols, he managed to find 2. But now that he has a clue, he can't even find 1. Oh the humanity! If he can't actually find the Idol, then he has to do his best to make everyone believe he has it. That way if the Favorites split the votes at Tribal and the Amigos manage to reel in Freebush and Erik, then they can get rid of Mascaroni once and for all. It certainly won't be easy, but it is definitely not impossible.

Golden Boy begins his plan of bluffery by approaching Freebush. In addition to telling her that he has the Hidden Immunity Idol, he tells her that he wants to work with her until the very end. Those pesky Faovorites will have to split the votes which gives the Amigos and whomever joins them a lovely and shiny advantage over everyone else. Freebush nods and tells Golden Boy that he'll have to dump one of his buddies sooner or later. Golden Boy is totally fine with that! Obviously, he's going to tell her anything she wants to hear. Freebush then asks Golden Boy who they are targeting this week. Golden Boy says Mascaroni. Freebush takes this new information she has gathered and ruminates on it for a spell. The Amigos win Challenges so it might be in her best interest to side with an alliance that actually has the brawn to protect her. Homegirl knows there is no way in hell she can ever win a challenge on her own, let alone complete one.

(Psycho, 1960)

Meanwhile, Dame Reynold is hard at work wooing Erik. They discuss how the Favorites will most likely split the votes to which Erik replies, "Oh! But if I vote with you, we'll have 4 votes. Done deal!" Well, the poodle can add so I guess that's a good thing, but can he follow through? More importantly, can he follow through with Calgon smothering him in motherly guilt? Having spotted Erik talking to the Dame earlier, Calgon looks Erik in the eye with those crazy bugged out orbs of hers and tells him that she's putting all her trust in him. "Look into my eyes, Erik. Look into the pinwheels going round and round. I trust you. You wouldn't want to make mother cry, would you? Mother won't be happy if you let her down. I've put all my trust in you, Norman. You've given mother diarrhea and you know how much mother doesn't care for diarrhea." Yikes. In the end, Erik still isn't sure how he'll vote. *smacks self in head* He'll wait and decide when he's standing next to urn with a Sharpie in his hand.

While Erik is off tie dying his bed linens, the Favorites have a pow-wow to decide exactly how the vote will go tonight. The girls will vote for Dame Reynold while the men will vote for Golden Boy. For all intents and purposes, I think they're counting Freebush is a man. But then Calgon and Cochran begin to wonder if they should even split the votes at all. Why don't they just all vote for Golden Boy and that'll be that? *gasps* Mascaroni doesn't like that idea one bit. She's pretty sure Golden Boy has the Idol plus, and I quote, "Me, me, me, I, I, I, me, me, me, me." She's doing that thing again where she tells everyone that she is a giant threat and it is only natural for everyone to want to vote her out. If the Favorites all vote for Golden Boy and he ends up with the Idol, then Mascaroni could go home. I don't know about you, but that sounds like heaven to me.

So, the big questions are Freebush and Erik. How will they vote? Both are wishy washy and kind of dim so who the hell knows. The best part is that both of these nitwits actually think they're running the game. Better still, Freebush wants everyone to realize the massive power she now has in her hands. Honey Boo Boo Child, you have no power. If you vote with the boys, one of them could take you to the final 3 where you will magnificently lose with zero Jury votes. If you vote with the Favorites, they'll either get rid of you as soon as the boys are gone OR a couple of them might take you to the end where, again, you will magnificently lose with zero Jury votes. YOU HAVE NO POWER. You are a piece of dead weight that the others keep around to improve their own game.

And this brings us to Tribal Council. My heart is already in my throat as the music thumps and the fire pit burns brightly. Dimples begins by asking Dame Reynold how the last Tribal Council affected things around camp. The Dame rises and looks in the direction of the moon. Tonight he will be performing from A Midsummer Night's Dream. Everyone, shhh.

"To show our simple skill. That is the true beginning of our end."

Umm okayyy. It is not as chipper as I would have preferred, but the Dame, like myself, is moved by inspiration and who am I to question inspiration? What I think he was trying to say is that with that clown Phillip gone, the tribe is encountering a new beginning. Anything can happen now. The world is their oyster bar. 6 on 3 no longer exists! It could 2 on 18 or 7 on 9 or 4 on 300! And then he clapped and giggled while Kenya Moore-ing his fan in the direction of Phillip. Take that!

Dimples then asks Mascaroni what she thinks about the Dame saying that the game is no longer 6 on 3. Mascaroni replies that while it is nerve wracking, it would be extremely dumb for someone to flip right now as it would mean the end of their game. And then she goes on to say that the three boys will continue to dominate all the Challenges and, not only that, but they'll use and abuse you. *raises hand* Umm, where do I sign up for that? I was, you know, just wondering. Carry on.

The shift turns to Freebush and how she is probably the lowest of the low amongst the Favorites. Freebush admits that this fact has crossed her mind which visibly upsets Mother, I mean, Calgon. Calgon turns to Freebush and says, "Freebush, you make Mother very sad when you say things like that. You're not on the bottom at all, Norman. In fact, you're my favorite among Favorites. Now, be a good little lamb, and sharpen my knife collection." I'm telling you, Calgon is beginning to scare the crap out of me.

Finally, we get to Golden Boy. Dimples asks him how it went with the information he bought at the Auction. Golden Boy admits that while it was helpful there are way too many blasted Nosy Parker's at camp. Mascaroni then smiles very pleased with herself before finally admitting that she is about 80% sure that Golden Boy has the Idol. Now it's time for Golden Boy to look very pleased with himself. Do your thang, Golden Boy.

Speaking of Idols, Calgon doesn't care for them one bit. They make Mother overcome with bloodlust. Meanwhile, Erik says that if changes in alliances are going to be made, now would be the time to trade up. Does that mean he's voting for Golden Boy or not? That's all I care about right now!

Alright, it's time to vote. If anyone has the Hidden Immunity Idol, play it now or make Colette Lala cry. No one stirs which makes those brats Mascaroni and Cochran smile. But, BUT, when the votes are read we get a three way tie between Dame Reynold, Golden Boy and Mascaroni. We will now vote again, but Dame Reynold, Golden Boy and Mascaroni cannot vote. I quickly scanned the remaining voting Survivors and a shift occurred in my mood. Unless Freebush and Erik switch now, and they didn't before, then it is curtains for the only goddamn person I'm rooting for! Curtains! Not Dame Reynold red velvet theatre curtains, but the black yucky curtain of the depression that will surely smother me until the end of the season. The curtain that will plop heavily on my head and crush my skull. The curtain that will block the sun from now until the finale.

It's time to revote. MASCARONI, MASCARONI, MASCARONI... Mascaroni is the 12th person voted out of Survivor Caramoan! A little creative visualization never hurt anyone so, what the hell? I'm visualizing that annoying brat stuck at Ponderosa with Phillip funking up the pool with poop water.

But no matter how many times I chant, no matter how many virgins I sacrifice (and I've sacrificed about 16 so far), and no matter how many times I visualize Phillip's poop water, nothing could be done to save the Golden Boy. It is with great sadness (and slit wrists) that I say, Golden Boy is the 12th person voted out of Survivor Caramoan. He's a fan of the blog and a great sport as I mercilessly embarrass him week in and week out so this one really bums me out. On the upside, Golden Boy is well-liked amongst the fans and since CBS seems hell bent on this retuning players thing, I'm confident we could see him again in the future. Best of luck, Golden Boy, and thank you for turning a crappy season into something unforgettable. You will be missed.

So, what did you think of last night's episode? Did Erik and Freebush make the right move sticking with the Favorites? Were you as inconsolable as I was last night? Who the hell do we root for now? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

The Fun Sponge

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 22:35:00 +0000

One day your scalp begins to itch and you wonder why. Or, maybe it burns when you urinate so you flip through your sex diary and try to remember who seemed "dirty". At some point in every person's life they are confronted with something they didn't ask for, something they never wanted. For some, it is life changing. Maybe it's cancer, multiple sclerosis, syphilis, or the scurvy. For others, it could be a pesky nuisance like the lice you picked up that one time in a youth hostel in Florence. And for others still, it is a former federal agent (read: hall monitor) with Tigger tattooed on his arm and an intramural basketball team made up of toy soldiers and troll dolls shoved into the bottom of a toy chest. Until, one day, you use the Rid (read: Hidden Immunity Idol). The lice, the nits, and all the memories of the German guy who felt you up on the Ponte Vecchio are gone. Gone! Vanquished! Put out of their misery. With a poof and a smirk, the bane of your existence clicks its heels together and marches, nee skips, past the campfire, past the dimpled cruise director, past go, and off into the night where, ironically, it is swallowed whole by a Bengal tiger who has been patiently waiting off camera. All that remains of the nagging irritant are those pillowcases you have to boil and a swatch of hot pink Fruit Of The Looms lying in the dirt. With life back in order, and the terror threat safely back at green, all that is left to do now is GET NAKED BITCHES!!! Let's recap, shall we?

We continue our tumescent Filipino tale under the cloak of night. The entomological opera buzzes loudly as the weary and weathered Edamame (Enil Edam) make their way back to camp. With the fire fizzled out into nothing but ash, Mascaroni (Andrea) sighs and requests a tribe meeting. Oh no, you three strapping young bucks aren't invited. This is an invitation-only affair and you must have a DSM-IV diagnosis of severe Delusional Disorder to attend. Please peruse the following criteria and if you have answered "yes" to all ten, then you may enter the meeting.

Right this way, each and every member of Strep-R-Crust.

Mascaroni begins the meeting by insisting that, from here on out, everything is smooth sailing. It is so easy breezy Cover Girl from this point onward. Even if those hunky mens have an Idol hidden somewhere on their brawny persons, it's ok! The Stroop-R-Futts have enough patients, I mean people, to split the votes and send packing whichever of the Three Amigos happens to be Idol-less. The remaining members of Scrats-R-Rust nod enthusiastically in response. Why, that sounds like a smashing idea, Mascaroni! As a matter of fact, let's all cheer on it. Hands in, everyone. Skeet-R-Muss! Skrod-R-Just! Stealth-R-Us! Watching the scene from a monitor in her tent, Dr. Ramona shakes her head side to side and tuts to herself before calling the mainland and double checking their stocks of Haldol, Thorazine and Pimozide. She may even have to call in a few favors from her Malaysian colleagues at Ulu Kinta. Ponderosa could end up being a free for all of feces on the walls if she doesn't take preventative measures now.

Meanwhile, the Three Amigos are setting their alarms for an early wake-up call. Tomorrow morning, they hunt! They'll rise before dawn, sharpen their spears, and search the camp high and low for any other Hidden Immunity Idols that might be lurking about. Golden Boy (Malcolm), in particular, is keen on finding another Hidden Immunity Idol as quickly as possible. Things may not have gone exactly as planned at that last Tribal Council, but he still has that spare Idol in his madras board shorts and, surprisingly, Dame Reynold doesn't seem all that angry. I mean, just look at him. He's happily removing his lashes, applying his cold cream, and running lines to himself for tomorrow's performance. It's like Joan Crawford said, "Any actress who appears in public without being well-groomed is digging her own grave." She also said, "Don't fuck with me fellas. This cowgirl has been to the rodeo before." So, yeah, that's neither here nor there.

The next day at high noon, we find Cochran and Phillip Sheppard seeking shade amongst the Eucalyptus and Mahogany. The smell of jungle greenery and ocean saltiness surrounds them. It is a peaceful lazy day with only the sound of the gently rolling waves interrupting the silence. It's the kind of day where you dig your feet into the sand, dive into a Jackie Collins and sip happily on a Pina Colada. You know those days, don't you? When all the hustle and bustle of home and work melts away and you can finally sink into your beach chair and AHHH!!! BRENDAAAA!!!! SKRAGGLE!!! GAHH!!! FLORGLE!!! EEEEKK!!! BLOODY MURDER!!!!!!!!! What the...

Oh my god, you guys. I think Calgon (Dawn) has hurt herself severely. She must have been bitten by a Cobra or maybe a Red Back spider was hiding out in her Crocs. Both are deadly and native to The Philippines, I'll have you know. What the hell is everyone standing around for? Get Ramona out here now! We've finally got ourselves an honest to goodness medical emergency... or, do we?

Hearing her name yelled on the breeze, Mowgli (Brenda) races in the direction of the howling and discovers Calgon hiding in the trees wheezing and hiccuping. Mowgli looks Calgon up and down searching for blood, fang marks, bruises, anything. Amidst the gasps and heaving, Calgon finally takes a deep breath and explains:

"I was hit in the face a while ago. At my son's soccer game. It wasn't a ball, but this bitch mom on the opposing team didn't like it that her son wanted my carving board turkey sandwiches - with the crusts cut off of course - and not her crappy bologna sandwiches. She came out of nowhere and socked me in the jaw with her purse. I was going to file a report with the head of the LDS Soccer League, but I thought to myself, 'What would Jesus do?' I figured Jesus would turn the other cheek so that's what I did. And that stupid whore hit me again! Only this time she knocked out my entire row of lower teeth. Right there, in the grass, like little Chiclets - the tiny size, not the big ones - were my teeth. I put them in my picnic basket, but they were beyond saving. Long story short, I went for a morning swim in that murky pond and I LOST MY FAKE TEETH!!! I WILL QUIT SURVIVOR IF I DON'T HAVE MY FAKE TEETH!!! With age - and the menopause - my eyesight is going and I CAN'T SEE MY TEETH!!! PLEASE FIND THEM FOR ME!!! GAHHH!!!"

Silently and with haste, Mowgli retrieves the goggles and snorkel and carefully surveys the floor of the pond. And just then, like a miracle, the sun slowly moves overhead casting a light beneath the murkiness and setting the tiny chiclet teeth aglow. Mowgli dives quickly under the water and delivers the teeth, with barnacles and seaweed hanging off them, to Calgon. Not only can Calgon once again bite into a coconut, but happily her faith in human kindness is restored.

And this brings us to the big Reward Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, you will be divided into two teams of five. One person will race through an obstacle course and into a muddy pit where they will search for a bag of balls. Once you have the balls, you'll go through the rice, put your bag on the table and then the next person goes. Once your team has all five bags, you will shoot your balls into the basket. The first team to get all twelve balls wins reward. Wanna know what you're playing for? The winners will be taken to an island resort complete with a swimming pool, a nice lunch and cocktails.

The Purple team is Dame Reynold, Erik, Calgon, Cochran and Phillip.
The Orange team is Theddie (Eddie), Golden Boy, Freebush (Sherri), Mascaroni and Mowgli.
Survivors ready, go!

Golden Boy and Erik fly across the balance beams and into the mud pit where Erik quickly finds his bag of balls and continues to race towards the end. Golden Boy, however, decides to linger in the mud and find all five bags of balls so the rest of his team doesn't have to waste time searching. Dame Reynold, who races next for the Purples, sees Golden Boy's approach and steals it for himself. Covered in mud and slick with sweat, the men heave and grunt and *fans self*...

Where was I? Oh yeah, so Golden Boy finally finds all of his bags, but the Purples already have three people at the end. Mascaroni does her best to make up for lost time and maybe, just maybe, the Oranges can catch up. Freebush is up next and... *womp womp*... with legs like a newborn doe she teeters uneasily on the balance beam and moves about as fast as molasses in January. Theddie screams "Run fasther!", but it falls on deaf ears. Freebush will move on Freebush time - which must be a lot like Bahamian time because if you've ever been to The Bahamas then you know that it takes about two hours to get your appetizers.

And so, even though Golden Boy tried his best to assist the rest of the team, it was of no consequence. Freebush is somehow still around to screw things up and screw things up she did as PURPLE WINS REWARD!!!

We are then whisked away to a tiny resort paradise. Perched high on a hill and nestled cozily in the surrounding jungle, sits our Reward destination. The Purple Team, with Calgon leading the way, enters the cabana and sets wide eyes on the feast laid out before them. Calgon scans the buffet quickly - corn on the cob, saltwater taffy, crusty french rolls, tough red meat... NOOOO!!! Her teeth! Do you have any idea what taffy does to dentures?! Immediately, she covers her face with her hands and runs down to the pool where she can weep in peace. She screams for Mowgli to come pre-chew her food for her, but Mowgli isn't on the winning team. Mowgli is back at Edamame staring at a tree or doing whatever the hell she does.

Cochran, however, is delighted with the Reward. Over the years, he has heard that protein is actually good for your body and does something positive for one's energy. Back at home he typically eats uncooked Pop-Tarts and Cap'n Crunch right out of the box, so beef is a nice change of pace for the lad. With some red meat in his system he is sure to continue on his path towards total Challenge domination.

Once the meal is over and everyone's belly is full, the Purples make their way to the pool where they find Calgon furiously licking a bar of soap. She was promised food on this Reward so she's going to get it by any means possible dammit! Also, conveniently located at the edge of the crystalline blue infinity pool, is a shower. And, if you'll remember, the Survivors have just been dipped in mud and rice which is kind of like getting tarred and feathered. Only, mud and rice are actually washable.

A normal everyday person with common sense and enough brain cells would look at the pure untouched pool water and then down at the mud, rice and sweat covering their own body. They'd look again at the pool. Again at their body. And then again at the pool. Dirty body in clean pool = dirty pool. But not to Phillip! Dirty body in clean pool = perfectly acceptable. In fact, he feels so comfortable fouling up the pristine beauty that he'll go ahead and disrobe and wiggle his winky around for good measure. Erik watches in horror as the poop water encircles Phillip and follows him wherever he goes. Phillip's actions show a complete disregard for not only his fellow Survivors, but the resort staff who'll be stuck picking rice out of the filters for the next month. *clicks heels and salutes*

Oddly, we immediately fast forward to nighttime. Once again the jungle chorus sings as the inky black water brushes against the shore lulling the island inhabitants into a deep sleep. The camera scans the snoozing Survivors and it is here that we discover that Dame Reynold sleeps flat on his back because he once read that that's how Lauren Bacall kept away the laugh lines. Theddie dozes while sucking his thumb while Phillip snores with a hand up Freebush's blouse. Scan, scan, scan... precious sleeping babies... scan, scan, scan... GAH! It's Calgon and she's wide awake. Wide awake with wide shifty eyes. The kind of eyes that shift side to side in paranoia and try to quiet the voices in her head. "Calgon, Calgon...," they whisper. The voices have not only taunted her and made her cry, but they're keeping her awake night after night. Calgon hasn't slept for the past week and when you haven't slept is when the hallucinations start. Hallucinations like thinking a murky pond is a water fountain and that shrimp kabobs are saltwater taffy.

Along with the hallucinations comes the paranoia. Calgon watches the next morning as Golden Boy says hi to Mascaroni. Immediately her inner monologue goes into overdrive, "What does that hi mean? Does it mean they're going to vote me out? Does it mean I'm at the bottom of the 7? Will I be blindsided? What if they have a secret alliance? Why is that clam shell winking and talking to me?" With her head full of scenarios and in an effort to get away from the clam shell with the top hat on, Calgon runs to Phillip and Cochran and tells them that she thinks Mascaroni is going to switch alliances and vote her out. In the most ironic statement ever to be said in the entire universe, Phillip confides in us that Calgon is a lunatic and completely losing her mind. Similarly, Cochran is also beginning to see Calgon in a different light. The fact that she's so convinced she is going home makes him incredibly suspicious of her.

To make matters worse, Calgon stands outside of the shelter and stares as Theddie, Mascaroni and Golden Boy munch on a coconut. She creeps around the entire shelter and peers into window after window. Finally, she swings open the door and says, "I don't know what to do. It's so hard on me." The coconut crew all look at each other in confusion and then back at Calgon. They wait for her to say something else, to maybe, I don't know, explain what the hell it is she's talking about. She's kind of like my mom with the menopause. Out of the blue my mom will say something like, "And then we could go see a movie after. So do you want to?" I always reply, "Do I want to WHAT? Are you having one of those conversations again where you start it in your head and then finish it out loud?" It is completely unnerving and psychotic and yes, my mother, like Calgon, should be heavily medicated to put a stop to it.

Naturally, Mascaroni runs to Phillip and tells him that Calgon is completely losing her mind. Just like I do with my sisters. I'll ring them up and say, "Mom's lost it." They'll reply, "We know." I'll reply, "Let's vote her off the island." And then they say yes. It is exactly what is going on here in Caramoan. Phillip and Mascaroni agree that Calgon is nuts while Cochran is trying to take a little bit more of a sympathetic approach. He nods as she cries and confesses that she is unstable, but really he's thinking that she's just joined the ranks of Martini, Cheswick, Taber and Harding.

Again we abruptly fast forward to a new day, a new dawn. Dame Reynold is up early and doing Jazzercise in the water while Phillip rolls over and farts his way out of bed. Calgon, however, is groggy. She looks a little drugged (thanks Ramona!) and foggy as she shuffles around in a long skirt with a sriped sock on one foot and a man's slipper on the other. Everyone looks over at her with question marks in their eyes. Which Calgon will they get today? Will it be Weeping Well Calgon or Screaming Pond Calgon or Paranoid Peeper Calgon or Soccermom Calgon? As she shuffles closer to the campfire, the intake of breath from her fellow Survivors is audible. So, which one is it going to be? It's going to be Soccermom Calgon! It turns out that whatever Ramona gave her (Haldol) worked like a charm and she was finally able to sleep through the night. The dancing clam shell is gone and she no longer thinks Mascaroni is trying to assassinate her. Progress!

With Calgon finally coherent and lucid again, the Spliff-R-Bus crew decide to touch base and get organized on exactly who they'll be voting out tonight. As a group they all decide that this mysterious person, Reynolds, should be voted out. Now, I have no idea who Reynolds is or when he joined this game, but for the sake of this blog (and my sanity), let's pretend they said Dame Reynold. Surprisingly, they think the Dame is much more threatening than Golden Boy. While I agree that Dame Reynold is pretty kick ass in Challenges, Golden Boy is craftier. Dirtier. Naughtier. Nevertheless! The Scrap-R-Less crew will split the votes between Dame Reynold and Golden Boy with Dame Reynold being their target. Mascaroni pats herself on the back and declares that nothing can possibly go wrong. Once again, she says that everything will be easy as pie at the next Tribal Council. *giggles*

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's Immunity Challenge there will be two heats where you will race across a platform, jump into the ocean, swim under the platform, get back up, grab a ring, move the ring to the post and then do it all over again. The first two people in both heats to get their rings on their post will advance to the final round. The first person to then get five rings onto their post wins Immunity. A warning: this heat will exhaust you and you can totally have a heart attack and drown. Good luck!

The first heat will be Dame Reynold, Cochran, Calgon, Mascaroni and Freebush. Survivors ready, go! *glug glug glug* And that would be Freebush drowning. The poor gal got pooped right after she jumped in the water. Instead, let's focus on the Dame, who might be part Merman because he is crushing this heat from the word go. The only person who is even remotely giving him a run for is money is Mascaroni. And it is those two that will proceed on to the final round.

The second heat will be Phillip...
"Um, excuse me Dimples. I'm sitting out."
"Say what now?"
"I'm going to sit out this Challenge."
"Are you stupid or something?"
"As a boy I had an incident in the water."
"Whatever."
And then Dimples gave him the hand.

Ok, so the second heat will be Golden Boy, Mowgli, Erik and Theddie. Survivors ready, go! Just as expected, Golden Boy and Theddie easily take the lead with Erik and Mowgli hot on their heels. Unlike the last heat, everyone actually has a chance in this one. Until, that is, the second time under. Golden Boy quickly slithers into the lead and into the first open spot. Unfortunately for Theddie, his second ring doesn't quite make it on the post and Mowgli gets the second spot by default.

This brings us to the final round with Dame Reynold, Mascaroni, Golden Boy and Mowgli. Survivors ready, go! With the music thumping in time with our hearts, the four survivors race into the water and under their platforms. Unsurprisingly, Dame Reynold and Golden Boy emerge from the water first. The two lads remain neck in neck up until the third lap when the Dame slowly starts to pull ahead. In the fourth round, his lead continues to widen over Golden Boy as the music strengthens in intensity. In the fifth and final round, we all lean a little closer to our TV's and wait and see who pops out of the water first. It's Dame Reynold! Golden Boy is right behind him, but he's a tired pony and has a hard time getting to his feet. And with that... DAME REYNOLD WINS IMMUNITY!!!

Back at camp, the Dame is basking in the glow of Immunity. It reminds him of the time he played Nora in A Doll's House at the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen. And if you know anything about performing Ibsen then you know that its subtle nuance requires the utmost mastery of language and movement. It was the single proudest moment of the Dame's life when he heard those applause on opening night. That is, until today when he felt those pats on his back as he sashayed into Edamame. With a glance at his adoring audience he gushes, "I have the utmost respect for all of you." Except for that mockery of American theatre known as Phillip. The Dame has zero respect for anyone who skips performances and that includes Challenges. In fact, it is sacrilegious! Sacrilegious. I'm telling you, the Dame could be my brother. Or at least a cousin. When he drops those multisyllabic dramatic words into everyday conversation, I feel a kinship with him. In fact, just last week I told a petulant child in my care that to not watch Daddy Day Care would be blasphemy. Sacrilege. Blasphemy. Same thing! All the world is a stage, Dame. You go, girl.

And so, with the Dame proudly flaunting his necklace, there is a kink in the Smurfs-R-Lust's plan to get rid of him. For a short time Phillip paces uncomfortably before stealing Mascaroni away for a little tete-a-tete. He whispers loud enough for the whales to hear, "We're still going to split the votes." Mascaroni nods OK. Phillip then approaches Calgon, who is hanging the laundry on the clothesline, and shares the new plan with her as well. Phillip is under the impression that his plan is innovative and groundbreaking. It's a plan that could perhaps gain him not only the respect of his peers, but their votes when he makes it to the final three. Truth be told, all he is doing is substituting Theddie for Dame Reynold. Real groundbreaking.

Golden Boy may have lost the battle, but he hasn't lost the war. He still has that Idol in his shorts, but he'd rather not use it. Ideally, he'd like to save it for a later date in case he needs it. So he gathers his brawny brothers into the brush and the three chitchat about how the Idol has to be somewhere they've overlooked. The Dame and Theddie are pumped to start looking because they need to keep as many of their alliance in the game for as long as possible. Back in camp, while Phillip is repeatedly trying to tell his "I was a boy in a pond" story, Mascaroni gets a lightbulb over her head. "We should look for the Idol," she says. Whether it was a ploy to not have to hear the pond story, I do not know. All I know is that Calgon agrees and the two of them skip off in he direction of the Three Amigos.

As Golden Boy begins poking around a rock wall, the two gals mosey up and ask him if he's found the Idol. Golden Boy shakes his head no just as he slides his hand into a hole in the rock wall. A slow smile suddenly begins to spread over his face and we know. We know! You know, I know, even weirdo Calgon knows... Golden Boy has just found the Idol! Mascaroni watches in horror as he shows it to them before racing back to camp to tell everyone. Surprisingly, the group doesn't really react all that much and they decide to stick with the same plan at Tribal. They'll split the votes between Golden Boy and Theddie in case Golden Boy doesn't play his Idol.

And this brings us to Tribal Council. Gay (Michael) is brought in as the first member of the Jury and then we get down to business. Dimples begins by asking Dame Reynold if the Three Amigos are still on the outs with the main alliance of Favorites. Dame Reynold replies, "Definitely." Theddie agrees and says that the three of them will have to win every Immunity from here on out in order to stay in the game. And then, in a blink of an eye, he turns melancholy, "You try to think of the posthitivesth. I'll remember everything I've done here forever." Dimples, a little surprised by Theddie's answer, tells Mascaroni that Theddie is acting like this is his last night. Mascaroni tell him that it's true. Everyone is looking at Theddie right now. It wasn't part of the plan, but Golden Boy found the Idol and now they have no choice.

Golden Boy, in typical Golden Boy fashion, whips the Idol out of his pocket and waves it proudly in front of everyone. He twirls it around his finger above his head, waves it in front of Mascaroni and even mock chokes Phillip with it. Dame Reynold beams excitedly and claps. He's always enjoyed the art of mime.

Speaking of Dame Reynold, Cochran admits to everyone that he was in fact the first choice to be voted out. With his theatre training and chiseled good looks, the Dame is the type of guy who can charm his way to the top and that threatens young Cochran.

Dimples then innocently asks Mascaroni how life is back at Edamame and Mascaroni does something strange and, quite frankly, stupid. She begins to wax poetic about how camp is paranoid and how she's not allowed to hang out with the boys anymore because then it makes her a target. But she doesn't shut up! She goes on and on, "It was making me a target. It made them want to vote me out. I could be the next one to go. I don't want people seeing me as a threat." It was almost as if she was begging for everyone to now, henceforth, think of her as a threat. If any of them had never thought Mascaroni = threat before tonight, they do now.

Dimples turns to Golden Boy for his perspective on how they're treated back at camp and I swear Golden Boy must have taken an acting workshop with the Dame one weekend because he replies, "We are treated like we have the plague." And then he pauses for dramatic effect. "Survivor is a game. So, we figured we'd do something about it." And voila! *Golden Boy whips a second Idol out of his other pocket* Suck on that, bitches! *dunks entire head into the bathtub of gin I've been stirring this entire time* "So this is the other Idol I've been holding onto. I'm going to go ahead and give it to Theddie." Kablam!

Those pesky Sharts-R-Gross immediately get wide-eyed and speechless. Cochran hangs his head in his hands as Calgon's eyeballs roll out onto the dirt. Mascaroni can't stop poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue as Mowgli finally wakes up and realizes that something important just happened. Meanwhile, Gay is clapping and giggling from the stands just as tinkle begins to run down Phillip's leg. It was mayhem and it was GORGEOUS!!! All at once everyone is losing their shit as my three strapping young bucks all sat beaming. Rows of white teeth and sparkly eyes. Flushed cheeks and rippling abs. My men sat up straighter, threw their shoulders back and all wore their Idols proudly. Kapow! Oh, and Phillip? Watch. Chichaw! *dunks right breast into an awaiting bowl of gold glitter* Get it? Chichaw! *dunks left breast into bowl* Gold glitter for everyone! It's nekkid time!!!

Dimples then tries to continue the conversation with Golden Boy, but those Favorites have run amok! Phillip is stealth whispering to Mowgli as Cochran is making obscene finger gestures to Erik. Mascaroni and Calgon are deep in conversation as Freebush begins to weirdly squeeze the bejesus out of her own head. Not one person in Scrap-R-Butts is paying any attention to Dimples. Not. One. At home we laughed and laughed as those phony baloneys all got a piece of what was coming to them. If you follow a man who plays Make Believe Corporate Organization on a daily basis, crap like this happens to you. Dummies.

And then... AND THEN... it gets better because Golden Boy, without a goddamn care in the world announces, "Just so you know, the three of us are voting for Phillip." *splashes gold glitter all over my body* And then Phillip did this...

And we all peed ourselves from laughing so hard. Chichaw! But Golden Boy isn't done, my friends. Oh no. Golden Boy came out here to have the time of his life, but he can't with that douche canoe Phillip around. Phillip is the fun sponge who sucks all the fun out of life... and Survivor. Survivor doesn't have to this militaristic thing where it's all about basic training. And then finally, Phillip responds by accusing Golden Boy of maligning his character. *snickers* Phillip, dude, you've been doing a crackerjack job of making yourself look like a tool all by yourself.

Dimples finally exhales and asks Mascaroni how she's going to vote tonight. And here is how Mascaroni responds, "I know I'm still a target. People could be thinking me. Maybe they'll all write my name down." *smacks self in head* And then, out of nowhere, a shaggy poodle raises his hand. It's Erik and he has something to say, "I know the three guys all have Idols, but it might not be a bad idea to hold onto one." Oh stick a cork in it. Dimples then tries to make a big to-do over whether or not Golden Boy will end up even playing his Idol which, effectively, makes Phillip announce to everyone that should vote how they originally planned. Dimples, butt out!

Alright bitches, let's vote. If anyone has the Hidden Immunity Idol and wants to play it, now is the time. Theddie immediately jumps out of his seat and hurls his Idol at Dimples' head. And then, everything goes silent and all focus turns to Golden Boy. He sits motionless for a smidge (a trick he learned from the Dame) and then breaks out into a big smile. Of course he's going to play it! He's not a dumbass. And, it's a good thing he did because *drumroll* I am proud to announce the cancellation of that travesty we've hated all season long, The Phillip Sheppard Show. Phillip, you are the 11th person voted out of Survivor Carmoan and the 2nd member of the Jury. Chichaw!

*leans back and lights a cigarette* Was it good for you because I know it was good for me. I'm naked, drunk, covered in gold glitter and I couldn't be happier. So long sucka!

So, what did you think of last night's episode? Is that fraying thread holding Calgon together strong enough to last another week? Will any remaining Slugs-R-Dust defect and join the amigos? Did you expect Golden Boy to give his Idol to Theddie? How many times did you touch yourself last night? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

Masculine Tomfoolery

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 22:55:00 +0000

Strapping, virile, dragging lazy mosies in and out of the saloon, he smells of leather and a hard day's work. Or perhaps he's valiant and chivalrous. On a noble steed with sword drawn, the wind in his hair and a damsel in his sights. Climbing trellises and serenading balconies. Clinking of armor and adventure. Then we have the shirtless ones. Wild and unkempt. Tousled and messy. Clutching turkey legs and belching heartily in between butt smacks and crotch grabs. Whatever his nature, wherever he lurks... he is man. Heady, musky, untamed and sthometimesth silly. Man - woman's greatest foe and most delicious pleasure. You can't live with him and you can't legally stab him in the heart with a fiery hot poker from your fireplace on a lazy Saturday night because he said some smart ass comment two weeks ago that is still eating you up inside. Men! Burly or foppish. Spindly or hunky. Pecs and abs and loins and all the rest of it. Beer guzzling lotharios all sweaty and robust. Primal. Carnal. *dabs brow* To understand their actions is to delve inside their nature. Throw caution to the wind and let common sense dribble down the wayside. Forget to shower and surreptitiously hide the porn links in a secret folder called "Fantasy Football". Or maybe, just maybe, man is cunning and golden. A Spartan. A Trojan. Perceptive and plucky. Or maybe just lucky. Let's recap, shall we?

We continue our tawdry Filipino tale at the break of dawn. With the sun creeping gently above the horizon, a gaggle of monkeys scours the deserted shores for sustenance. Lifting rocks and sucking briney goodness from mysterious crustaceans, the monkey people retreat with partially filled bellies to the bamboo shelter they have come to call home. The self-appointed monkey king, Phillip, breaks the silence, "Can you believe it's been 200 days? We are going to DO IT. We have the solid numbers. Oh wait, I'm getting word from Langley... Mayday, mayday. Olympus has fallen. I repeat, Olympus has fallen. Chichaw!" Mascaroni (Andrea) quietly rolls her eyes to herself before making a quick getaway to somewhere, anywhere, far away from Phillip.

Dame Reynold, however, is reflective on this lazy morning. Last night at the theatre, there were some hiccups in the performance and a supporting player was sent home, but, you know what? He's still here, dammit. As long as some fresh-faced understudy (or Eve Harrington) doesn't come sweeping in to steal his role, the Dame is still a valuable part of this cast. He will continue to show up for rehearsals, continue to learn his lines, and continue to, night after night, paint his beauty mark, just so, on his right cheek. His ensemble is strong with fellow heartthrobs, Golden Boy (Malcolm) and Theddie (Eddie) and as far as Dame Reynold is concerned, he is in a good place right now. The out-of-town previews are getting promising reviews and it is only a matter of time before he becomes a permanent fixture on the main stage production.

But on this island of tragedy and comedy there also exists a farce. A sideshow so steeped in absurdity and nonsense that it gets its own special segment every. single. week. It is called The Phillip Sheppard Show and I, personally, can't wait for its cancellation. In this week's episode, Phillip has decided to woo Freebush (Sherri). While sitting side by side under the shade of a Eucalyptus tree, Phillip Sheppard leans over to whisper gently into Freebush's ear, "When I first saw you, I thought 'Man, she's hot!'" *gags* Freebush hides the horror in her eyes choosing to nod a meek "thank you" instead. Before Phillip can regale her with tales of how he's wooed women from here to Cartagena, Freebush quickly steers the conversation to the game and Gay's (Michael's) future in it. Phillip's reply is quick and decisive on all matters Gay, "He's gone." And then he continues...

"As The Specialist it is very important when I sussign you a name... Ten-a-city. Are you prepared to the accept the name? There's only one requirement to belong to Strelf R Crust. You must be loyal and absolutely trustworthy." Um Phillip, I don't mean to interrupt, but that makes TWO requirements, not one. OK continue. "Are you prepared to do that? Shake my hand. Welcome to the organization. Mowgli (Brenda) there is Inaudibility. We also have Golden Boy, known as The Fornicator." Freebush listens to all of this with a strained smile on her face and dead eyes. Not only does she have to play the game of Survivor, but now she has to play Make-Believe Corporate Organization with Phillip Sheppard. A children's Victorian parlour game was the last thing Freebush expected when she signed up to live on an island for a month, but she accepts the challenge with a brave face and draws on her experiences from managing her Del Carl's Bell Burgerdonald's back in Idaho. Arrogant premenstrual narcissistic teens are par for the course when you run fast food franchises in middle America. They're always sneaking fish nuggets and nacho wraps to their friends through the Drive Thru. And she hasn't met a teen yet who didn't stuff packets of ketchup and hot sauce into his backpack before punching out at the end of his shift. Phillip, like Shalimar (Shamar), is just another one of those snot-nosed brats she'll have to fight with over smoke breaks and force to wear a hair net when defrosting the Dorito buns. You didn't think those came fresh, did you?

And this brings us to the big Reward Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge you will be divided up into two teams of five. You will have four shooters and one defender. The shooters will leap off a platform trying to throw a ball past the defender and into the net. The first team to score four points wins. Wanna know what you're playing for? You'll be taken to a majestic waterfall where you will be forced to leap down a steep cliff in order to enjoy a picnic lunch.

The orange team is as follows: The shooters are Dame Reynold, Erik, Theddie and Cochran. Golden Boy will be your defender.
The purple team is as follows: The shooters are Mowgli, Calgon (Dawn), Mascaroni and Phillip. Gay will be your defender.
Since Freebush completely sucks at challenges and could very well pop a breast while hitting the water, she'll sit out and not be allowed to take part in the Reward.
Survivors ready, go!

First up is Theddie. With a ready, sthet, go, Theddie leaps off the dock and hurls his ball directly into Golden Boy's hands.

Gay takes his position on the platform next as Mowgli whizzes the ball over his head and into the net. The score is now 1-0

Rather than go through each and every toss - as much as I enjoy watching Golden Boy fly through the air, this was an extremely tedious challenge - let's fast forward to the end with the score tied 3-3. Mowgli is up again and, while she is a mute, she has also proven to be a stealthy ninja in the challenges. Unfortunately for her, her ball bounces off the goal post and back into the water.

With the score still tied, it is now up to Erik of the Orange team to try and whiz a ball past Golden Boy. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, he takes the ball to his chest and chooses a point in the net at which to aim. All of a sudden, he hears a taunting to his left. "Why'd you take off yo sneakers? You shouldn'a done that! You gonna miss! Chichaw!" Oh shut up Phillip. Erik ignores the large man making googly eyes and obscene finger gestures on the platform next to him and instead prepares his leap. One... two... three... he shoots, he scores! ORANGE TEAM WINS REWARD!!!

Whizzing through the clouds and careening over lush greenery, we arrive at the tippy top of a precarious looking waterfall. While the other men are busy getting fitted with rappelling equipment, Cochran, on all fours, grips a large rock and peers over the end of the falls. Looking down at the rapids and the jagged rocks taunting him from below, he sees his entire future flash before his eyes. He went to Harvard for this?! To get a degree and then DIE. This isn't a Reward. This is a death sentence! Our gangly spindly academic doesn't leave his apartment, let alone Twitter (You can follow the ginger fop at @ColetteLala. Ha! Just kidding. You can follow him at @JohnMCochran), and now he's expected to rappel down a slippery horror show of splattered guts and floating entrails? In what universe is this considered a Reward? Survivor universe, baby.

Conversely, Dame Reynold is always up for a challenge. He once performed in an off off off off Broadway (Hoboken VFW Hall) production of A Chorus Line and this rappelling thing looks like nothing more than a few fluttering jetes and chasses down the side of the cliff. With his tutu smooshed into his harness and ribbons billowing off his carabiner, the Dame shook out his jitters, centered himself, and took the leap. Literally. He literally leapt. And it was lovely! Brava! *throws roses*

Once all the manly men (and Cochran) make it down the waterfall, they all gather on a patchwork quilt adorned with embroidered throw pillows to enjoy a simple picnic of finger sandwiches, crisps, fruit and soda. Having attended Miss Caveman's Finishing School For Heathens, the rabid beasts dive face first into the watercress and lemon tea. Erik grabs a handful of sandwiches and smashes them into his mouth while Theddie bends over into the soda pitcher, takes a deep breath and blows. With cola dripping down their faces and dough stuck in their teeth, the men scratch themselves and guffaw onto the breeze. In between grunts and farts, Gay, delicate rose Gay, punches Cochran on the arm and says, "Hey, let's make a men's alliance. Wouldn't that be faaaabulous. Women are icky!" Cochran stares back at Gay with wide eyes while rubbing the bruise now forming on his upper arm. If anyone knows anything about Cochran, then they know that he's not the manly sort. Outdoorsy and brawny isn't what Cochran does. As a child he once faked a yeast infection to get out of gym class. And when that didn't work he rubbed poison oak all over his body and called it menopause. Innovative and clever, yes. Accurate, not quite. So you see, an alliance made up of rippling muscles and panty raids doesn't appeal to Cochran in the slightest. But an alliance with a middle-aged man playing Make Believe Corporate Organization and a middle-aged woman sticking her head into a well to stave of the hot flashes does. So there!

Back at Edamame (Enil Edam) the losers make their way ashore and prepare for another afternoon of avoiding Phillip. Golden Boy isn't too upset over the Reward Challenge loss because the people he's back at camp with now are the people he needs to start working his magic on. He already has Dame Reynold and Theddie on his side, but he needs to get Calgon and Freebush aboard if he wants to make his plan for tribal domination a reality. And so, with a loose tendril and a twinkle in his eye, Golden Boy stretches languidly next to Freebush and begins his seduction. He tells her the reality is that both of them are on the bottom and the best they can hope for is 7th or 8th place, but if they... *pause for Golden Boy to flip his hair and fondle the twine necklace around his neck*... join with Dame Reynold and Theddie then they have a chance to be 5th place. Freebush rests her head on one hand and I can't tell if she's undressing Golden Boy in her mind or actually listening to a word he's saying.

Golden Boy's next target is Calgon. *smacks self in head* Oh god, not Calgon. Black Widow Spider Calgon. She sits all season long inside of an empty boot and then the second you go to slip on your shoes *hiss, chomp... venom!!!*, you're dead. She's not an innovative player and she's not a leader, but she has one thing going for her - gingham! An older lady dressed like a picnic basket is nonthreatening. Period. When you look like you always have macaroni salad and lemonade ready for the kids, no one will ever think you're a two-faced tattletale. If the gingham was premeditated, mad props to Calgon. I'm telling you, those ruffles and plastic plates have made her an unwitting kiss of death. Naturally, I'm scared shitless when Golden Boy steals away into the woods with the Black Widow. Don't look her in the eyes Golden Boy! You never know, you might turn to stone.

After Golden Boy makes his pitch to Calgon about joining him and the rest of the Fans, Calgon does what Calgon does best. She runs to the first person she finds to share her information. With ruffles flapping in the breeze and the smell of homemade cookies wafting behind her, Calgon runs and trips into Freebush blabbing to Mascaroni about Golden Boy's seduction. (Maybe Gay was right. Women are icky!) If we listen in on the harpies yapping we discover that Freebush has not only blabbed about Golden Boy putting together a new alliance, but she's also telling them about how he wants the Favorites to split the votes between Dame Reynold and Theddie leaving the Serpentine Counter Alliance with a majority to vote off whomever they wanted. Naturally, the Favorites can no longer trust Golden Boy so they decide to pretend to go along with his plan to split the votes while, really, they'll be voting for Golden Boy. *clutches pearls and weeps*

Later, with nothing to do but loll about, Theddie and Mascaroni swim off to the Blue Lagoon to get their flirt on. Theddie looks at it as hanging out with a pretty girl while Mascaroni sees it as planning their wedding. With a binder full of fabric samples and cake pictures, she smiles and coos to Theddie about how a period wedding can be quite festive if you do it right. Theddie has no idea what the hell she's talking about when she mentions delphiniums, Edwardian script, lemon buttercream and tulle. All he knows is that he'll do whatever she wants gamewise - except vote for Dame Reynold. She replies to this revelation with a raised eyebrow, "Really? Will you vote the way I say?" Theddie replies, "Yeah." In Theddie's mind, he needs Mascaroni to drag him through the game for two or three more votes before he can get up on his feet and start punching people. Something tells me Theddie may have attended the Hantz School For Wayward Boys at some point in his past. The conversation between the two lovebirds ends with Mascaroni promising not to vote Theddie out if he brings her information about what Golden Boy is up to.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Or what I like to call Dimples' Dungeon Of Torture. Once in a blue moon, Survivor gets medieval on our asses and delights us with challenges of torture. You might remember the infamous drowning ferris wheel of yesteryear - a personal favorite. Today, my friends, we're going to waterboard these bitches within an inch of their lives. *shoots glitter out of a t-shirt gun* For today's challenge, you will lie upside down in an underwater cage as the tide rolls in and tries to drown you. Last person left with a pulse, wins Immunity. Survivors ready, go.

One by one our brave Survivors plop into the water and prepare to take their places in their metal cages. We begin with entire heads safely above the water, but after several minutes a slow and steady tide begins to roll in. After a half an hour mouths are fully covered and heads are forced to tilt backwards in order to breathe. Then, at a steady pace the water begins to rise even more. In my mind there's a water skier (probably Mark Burnett) in the distance skiing back and forth, back and forth, making the waves cover Calgon's face and her ruffles jostle underwater.

After an hour everyone is still in it with some... *cough gargle choke*... whoopsie. There goes Phillip. He must have been absent that day when they covered water torture back at the federal agency. After Phillip bails, the Survivors begin to drop like flies. Next out is Freebush followed by Erik and then Calgon. With the water covering their mouths at this point, the Survivors begin to make little snorkels for themselves out of their hands. Sadly, a snorkel can't save Golden Boy as he is the next to bail. And did you see how loudly Calgon cheered for him from the dock when he was out of the competition? Shush Black Widow!

Eventually, we get down to Mascaroni and Mowgli in the final two. Both have chosen to link their legs around their cages which perhaps helped them stay steady. For all I know, Mowgli could already be dead. The girl hasn't moved an inch since she got in the water. And she still doesn't move when everyone leaves the competition and heads back to camp. Later on that evening, sitting under the wispy veils of his mosquito tents and discovering the wonders of opium with a local "massage therapist", Dimples gets a nagging feeling that he may have forgotten something back at the challenge. Mowgli! He forgot Mowgli! He left the poor girl there and forget to tell her she won. So yeah, MOWGLI WINS IMMUNITY!!!

Back at Edamame, the mood is celebratory with Phillip scatting something old school to Mowgli. He's calling her baby and doing his James Brown shuffle around camp. Like somehow he's responsible for her win. Whatever Phillip. Golden Boy, however, is deep in thought. Tonight is his last chance to make his move. If he waits any longer, Dame Reynold and Theddie will be gone and he'll have no more moves to make. It's now or never.

After a brief meeting with Mascaroni where Golden Boy firms up the faux plan to split the votes tonight between Dame Reynold and Theddie, he meets with Calgon to put the finishing touches on the real plan - to vote out Mascaroni. While Phillip may appear to be the leader to everyone else, Golden Boy knows that he's just the alliance mascot and nothing more. Mascaroni is the one who is really running the show behind the scenes. And everyone knows you don't kill the court jester until you've killed the Queen. Or something like that. Calgon then covers her face as she is often wont to do when life is too much for her. And since there isn't a well nearby she'll just have to settle for her tears hitting the sand. The sound is more of a plergh than a melodious plop, but it'll do. Golden Boy, sensing that Calgon might still be wavering, then tells her that Dame Reynold has the Idol. Calgon says she'll go along with the plan if Dame Reynold shows her his Idol. *sprays Raid on TV*

And so, after some hustling and bustling, Dame Reynold fetches the Idol out of his skinny jeans and shoves it into his purse. Seeing Calgon sitting alone on the edge of the shelter, he sidles up next to her and flashes her the Idol. She looks at it and nods, "OK." Dame Reynold then whispers to her from behind the hand-painted fan he brought for such occasions that if she doesn't follow through with her promise, then he'll go home tonight. He hopes he can trust her and that she won't screw him. At that moment, somewhere in Calgon's mind, a switch flipped and instead of hearing, "If you don't follow through, then I go home tonight" she heard, "Do what I say bitch or I'll f*ck your shit up! I'll pull your nose through your ass and make your life a living hell. Mwahahaha!!!! MEN!!!" When the hallucinations and dementia begins, I think euthanasia is a reasonable course of action. Just saying.

After getting a stern warning from Dame Reynold that Mascaroni is dangerous and can't be trusted, Theddie quickly seeks out Mascaroni for reassurance. He tells her that Golden Boy thinks the Favorites are splitting the votes tonight and he wants to hear from her whether or not it's true. Mascaroni, dummy, replies, "I don't know. Maybe." All she had to say was yes! Idiot. Anyhow, she flubs and wavers and chews her tongue which only increases Theddie's suspicions that Dame Reynold might be right about Mascaroni after all. Theddie continues to push Mascaroni for a straight answer as to whether or not her alliance is splitting votes between him and the Dame and Mascaroni continues to not give him a straight answer. Yo Theddie *smacks him on the head* that's your clue not to trust her! If you ask her a question and she can't/won't give you an answer, then she is someone you cannot trust. Duh.

While Mascaroni pleads with Theddie to just trust her, Theddie blurts out that Dame Reynold could play an Idol tonight. Well, this piques Mascaroni's interest and thus begins the exhausting conversation between these two dimwits:
"Dame Reynold might play histh Idol and then I'll go home."
"Does he have an Idol?"
"I don't know. Sthomeone doesth."
"Does he have the Idol?"
"I didn't sthay that."
"You said he had an Idol. Does he have it?"
"Sthe sthellsth stheasthellsth down the stheastchore."
"Huh?"
"I like you."
"Does he have the Idol?"
"Sthomeone sthaid sthomething about voting you out tonight."
"Me? Why me?!?"
*Mascaroni runs away and cries*

Of course this sends Mascaroni into a tizzy of tears and snot. She runs hither and thither grabbing everyone she can and telling them that they should just vote out Gay tonight because she could go home if they take the risk of getting rid of Golden Boy. Phillip poo-poo's her idea and wants to stick with Golden Boy. Cochran scoffs at the ridiculous suggestion and now thinks less of the girl. And then there's Calgon. Calgon bursts into tears and screams, "All the work I've done today will be for nothing. Nothing! This is the only chance to get rid of Golden Boy. The three boys don't have Immunity and there's an Idol. If we don't do it now, then when? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHEN?!! HE SHOWED ME HIS IDOL AND EVERYTHING. ALL OF THAT WILL BE WASTED. WASTED!!! GAH!!!!! The voices, the voices... make them stop." *dials Dr. Whatever in Utah* Hello Doctor, my name is Colette Lala. Kindly up the dosage on the Calgon's Klonopin. And might I suggest Haldol? You know, a Thorazine drip now and again never hurt anyone either. If that doesn't work, we might have to resort to an exorcism. I've got a guy. His name is Pretty Pony and he is extremely devout.

And this brings us to Tribal Council. A little heads up... everyone go grab yourself some spirits, some batteries and whatever else you need to get your groove on (handcuffs, clamps, glitter, ice, wax). We're getting dir-tay tonight. Oh yeah!

With the darkness cloaking us in mystery and wantonness, Dimples begins by asking Gay how he felt about a Favorite going home last week instead of a Fan. Gay passes some dim sum around to everyone and crosses his legs, "Well, you know Dimples, I thought to myself, 'This is good. The Favorites are beginning to see each other as threats.' Soy? You must try the dumpling with soy. It's a taste explosion!" Quite frankly, I have no idea what Gay ever says. I'd rather he simply throw dinner parties and experiment with Asian cuisine than talk game. He's a bore. *yawn*

Then, out of nowhere, a long bony finger enters into frame and yanks a hair out of Mascaroni's head. "Bug," Erik whispers. And then he turned the hair into a dreamcatcher. I don't think there was a bug there at all! Erik is quite the craftsman. The dreamcatcher is not only lovely, but intricate.

Moving on, we get another episode of The Phillip Sheppard Show. *switches channel* I mean, we talk to Freebush to see what she thinks about the sugar content in soda and the rising prices of mayonnaise. Well, I'll tell you what she thinks. She doesn't think much of it and she also doesn't think much of those scrappy thieving kids that work for her. As far as those hooligans here at camp who wrote her name down once before, they will get their comeuppance one day... "Payback is a bitch."

Dimples asks Theddie if it bothers him that Freebush has switched sides. Theddie, in a most impressive manner if I do say so myself, shrugs his shoulders and says, "I'm not really worried about it. I'd rather play my own game than be sthomebody elsthes puppet." Bravo, Theddie. Good on you, my lad! More of that and less flirting with the girls and I could learn to like you.

Dimples continues the same line of questioning with Dame Reynold. Only, this time, he mentions the Idol and he mentions it in a way that gets Golden Boy's attention. Watching Tribal Council over the past 87 seasons at home I have learned that if you pay close attention to Dimples and the questions he asks, he's pretty much telling you everything you need to know about the ins and outs of the inner workings of the tribe. Sitting there in the thick of it with the fire and the cameras all around you, it is probably difficult to pick up on so I don't really hold it against any of the players... until now. Until I saw my Golden Boy with his eyes flitting back and forth between Dimples and anyone Dimples addressed. There was a laser like focus and intensity with which he was able to unravel Dimples' code. Or maybe the firelight was just making him look really cute. Who knows! *throws hands in the air*

Mascaroni then says that this is the time of the game when players low on the totem pole begin to considering flipping. Phillip interjects that anyone who flips right now will have made an error in judgment and they will be the next to leave the game. As expected, Golden Boy begins to look a little squeamish and you can tell his inner monologue goes something like... What do I do? What do I do? Do I play the Idol? Are they talking about me or the Dame? I wonder what Colette Lala looks like naked. If I play my Idol, then the Dame will never trust me again. Phillip is a psycho. How's my hair? All of these are extremely natural thoughts to have at this juncture of the game. This is a big moment right here so what are you gonna do, Golden Boy?

If anybody has the Hidden Immunity Idol and you want to play it, now would be the time to do so.
*Dame Reynold squirms and then rises out of his seat*
"Hold up, man."
*everyone's head snaps towards Golden Boy*
"They all voted for me. You can tell. Give it to me. We're in good shape."

At home, I ran to the fridge and got two bowls of glitter for the coffee table. I then leapt on the couch and begin to chew my nails. The anxiety... the waiting... the suspense. Oh god, it's delicious! The music began to thump as everyone everywhere, from Winslow to Omaha to our nation's capital, leaned a little closer to their television sets and held their breaths as they waited to see what Dame Reynold would do.

"Yeah."

Did he... is he... did that... OH MY GOD. *dunk dunk*

And that, my friends, is the story of how Dame Reynold gave his Hidden Immunity Idol to a guy who already had an Immunity Idol in his pocket. And not only did he give Golden Boy his Immunity Idol, but it turns out that Smurfs R Crap didn't vote for Golden Boy after all. In fact, they voted for Gay which makes Gay the 10th person voted out of Survivor Caramoan. Golden Boy may have some explaining to do tomorrow, but tonight... tonight he is such a bad ass!

So, what did you guys think of last night's episode? Will the Dame trust Golden Boy in the morning? Does Mowgli have gills on the back of her neck? Was that the sexiest Survivor move to date? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

And if you haven't already, please like the XI COCKTAILS Facebook page and tell them Colette Lala sent you. There's a bottle with Shakira and Golden Boy's names on it at stake and I NEED THAT BOTTLE. Thanks, bitches!

Punched In The Face

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 20:44:00 +0000

Prized for its balance of textures and flavors, the balut is a Southeast Asian streetfood delicacy. Commonly sold in the evening to cloak its horrific appearance in darkness, these tiny fertilized duck embryos are widely consumed as a high protein snack. Translated from the Malay or Filipino balut, the word itself means "wrapped". And wrapped it is! A conveniently pocketed orb of eyeballs, feathers, veins, blood vessels, an umbilical cord, and, yes, a crunchy little beak all safely nestled in a shell. Incubation time can vary from 18-21 days. Much like the incubation time of Survivors who, up until now, have been content with the status quo. Content with the giant man child moonwalking into the campfire. Content with the wide-eyed gingham matron tucking everyone into their beds at night. Content with "us over here, you over there." Sometimes though, sometimes, an egg meant for consumption before its time rolls away and is allowed to mature and flourish in the golden sun. Emerging from its shell, it'll shake its feathers with wild abandon and flutter hither and thither with all sorts of ideas. Revolutionary ideas. Independent ideas. Triumphant hairy ideas of nipples and plaid. Let down your hair, fair peacock. An idea must unfurl. Cascade. Tumble and bounce. Otherwise, it is tied too tight. Smothered. Deprived of the oxygen it needs to thrive. Let's recap, shall we?

We continue our torrid Filipino tale in the thick of night at Baklava (Bikal). Wistful clouds of truth creep about in the moonlight before floating away... far far away. Rapscallion jester Phillip Sheppard sashays into the scene and breaks the awkward silence by congratulating Gay (Michael) on surviving another Tribal Council. With his arm around a joyous Gay, Phillip then motions to Corinne and Calgon (Dawn) that he'd like a word with them in the bunker. Leading the way with leaps and James Brown slides, Phillip maneuvers through the landmines he has placed all around camp (coconuts sliced in half and placed face down in the sand). Once out of earshot of the others, Phillip giggles and reveals his deep dark secret, "There's one thing I did and didn't clue you in on. I threw the challenge. Co-coch-cochran knew about it. You noticed what I was doing, but you didn't figure it out. Chichaw! Remember when you told me to pull the line in quicker? Remember? You told me to pull quicker and I couldn't... I mean, didn't. That's The Specialist, baby. Jump back!" And then he do-si-do'd into a bush and tried to radio Langley with a clam shell. Corinne and Calgon stood in silence left to roll their eyes at one another in the night sky.

(Gesu a la Samaritana al pozzo by Giacomo Franceschini)

With the passing of time, a new day dawns and with it, a number. Twenty. 2-0. A nice round even number hangs in the air taunting Calgon with memories of yesteryear. At this time in the South Pacific, many moons ago, a Merge was afoot and Calgon's best good friend Cochran shook up the entire game by switching loyalties. Could it happen again here in The Philippines? Could a traitor be close by? With the uneasiness and anxiety gnawing at Calgon's gut and churning with malicious intent, she seeks comfort from her wishing well hidden in the trees. It is her private place to reflect, gather her thoughts, and pop Klonopin likes it's candy. And don't think that the imagery of a woman at a well is lost on Calgon. Being a religious sort, Calgon dutifully recalls the story of the Samaritan woman at the well and the lessons hidden within. Can she too accept the people around her with love and compassion? Can her fear of scallawags, like her tears, plop away into the inky blackness beneath her? *shrugs shoulders* I have no idea. Terence Trent D'arby does though... Wish me love a wishing well to kiss and tell/A wishing well of butterfly tears/Wish me love a wishing well to kiss and tell/A wishing well of crocodile cheers What a crocodile cheer is I do not know. All at once it sounds festive yet menacing. How does that portend in this here game of Survivor? Only time will tell.

Meanwhile, at Goiter (Gota), fit brawny sorts are splashing and cavorting in the crystalline blue waters. The Dame Reynold, fetching in a swim cap, is busy with his latest synchronized swimming routine as a local fishing boat approaches the shore. From the beach, Theddie (Eddie) shouts, "Sthomethingths happening!" Sthomethingth indeed! Hearing the commotion ashore, Dame Reynold pauses mid fankick and exclaims, "We've been saved! Get me off this island!" And then, with one perfectly pointed ballet leg sticking out of the water, he grips the back of the fishing boat and squeals as the fishermen pull him towards the beach. When the boat finally reaches the sandy shore, a man in a conical hat hands Mascaroni (Andrea) a note - Pack up all your crap, bitches. It's Merge time! The Goiters quickly break out into a raucous celebration of woo-hoo's. This is what they've been waiting for. This is what we've been waiting for. This is when the game can finally begin.

Gliding over the water and carrying precious cargo (i.e. Golden Boy (Malcolm)), the fishing boat arrives at Baklava where the merriment continues. Both tribes breathe in the heady aromas of one another and gleefully grasp each other in loving embraces. It appears that everyone has wanted this union for a while now - especially gangly Cochran. The Merge is the time when his freckles come together and make smiley faces.

Within the note given to Mascaroni was also a key. It turns out that this key unlocks a chest filled with food, green buffs and a brand spanking new flag for the tribe to name and decorate. With mouths full of the bologna sandwiches Calgon has passed out to everyone with the crusts cut off, the tribe workshops some new camp names. Gay thinks the tribe should be called "Stanley" while Corinne is in favor of "Douglas". Golden Boy has a better idea though. How about "Enil Edam"? Mascaroni nods in agreement, "Enil Edam means 'new beginning'." Sure, Mascaroni. Perhaps in Dothraki that is what it means. In reality, however, Enil Edam is Golden Boy giving a shout out to his mama, Madeline. *swoon* But, for our purposes, Enil Edam will now be known as Edamame. Delicious and good for you... much like Golden Boy. Badum bum!

With a full belly and a new skip in his step, Phillip wraps Mascaroni in a giant bear hug, "It's good to see my girl!" And then he whips out the blueprints he has devised in order for him, Mascaroni, Calgon and Cochran to sail into the final four. On the blueprints, in crayon, is a drawing of Boston Rob lying in bed covered in a Red Sox blanket. That's it. That's the plan! When you're lying in bed, pretend you're Boston Rob. That's what Phillip does and it's gotten him this far. But before they can lie back and creatively visualize themselves as a goateed guy with a weird accent, they need to rid the camp of those powerful Fan men - namely, Dame Reynold and Theddie. Truth be told, Mascaroni really isn't all that concerned with the first vote. There are 8 Favorites and 4 Fans. Why sweat this first vote when they've already got the numbers?

At the same time, further down the beach, Corinne is also rekindling old relationships. She wastes no time touching base with Golden Boy and telling him just how truly awful Phillip has been. His late night fire drills, the pre-dawn marches, and, oh god, don't get her started on the moat he dug around the latrine. She confesses to Golden Boy that, at one time, she even considered voting out Phillip. Golden Boy listens to Corinne's complaints and tells her that he has no intention of sticking with the Favorites alliance for much longer. Corinne replies, "But we don't have the numbers." Golden Boy then flashes his pearly whites, "I've got 4 votes. Dame Reynold, Theddie and Erik." Corinne smiles in return, "I've got Gay." That makes 6 votes. With 12 people left in the game, they don't yet have a majority, but they're close. Oh so close. To keep the other Favorites from getting suspicious, Corinne suggests that they get rid of Freebush (Sherri) first. After she's gone, they can flip the switch and get rid of Phillip. *claps excitedly* Yes! It's the perfect plan. Surely, nothing can screw this up. Not a thing.

Later that afternoon, Cochran returns with the Tree Mail. Words like "bitten", "chew" and "swallow" litter the message. Calgon breaks into a jaunty dance while thinking it'll be a challenge where she gets to eat her way through the food pyramid. Golden Boy quickly rains on her parade saying, "No! It's eating gross stuff." That shuts her up. But then we hear a tiny high-pitched gasp followed by a rapid fluttering. Tis Dame Reynold fanning himself rapidly with one hand while digging into his purse with the other hand searching for his smelling salts. If there is one thing Dame Reynold can't do, it is eat gross stuff. Let's just say you'll never find him at an oyster bar on a Saturday after his matinee performance. And you can forget about escargot. Anything slimy and squiggly that doesn't come with a side of french fries is not the sort of fare Dame Reynold will indulge in.

Theddie, it turns out, is also a little nervous about the upcoming challenge. Oh, he's not scared to eat bull testicles or the anus of an ostriche. He's more worried about the effect this challenge could have on his love life. One night when he's getting amorous with a lady friend she might flashback to that time on Survivor when he swallowed a whole tarantula. According to Theddie, she'll button up her blouse lightening quick, race up the stairs of his parents basement and not let him get to second base.

And then we have Cochran. Unlike the others, Cochran is actually looking forward to this challenge. Eating gross stuff won't hurt his reputation with the ladies. In fact, his image might benefit from an eating challenge makeover. Whereas once he might have been shy and awkward, he could now be that guy. That guy who won a necklace eating 100 crickets in 10 seconds. That guy with his collar pointed skyward who once ate raw pig intestines. Mr. Cool. The ladies, they'll come a-runnin'.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge you will take part in a Survivor classic - a food eating competition where you will race to get down local delicacies. You will square off in a series of elimination rounds until only two remain. The final winner gets the Immunity Necklace and cannot be voted out at the next Tribal Council.

For round 1, we have Mascaroni, Freebush, Corinne, Erik, Theddie and Golden Boy. Erik stares down at the covered plate before him as it begins to crawl from side to side. Whatever is under that dome is alive! The first three to finish will move onto the next round. The players then unveil the fat and juicy beetle larvae on their plates. Golden Boy complains, "It's running off the plate." Theddie's lower lip then begins to tremble, "Isth it gonna bite me?" Oh shut up, all of youse. Survivors ready, go!

All of the players quickly pop the little rascals into their mouths and the contest seems to be more about who can chew the fastest rather than who has the cajones to eat some worms. Mascaroni finishes first followed by Golden Boy. Lastly, we have Theddie moving onto round 2.

Next up is Dame Reynold, Mowgli (Brenda), Phillip, Gay, Cochran and Calgon. Phillip immediately begins to retch at the sight of the squirmy little fellows as Calgon quietly mumbles a quick prayer to herself before asking if she can pop it into her mouth whole. Dimples immediately tells Calgon to put her food down.
Why?
Just wait.
For?
For me to say Survivors ready, go! Bitch.
Oh. Ok.
Survivors ready, go!
Cochran tosses his larvae up in the air like it's popcorn before swallowing them both whole and revealing his tongue. He finishes first followed by Phillip and Gay.

For round 2 we have Mascaroni, Cochran, Phillip, Gay, Theddie and Golden Boy. The 6 unveil their plates to reveal a mess of shit worms. I heard it as "shit worms" so therefore, it's shit worms. Apparently, they're part of the clam family. Insert naughty joke here. Survivors ready, go!

Cochran lifts the entire bunch of shit worms at once and plops them down his gullet. Meanwhile, Golden Boy and Theddie frantically chew themselves into a tie.

For round 3 we have Cochran, Theddie and Golden Boy. Meet the mighty balut, boys. My opening paragraph metaphor. My symbol for the blossoming Survivor. A duck embryo allowed to grow just enough. Not quite all the way. Golden Boy remarks, "I can see the feathers." And I think it hits me what Golden Boy is doing. Is he psyching out the competition? Is he trying to ruffle Theddie and Cochran's feathers with psychological warfare? Perhaps. Survivors ready, go!

Cochran, again, tosses his up in the air. Only this time he added the flourish of a twirl. *gulp* Meanwhile, Theddie is vomiting and then re-eating his own vomit. You know what, Theddie? You were right. This competition just murdered your love life. And with that, Cochran and Golden Boy move onto the final round!

With the last plate before the finalists, Dimples smiles to himself and shakes his head. "Cochran, you're in the finals of an Immunity Challenge! This is David and Goliath." Golden Boy then turns to Cochran and points accusingly at his head, "This is Ginger Kobayashi right here." Cochran flips his collar up and replies, "Bring it on." Mr. Cool, indeed. The two men unveil their plates and before them lies the brains of a pig. Survivors ready, go!

Quickly, both men shove the brains into their mouths and begin to swallow. A tiny piece tries to escape from the corner of Cochran's mouth, but he simply shoves it back in. As quickly as it began is as quickly at it ended beacuse... COCHRAN WINS IMMUNITY!!! *plays 'Eye Of The Tiger'* What then ensued was a celebration. A celebration of interpretive dance where Cochran sparred like a boxer punching each and everyone one of his competitors over and over again. The lad spun, he jived, he did the worm - because he just ate of whole mess of shit worms - and then he posed with his arms crossed in front of him. He winked to the ladies in the stands and instead of walking back to camp, he strutted.

The spindly fop did a strut that would make John Travolta jealous.

Back at Edamame, Golden Boy checks in with Theddie to make sure that everyone is still on the same page. He tells Theddie that Corinne, Dame Reynold and Erik are onboard with the new alliance. While I admire Golden Boy's firm grasp on the game, I worry about his confidence in Erik. We've never seen him talk to Erik. Quite frankly, we've never seen Erik talk to anybody. He exists in the head shop of his imagination and, sometimes, you can see him wander out into the sea, glassy-eyed, to have a chat with a drop of water. Other than that, we don't really see much of the guy.

Meanwhile, Phillip Sheppard is pitching one of his cockamamie plans to Corinne to split the vote between Dame Reynold and Theddie. Because he saw Boston Rob do it once successfully several seasons ago, Phillip now has to enter into every Tribal Council by splitting the votes. Corinne, on the other hand, thinks splitting the votes is silly. She suggests to Phillip that they simply get rid of Freebush since none of the Fans like her anyways. Phillip immediately poo-poo's that idea and explains that he wants a big fish to go home on this first Merge vote. Once again he cites the mighty Boston Rob, lying in his bed, taking out the power players first. Corinne's lips form a thin line in anger. Phillip never listens to any of her situations. He never entertains her ideas and it's really beginning to piss her off.

The problem with being pissed off is that you tend to act erratically. You begin to flap your gums in vain and vent to people that you might not otherwise vent to. And this is exactly what Corinne does. She immediately goes to Cochran, Mascaroni and Dawn to complain about how Phillip wants to split the votes. She suggests that they vote for Freebush and let Phillip vote however he wants to vote. Let him fly solo. Corinne is frustrated that he strong-arms her into doing his bidding week after week. This time, she wants to strong-arm him. Listening to all of this, Cochran is fine with getting rid of Freebush although he questions why Corinne is so adamant to keep Dame Reynold and Theddie in the game. In addition, the fact that Phillip and Corinne can't peacefully coexist and come to a mutual decision is blatantly admitting to the world that the Favorites are dysfunctional rather than one big happy family.

Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to check in with Dame Reynold and see what he thinks about all of this. Dame? *curtain pulls back*

"Greetings gentle men and gentle women. I find myself in the peculiar position of hitching my wagons and petticoats to a serpentine counter alliance. Tis a necessary gesture to make when encountering a merry-andrew like Lord Phillip. For what can be gained by a buffoon in this fertile Eden in which we find ourselves lost. If I am to be a scoundrel, then so be it. I kneel and accept the challenge without haste. Oh ye game of Survivor, place your sword upon velvet shoulder and bestow upon your servant the wisdom to go forth. To go forth and prosper. To go forth and conquer. To go forth and WIN." And then he daintily held a lacy handkerchief up to his face and fainted. *stands and applauds* Brava! *throws roses onstage* What a dame!

Leaving the theatre, I am not only moved by the passion, but I am optimistic. A Serpentine Counter Alliance of ne'er-do-wells is exactly what this game needs. Fiery scamps causing a raucous is something I can get behind and support. But still, the first part of the plan must come to pass. Somehow they have to find a way to get rid of Freebush without raising suspicion and outing themselves. Perhaps Corinne can make it happen with Calgon... or perhaps not.

In the next scene we find Corinne and Calgon escaping into the jungle thick to discuss their next move. Corinne immediately jumps into how she's not heard and her opinions are never appreciated by Phillip. Whenever she makes a suggestion, he immediately nixes it. Calgon nods with understanding. She gets what Corinne is saying. Phillip is indeed overbearing and needs to handled with kid gloves. Corinne, perhaps encouraged by Calgon nodding in agreement, then reveals the inner workings of the Serpentine Counter Alliance and tells Calgon that she has the votes to get rid of Phillip if he doesn't start taking her seriously. *throws a coconut at Corinne's head* "I've got Golden Boy and Dame Reynold and Theddie..." SHUT UP! "And Gay is 100% with us too." *throws a ninja star at Corinne's head* Calgon replies, "That's like 6 people." Corinne nods, "Uh huh. And we have Erik." OMG SHUT UP!

Calgon, now armed with this valuable information, doesn't really know how to proceed. This is exactly what happened on her last season. Clearly, there is nothing left to do but cry... AND go run and tell Cochran everything. *throws a frying pan at Calgon's head* Upon hearing about the Serpentine Counter Alliance, the color instantly drains from Cochran's face and you can sort of see his heart begin to pound beneath his sweater vest. Calgon then says, "If I had the numbers, I'd vote Corinne out." Sobered by the game taking a drastic turn where 3, possibly 4, powerful men could keep winning Immunity Challenges week after week, Cochran begins to run down the people they could get to vote out Corinne. If they can get Freebush and Erik onboard, they might be able to pull off a blindside.

And so begins a quick game of telephone. Cochran tells Mascaroni what's going on. Mascaroni then tells Phillip what's going on. And Phillip, well he accosts Freebush in the shelter. Sitting across from her he whips out a list of all the people in the Stealth R Us organization. Right there, with a giant booger next her crossed out name, it says CORINNE. Phillip then dramatically takes his crayon out of his panties and writes in a childlike scrawl FREEBOOSH. He tells Freebush that if she joins them and votes out Corinne tonight, then she will drastically change the fate of her game. The only problem is that Freebush hates Phillip. She hates his arrogance, his silly names, his stupid pink panties. She hates everything about him. BUT she's in a tight spot and she's willing to make a big move to stay in the game.

Meanwhile, because Erik doesn't really speak, Mascaroni is miming him instructions to vote out Corinne tonight. She points at Corinne's name on the Edamame flag and then grabs her own neck and mock strangles herself. Erik nods his shaggy mane and gives her a thumbs up sign. Uh oh.

Golden Boy then meets with Erik on the beach to "talk" a little strategy. Again, since Erik is a mute, one has to be clever when discussing the game with him. In addition to his many many talents (juggling bottles of liquor, signing girls boobs and letting down his cascading mane), Golden Boy is also an accomplished artist. With Erik watching closely, Golden Boy grabs a stick and quickly draws a picture of Sandra Bullock in the sand. He points to the picture and nods. Erik stares silently at the drawing and smiles. He loves Practical Magic! But did he get the memo that he has to vote out Freebush tonight? Your guess is as good as mine.

And this brings us to Tribal Council. Dimples begins by noticing that since the switch, only Fans have been voted out of the game. He asks Gay if he thinks that tradition will continue. Gay replies in the affirmative. He says that is clear to the Fans that the Favorites will be sticking together until the very end.

Dimples asks Corinne what she thinks about all hope being lost for the Fans. Corinne replies that nothing is ever a lost cause. If you come to her with a good idea, then maybe she'll consider it. Phillip dramatically places his head in his hands while Calgon mumbles something about 12 people not all being able to make it to the final 3.

Oh Dame Reynold. Pray give us a stanza.
*Dame Reynold rises*
Doubt thou stars are fire
Doubt thou stars are love
Doubt truth to be a liar
But never doubt I love.
*Dame Reynold then sweeps dramatically downstage*
Not all can be on top
When there are eight
For I am a lacy fop
And aren't my ribbons great?

Dimples giggles and claps enthusiastically. He then turns to Erik and asks him what he thinks of Dame Reynold's performance. Erik nods and shrugs his shoulders. Oh dear, is he not a fan of iambic pentameter?

Alright, enough jibber jabber, let's get to the vote. By a vote of 75 to eleventeen, Corinne and her big fat mouth that can't keep a secret is the 9th person voted out of Survivor Carmoan.

So, what did you guys think of last night's episode? What does this mean for the Serpentine Counter Alliance? Are you happy to see Corinne go? If we drown Erik in shallow water, will he make a sound? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

One more thing, I have a teeny tiny favor to ask of you lovely bitches. If you haven't already, can you please head on over to the XI COCKTAILS Facebook Page, Like it and then leave a little note saying "Colette Lala sent me"? I'm trying desperately to win a bottle of liquor signed by three of my favorite Survivors - Shakira, Golden Boy and Prickly Pete. Thanks bitches!

A Diarrhea-Fest

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 21:24:00 +0000

As legend has it, the first vanilla orchid grew out of a forbidden and passionate love. When the Totonac Princess Xanat was forbidden by her father to marry a mere mortal, she fled to the forest with her lover only to later be captured and beheaded alongside him. When the young lovers' blood hit the ground beneath them, the vine of the vanilla orchid grew. Exotic, sensual, milky... the scent of vanilla is not only prized and coveted, but known to drop grown men to their knees. The plant itself is a climbing flower that can only be pollinated by one very specific Mexican bee. Flitting from stem to stem, the Melipone bee visits and tickles each and every open dainty flower. Removing these flowers from their native land and thrusting them in the faces of strange subpar bees for mass production has proven unsuccessful. Time and again, flower after flower would wilt with sadness and longing before shriveling up and dying a sad and putrid death. So begins the plain and inferior production of artificial vanilla. Artificial. Banal, pasty, scraped from the pulp of papermaking wood, artificial vanilla lacks the exotic creamy heat of the original. It is born out of necessity, not passion. Look about yourself and you'll find it all around you - in air fresheners, lotions, candles, hand soap... reality TV. It is nowhere and everywhere all at once. Nowhere because it is expected, unappreciated, looked over, ignored. Everywhere because artificial is a way of life. The unremarkable a la mode of day to day. When something is everywhere it becomes invisible... like a phantom. Let's recap, shall we?

With the moon perched high and the sea lazily still, the Baklava (Bikal) tribe returns to camp after a night out with Dimples. Weary, spent, and droopy, the Baklavas move about in a slow silence until a ghostly slip of a girl makes an announcement... "I nearly peed myself." It was a quick comment carried away on the breeze. And when it was gone, no one thought about it again. No one wondered where it went or where it came from. It just was.

Corinne noisily plops her rucksack in the sand and apologizes to Gay (Michael) and Phantom (Julia) for having to vote out Duck Dynasty (Matt). She really liked ole Duck and it sucked to have to vote him out. Phillip Sheppard, Camp Fire Girl extraordinaire, elbows himself past Corinne to make an announcement. "It was a maneuver we had to make. The target had to be extinguished and the threat removed." He then turns to Gay and Phantom, "I, uh we, chose to keep the two of you. I'll be sitting quietly in the shelter if you'd like to be bring me offerings of food and whatnot as a thank you. Specialist out! Chichaw!" Gay, wrapping himself in a silky caftan, raises a hand in nonchalance, "No no no, no need to explain yourselves. We're like the Pointer Sisters - one happy family." Corinne, sensing the rest of her tribe might catch on to exactly how delightful Gay is, snatches him away for a whisper sesh in the shelter. While Corinne is confiding in Gay about how she wants to take him shopping and throw all sorts of Asian fusion dinner parties with him while they're here in Caramoan, Phillip sits high up in a nearby tree looking through a pair of "binoculars" - two hollowed out pieces of bamboo held together by chewing gum and string - and tuts to himself with disapproval.

After his branch breaks and his "binoculars" crack in half, Phillip somersaults his way over to Cochran in hopes of crafting a new tactical maneuver. "I want Corinne gone," he announces. Cochran replies, "Not next though." Phillip nods yes and confides that he does not want Corinne making it to the Merge. And this is where Cochran does what Cochran does best - he keeps the peace talks in motion and gently quells Phillip's bubbling anger with some Cheerios laced with Benadryl in a ziplock baggie. Cochran then gently and effectively warns Phillip that if they vote off one of their own right now, it will look like a hostile attack to the other Favorites on Goiter (Gota) come Merge time. Either Cochran makes sense to Phillip or the Benadryl is kicking in because Phillip softly mumbles, "Federal Agent" before rolling over and snoring into the sand while a half stuck Cheerio hangs off the edge of his nose. Yo Cochran, have you ever considered working for the U.N.? The DPKO (Department of Peacekeeping Operations) is looking for a few good men to send into wartorn Congo. Take your little baggie of magic Cheerios with you and you could save the world, my friend.

With a new day of promise before them, the Baklavas excitedly read the latest Tree Mail...The strong must bear the weak if you hope to compete. The taste of victory today will be oh so sweet. Hearing the word "weak" within the message, Cochran gets a twinkle in his eye as he flexes his biceps. With his tiny fists and twig-like forearms he'll beat this Reward Challenge into submission, bitches! Phillip, too, is looking forward to the Challenge as he is a master Power Lifter and Arm Wrestling Champion of The World. Sure, he only lifts Nerf weights and arm wrestles his fellow Camp Fire Girls, but his upper body strength is always the talk of the Jamboree. From the outside, he may look like a half empty sausage casing, but that is merely a ruse. His muscles are hiding from public view - much like he does in his spy work. If they flaunt themselves out in the open in an ostentatious manner, then the bodybuilding industry will burrow its head in the sand and cease to exist.

Speaking of arm wrestling and all things buff, Phillip has some secret techniques he'd like to share to the world. Not being an arm wrestler myself and complete unaware of the bylaws of the arm wrestling industry, one might view Phillip's secret technique of stabbing his opponents wrist with a syringe filled with novocaine as cheating. Phillip scoffs at the accusations as he is simply playing by Prison Rules. Watch, he'll demonstrate on spindly fop Cochran.

"Come Cochran, have a seat. Oh look over there Cochran, it's a glassy-eyed tapier." *injects Cochran's bicep with muscle relaxant* "Ok, are you ready? One, two, three..." *grabs Cochran by the back of his hair and smashes his head into the table* "Go!" *pins Cochran's wrist to the ground* "I win! Chichaw! Don't mess with The Specialist!" And then Phillip moonwalked into a boulder and flipped over backwards.

And this brings us to the big Reward Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's Challenge, you'll be tied to one another in a giant chain gang as each of you carries a twenty pound sack. (Obviously, the twenty pounds in each bag is all of the "interesting" game footage of the season that the editors have chosen to ignore. "Go ahead and get it wet. We're not using it. We're going with the Buffoon Edit this year!") Starting on opposite sides of an oval course, you will race to catch the other tribe. If you get tired you can opt out by giving your twenty pounds of Hi8 tapes to anyone but Phillip. The first tribe to catch the other tribe wins. Wanna know what you're playing for? A visit to Starbutts where coffee, scones, muffins, cookies, croissants, biscotti, brownies and searching pouty golden lips await you. Survivors ready, go!

For the Baklavas, we have Phillip in front with Gay right behind him. The Goiters, on the other hand, have chosen to sprinkle their strong people throughout. We have Erik in front followed by Golden Boy (Malcolm) with Dame Reynold and his bustle in the back. Both tribes start out at a trot, but quickly decide that walking is the better move to make - at least until the old decrepit Baklavas begin to weaken. Even walking, the Goiters make impressive headway and begin to gain on the Baklavas. Corinne pleads with Phillip to start running so he trots a few steps and then announces that the girls in the group will get way too tired if the tribe continues to run. And by "girls", Phillip means "Phillip".

The Challenge continues on with the Goiters confidently speed walking with grace and power. Meanwhile, Phillip is splashing anyone who recommends they start running in the face with a handful of water. "Phillip, can we run?" *Splash!* "We need to start running." *Splash!* At one point, Gay just goes ahead and makes a power move with the rest of the Baklavas trotting behind him. Phillip begins to drift to the back of the line before announcing that he can't run now because when people begin dropping out of the competition, they'll all give their weight to him. *eye roll* In fact, Calgon (Dawn) does quit but she hands her weight to Corinne not Phillip.

Finally, the Goiters decide to go ahead and end this. Golden Boy is jonesing for a cup of java and now is the time for them to make their move. Like a group of soldiers, the Goiters trot in unison with shaggy poodle Erik leading the cadence...
I don't mind and I don't care!
I don't mind and I don't care
Phillip's in his underwear!
Phillip's in his underwear
We are young and we are strong!
We are young and we are strong
Thank God above it's not a thong!
Thank God above it's not a thong
One, Two!
Three, Four
Break it on down
One, Two, Three, Four
One, Two!
Three, Four!

The music begins to thump in anticipation as Calgon waves her arm frantically from the sidelines as she mimes the moves of a runner to her tribe. "Run-ning! They're running!" Cochran interprets it as a call to orange slices and Gatorade so he plops his weight around Corinne and runs to mama. Phantom either quits too or gets pulled under the water. Who knows? We can't see her. Is she even there? It is of no consequence though because those Goiters are ripping through the water with ferocity. With a long bony finger extended in front of him, Erik taps Phillip on the shoulder and... GOITER WINS REWARD!!!

Full of wonder and excitement, the Goiters are whisked away to the local Starbutts where a pleasure palace of sweet delights await them. Typically, I'd bitch about how these Survivors are too spoiled and not starving enough, but not today! Did you know that coffee is an aphrodisiac to our Golden Boy? *dims the lights* Bowm chicka wow wow! As the mocha goodness slides down Golden Boy's throat he begins to feel a stirring in his loins. A stirring so primal that it knows not of gender. All it cares about is doing the hiddidy dibbidy with anyone and everyone. *fills bathtub with espresso beans and dials Golden Boy's number*

(La Jeunesse de Bacchus by William Bouguereau)

Dame Reynold also happens to be feeling a little frisky. In fact, he's a Bacchanalian. Like that's a thing to be. Some people are electricians or pessimists or maybe even Christian, but not Dame Reynold. He's a Bacchanalian. With rings on his fingers and bows on his shoes, Dame Reynold sips on the caffeinated nectar and languidly waits for the magic of the moment to drip lazily over everyone. As a Dionysian myself, I can relate to Dame Reynold on a level that I hadn't been able to before. I have a new appreciation for the lacy fop and, dare I say, that I'm beginning to like him? When the word "Bacchanalian" drips off your tongue like it's an everyday thing, I think I have no choice, but to get carried away in the moment and invite you to all my future orgies, I mean, dinner parties for I too, in mixed company, will say ridiculous shit like, "I'm waiting for the Dionysian spell to begin." Welcome Dame Reynold. Welcome to the elite society of Survivors I don't hate.

Meanwhile, at Baklava, a different sort of festival is taking place. It is not a festival of sinful delights and hedonism, but rather a festival of whines, moans, and excuses. Refusing to look anyone in the eye, Phillip tells his tribe that he knew they'd lose as soon as he saw the Goiters all lined up. Their legs told him that his tribe would lose. Their giant and powerful legs with oars and fins strapped to them. Plus, they're younger. Corinne listens to all of this while giving Phillip the side eye. Phillip can make any excuses he wants, but Corinne is going to go ahead and blame that loss on him. Cochran, however, is concerned. It is in his, and the rest of the Favorites, best interest to hold onto Phillip for a little longer, but who knows what could happen. Looking around himself, Cochran can see that Gay is slowly trying to infiltrate the Favorites alliance via Corinne. And then there is Phantom. Ghostly and transparent. Is she here? Is she there? Is she even breathing? Cochran is tempted to label her with a vanilla personality, but, if you think about, vanilla is quite tasty. People like vanilla scented products and their pies a la mode. To call Phantom "vanilla" is surely a compliment to her exotic sweetness and that just won't do. Nothing about Phantom is exotic or sweet. She's just kind of blah, kinda there. She's a used up dryer sheet. You could have sworn you threw it away, but when you go to wear those freshly laundered trousers, you find her stuck to the pant leg. Only, you didn't notice her earlier and you went through your entire day with a dryer sheet stuck under your ass. That's Phantom.

No one in the world sees Phantom until it is too late. Everyone, that is, except for Phillip Sheppard. Phillip is quite smitten with the young Phantom and confides in her that he wants her to work for him as a double agent. The only caveat is that she must do everything he tells her to do and only reply to him with a "Sir, yes sir!" He sees spunk and potential in her that no one else sees therefore he'll put her through his rigorous training academy (The Babysitters Club) and teach her the ways of Mata Hari. "You will dance for me in a jeweled bra and plaits in your hair. The steps to the Fan Dance are an integral and complicated part of your training, but don't worry. I won Dancing With The Stars back in the 1980's and have moves that even Michael Jackson never heard of. Chichaw! You cannot tell anyone what I just told you though. If word gets out that I'm a phenomenal dancer, Cochran will battle me to a dance off and I wouldn't want to embarrass him." Julia nods slowly and silently. She would speak if she could. Maybe.

Over at Goiter, another unlikely duo is coming together. Golden Boy has decided that when the Merge rolls around, he could be in trouble with the other castaways. Being a strapping young buck never bodes well the further into the game you get. People tend to look at the bulging pecs and taut abs with disdain (and lust). If he can make a foursome out of the alpha males (Golden Boy, Dame Reynold, Theddie (Eddie) and Erik), then he just might have a fighting chance of making it to the end. His first target is the famous actress of stage and screen, Dame Reynold. Lucky for Golden Boy, the Dame likes to lounge in a tepid bath of lavender water after a night of Bacchanalian mischief making. With candles floating around him and cucumber slices on his eyes, Dame Reynold is delighted to have an audience with Golden Boy. His delight grows exponentially upon hearing exactly what it is that Golden Boy is offering. In fact, the Dame is so desperate for a successful ensemble piece to work on next (There are no small parts, only small actors.) that he blurts out to Golden Boy that he has a Hidden Immunity Idol in his skinny jeans. Upon hearing this, Golden Boy reacts much like he did back at Starbutts - he gets a total game boner and giggles uncontrollably. He can't wait to take control of this game. Me either!

Back at Baklava, Calgon is in the garden tending to her mums when she tells Phantom that she needs to talk some game with her. Phantom stares blankly before exclaiming, "Thank god!" Then, something interesting happens. She whips off her jeweled bra, takes the braids out of her hair and shoves the vial of Phillip's urine (secret ink) into Calgon's hand. Phantom doesn't know what Calgon's relationship is with Phillip, but she's sick of him! She's sick of smuggling things in her rectum around camp just "for fun". She sick of practicing her Fan Dance for the monkey family down the lane. She's sick of attending The Babysitters Club so she blurts out to Calgon that Phillip tried to make her a double agent. She assures Calgon that, while she's fantastic at crossing borders undetected, she's just not cut out to be a double agent. What if they join forces and overthrow Phillip instead? Calgon squenches up her face into a masterpiece of cocked eyebrows, crinkled noses and contorted lips before speed walking quickly over to Phillip and telling him everything Phantom just said. *throws a whisk at Calgon* Someone, anyone, take Calgon away!

Phillip listens to information that Calgon relays and decides that Phantom needs to go home now. She made a foo pop and I'm not exactly sure what that is - although it sounds really gross - but Phillip doesn't care for it. He has a long and illustrious history encountering foo pops. Foo pops were there when he stormed the beaches of Normandy and, let me tell you, you don't want to cross one when your britches are soaked and you just got kicked in the head by a parachuter. It is best not to get your hands dirty and simply send the foo pop home. I don't think Calgon knows what a foo pop is either, but she does agree that Phantom should be the next to go.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, three members of each tribe will paddle out into the ocean and then dive down to release a statue. You will then bring the statue back ashore and place it at the base of a tower. Then, three other tribe members will use a grappling hook to retrieve keys. Once you've collected all five keys, you'll unlock the tower and pull your statue to the top. The first tribe to get their statue to the top and release their flag wins Immunity. Survivors ready, go!

Calgon, Corinne and Gay are paddling for Baklava while Erik, Theddie and Mowgli (Brenda) paddle for Goiter. Both tribes arrive at the statue dock together and load the massive statues into their vessels. The Baklavas over tip over, but manage to save themselves in time and arrive onshore right after the Goiters. With Dame Reynold tossing for Goiter and Phillip tossing for Baklava, I think you and I both know how this will end. The Dame is an incomparable tosser. He has plenty of practice from his career onstage. He's thrown everything from gloves to porcelain figurines. And he does it with such flair! One stockinged leg in front of the other, toss! Toss! GOITER WINS IMMUNITY!!!

Back at Baklava, Calgon is trying her best to keep everyone's spirits up. She congratulates Gay for how well he did and hands out Rice Krispie Treats to everyone before going back to her ironing. Phillip, however, is shiftily staring at everyone and avoiding eye contact whenever possible. And when the time is right, he snatches Cochran into the brush with a grappling hook and tells him that he has a confession. Nervous Nelly Cochran's brain goes into overdrive wondering if those were Pee Treats he ate just a second ago. No, Cochran, those weren't Pee Treats. Calgon had those treats covered in a cloth gingham napkin and sitting safely on the windowsill until you guys got back from the Challenge. They attracted bears, wolves and sly foxes, but no urine.

Phillip's confession is that he could have totally won that Challenge... had he wanted to. Cochran chokes on the giggles marching up his esophagus and replies, "I knew you were going to say that." What I love most about this isn't the remarkably bad lie Phillip has just told, but the fact that he feels the need to impress Cochran every chance he gets. Earlier it was with the arm wrestling thing and now it is with his game acumen and ability to deceive. What a complete and utter foo pop. Cochran, however, is delighted. The level of delusion that Phillip operates on day in and day out excites the young lad. He likes a little razzle dazzle in his Survivor. A little jazz hands razzmatazz. Even better than that, he likes a good old fashioned lion story. Well, that's good because Phillip is about to compare himself to a wild-maned lion who killed his cubs. You wanna know why the lion killed his cubs? Because they were potential rivals. Chichaw! Razzmatazz!

Let us leave the land of fancy and return to the game at hand. So, the plan is to split the votes between Gay and Phantom in order to flush out the Idol if one exists. At the revote they will then vote to get rid of Phantom. The problem is that Corinne doesn't want to split the votes. Gay is gay and she is going to go to the ends of the earth in order to protect him. Having people write down his name on a piece of parchment paper - even if only in jest - makes her nervous and unwilling to obey. It also makes her open her giant trap and tell the others that she wants to play with Gay for the long haul. *smacks self in head* You never, ever, mention playing this game with someone outside of your core alliance when you're around Phillip. You just don't. Phillip is emotionally unstable and the mention of an asset from a different agency sends him into a tailspin.

Which is exactly what happens! Phillip, in all of his glorious paranoia, decides that they no longer need Gay and that they will get rid of him instead of Phantom tonight. Naturally, Corinne is having none of that and tells Phillip that they need Gay to win Challenges. *smacks self in head again* Is Corinne trying to get herself voted off? For someone who seems to have a level head, her playing is remarkably "off" at the moment. It must be Gay. The show tunes and Restoration Hardware catalogs are clouding her judgment. Personally, I don't have a problem with Corinne - not yet anyway - but I do question her judgment sometimes.

And this brings us to Tribal Council. We begin with Gay who admits to Dimples that it has been difficult to keep the tribe's morale up. He's been performing Penzance every night because, let's face it, Gilbert and Sullivan always lifts spirits. But instead of reacting favorably and gathering around the piano sipping gin martinis, the tribe is tense and cagy. Perhaps Gay should tinker with his piano arrangements some more.

Corinne then freely admits that the tension in the tribe stems from the Favorites not knowing which one of the Fans to send home. No one wants to make a mistake in the game being this close to the Merge. Phillip then commandeers the discussion and reveals that all of this is about "the process". Even though he and Corinne may not get along, they are indeed coconspirators working towards a common goal. That goal is successfully avoiding all foo pops that may stand in their way of total global domination. Naturally, Corinne has no idea what Phillip is talking about so she simply sits and nods.

And while we're on Phillip and because Dimples loves Phillip and this is The Phillip Sheppard Show, let's stick with Phillip and get his opinions on the Challenge. According to Phillip, he carried that statue out in the water all by himself which probably tired him out and kept him from tossing his grappling hook effectively. Keep in mind, Phillip wasn't out in the water! He was onshore yelling, "Row! No foo pops! Chichaw! Row!"

Alright, enough of this buffoonery. Let's get to the vote. By a vote of 3 - 3, we have a tie and by a revote of 85 to eleventeen (if you ask Phillip, that's his recollection of the vote and he's standing by it), Phantom Julia is the 8th person voted out of Survivor Caramoan. Since I don't think she even showed up for Tribal, someone kindly pass her a note and let her know she's free to go back to racing her hot wheels. Thank you.

So, what did you think of last night's episode? Do you like that Golden Boy is taking his destiny into his own hands? Will the Favorites reconvene peacefully during the Merge? Should Gay be playing tunes from H.M.S. Pinafore instead of Pirates Of Penzance? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

A Warm Glass Of Shut The Hell Up

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 21 Mar 2013 19:06:00 +0000

The egg. Delicate, sturdy, creamy. A giver of life. Beaten, whipped, scrambled. Folded, poached, fried... dropped. Plop! Smashed with wild abandon. Goopy and sticky in an unruly thicket. Terra cotta and periwinkle coagulating in the Filipino sun. What seemed so innocent like a childhood game - a Victorian pastime with giggles and curls and lace - is actually a heinous slime fest rotting and festering in the unforgiving noonday sun. Putrid stenches carried on the wind tell a Gothic tale. A tale of jumbles and labyrinths. A tale of nameless wraiths flitting hither and thither. Scratching at the window and begging to be let in. Catherine? Danica? Girl? Hey you! How did you come to be here? Was it a duck call on the breeze? Have you been hiding in the blind this whole time? Oh specter in the trees. Oh silent apparition. Would that he, the hirsute fellow, had your slight of hand and trickery. Your chicanery razzle-dazzle. Would we be where we are today? Let's recap, shall we?

Careening over the lush and zooming through the brush, we continue our terminal Filipino tale in the broad daylight. How new, how strange! No moon up above. No flesh biting insects chirping in their nocturnal opera. Just that sun shining down and shedding light. Shedding light and giving light. With that fiery orb peeling back the cloaks and baring truths, we find ourselves at Baklava (Bikal) where a huffy troop of foot stompers have smashed the sand all the way home. Calgon (Dawn), always trying to look on the bright side of things, interrupts the hushed scoffs, "Well, it was our first unanimous vote. I think we all deserve a gold star and some orange slices, don't you?" Phillip Sheppard, on the other hand, drops his rucksack to the ground and shouts, "Traitor! From where I come from, St. Augustine's Institution For The Mentally Ill, we'd call Brandon a traitor. He damaged me." A wild eyed and toothy Corinne nods in agreement, "He screwed everyone by dumping out all of our rice. Mel Gibson!" Whether a traitor or a Mel, I still maintain that Lil Hantz was the only honest Baklava out there. Sure, he spoke in apostrophes and dropped consonants, but he spoke the truth dammit!

Phillip and Corinne aren't done yet. They continue their back and forth over which one of them Lil Hantz hated more.
"I never said a bad word to him!"
"I actually liked him!"
"I told him he could be The Exfoliator!"
"No one stood up for me. I hate you all!"

And then Calgon stepped in and offered everyone some celery sticks and peanut butter. "I'm sorry he slandered you both, but you need to keep your energy up so you can finish your chores and homework before bed. Chop chop! No video games until after you've cleaned your rooms." With nods and forced smiles, the Baklavas reluctantly gather in a circle and do the Baklava cheer, "Go team!" Calgon smiled to herself pleased with what a little tough love can do for unruly brats and then she spun her chore wheel as fast as she could. Her Chablis is getting warm and that Danielle Steele isn't going to read itself.

Over at Goiter (Gota), Dame Reynold, adjusts his cravat and tips the feather in his hat just so. Gather round ye lords and ladies! Tis time to read ye olde Tree Mail. With a pause to find his center and a quick clearing of his throat, Dame Reynold begins, "Beaten by exhaustion. Battered by the weather. Winners will have fun and... *dramatic sweep of one ruffled arm* celebrate together!" In the rafters, Michael claps and giggles. Some people might think that the matinee showings are second rate, but not Michael. Dame Reynold gives so much of himself in every performance. And Like Eve Harrington, Michael waits outside the stage door every night just to get a glimpse of the great Dame.

And this brings us to the big Reward Challenge. At least it looks like a Reward Challenge. There are wooden contraptions sprinkled about the arena, puzzle pieces piled up in the distance, floaty rings hanging haphazardly in trees. But something is amiss. That sassy Dimples has a twinkle in his eye and that twinkle spells trouble. Come on in guys!

Dimples begins by asking the Goiters how they felt about all that drama with Lil Hantz the other day. Michael replies that it was good. "It was good to feel something good." Why, thank you Michael for your insight. Next to reply is Duck Dynasty (Matt). "I actually feel sorry for Phillip." Say what now? Come again? Baking powder? Does Duck know what is about to happen? Is he wisely laying the framework for possible new alliances? Or is he soft and fluffy and smitten? Are there Precious Moments figurines living in his beard? Is chintz his favorite color? Something tells me he might not hunt squirrel after all. Something tells me he names all of his squirrel friends and builds them squirrel cabins in his backyard with handwoven wicker baskets to hold their nuts.

Enough dilly dallying. Drop your buffs, bitches! We are switching tribes. After smashing colored eggs placed conveniently in little bowls labelled "Pretty" and "Ugly", the new tribes are as follows:

The new Goiters are Theddie, Mascaroni (Andrea), Freebush (Sherri), Dame Reynold, Golden Boy (Malcolm), Erik and Mowgli (Brenda).

The new Baklavas are Corinne, Phillip, Michael, Cochran, Duck Dynasty, Calgon and Phantom (Julia).

Dimples stands across from the new tribes and looks very pleased with himself. With a smirk and some jazz hands, he asks the Baklavas what they think of their new tribe. Scruffy dandy Cochran grits his teeth and announces, "The game just started anew." In that wild ginger head of his, you know he's having an anxiety attack while recalculating theorems and logarithms.... Mormon times beard cubed with crazy divided by gay equals??? Meanwhile, Duck Dynasty is embroidering I LOVE PHILLIP with strands from his beard onto his periwinkle stained shorts, "I'm psyched! I love these players I'm with!" Now you listen to me Duck Dynasty. No one, and I mean no one, loves Phillip Sheppard. We tolerate him and then it ends there. And if you're not careful he'll start calling you The Coiffurist or some shit like that. You'll be sharpening his pencils and fetching him coffee before you know it. Tread lightly, Duck.

With the new Goiters linking arms and skipping into camp, everyone is beaming and radiant. Dame Reynold climbs up on the trellis he created for a moment such as this and announces, "We will win all the challenges now!" He then whipped off his top hat and bowed deeply at the waist. Staring at the ground, he waited. But there was no applause. Michael, his biggest fan, is a Baklava now - drat! An expert in improvisation, Dame Reynold doesn't let the silence impede his performance. Instead he leaps off his trellis and spreads his arms wide. "Come everyone, come. Group hug!" And they did. The Goiters hugged. Well, they hugged until Theddie tried to say "ecsthatic". Nothing breaks up a group like flying spittle.

With the group dispersed - manly men breaking twigs, ladies in the water - Dame Reynold wastes no time filling Golden Boy and Erik in on their past history with Freebush. "She's the worst," Dame Reynold declares. "She's been trying to get me and Theddie out since day one." Theddie contributes, "Yesth! Sthe wasth aligned with everyone but usth." Dame then kicks the sand and shifts his eyes downward, "And if, you know, you guys like, aww shucks, wanna vote her out, we're TOTALLY with you!" Shaggy hippy flower child Erik listens to all of this, but knows that something isn't right. Something about Dame Reynold isn't exactly genuine. It's almost as if he's acting. With his tousled hair, beautiful baby blue eyes and toothy grin, there is something disingenuous about the Dame, something very "used car salesman".

Meanwhile, the womenfolk are bathing in the sea and hearing a similar story from Freebush. She tells Mascaroni and Mowgli that Theddie actually isn't that bad of a guy - when he's not with Dame Reynold. But the second he gets around used car salesman Reynold, he's all over you trying to sell you a Buick. Mascaroni takes the hint as Freebush nods enthusiastically over voting out Dame Reynold were they to lose a challenge. Mascaroni then asks what's going on with the Hidden Immunity Idol. Freebush, happy to have lady friends to gossip with, tells her new tribemates all about how Dame Reynold played his Idol already and how he's definitely out there looking for another one. Clearly, there is no loyalty whatsoever when it comes to Freebush and her fellow Fans. She jumped ship before there was even a ship to jump off of.

Over at Baklava we find Corinne painting a rainbow on the side of the shelter and humming Kyle Minogue to herself. You see, Corinne loves herself a gay. So when Michael came skipping into camp with his scarves and martini glass collection, not only did he get a new nickname (Gay), but he got a new bestie. They're not game besties mind you. They're more everyday besties. Even though Corinne is fond of Gay, she's not silly enough to abandon her Favorites alliance and vote one of them out.

The tone then changes as a plucky awkward tune begins to play. Ugh. It's time for The Phillip Sheppard Show. Hunched in his pink panties, we find Phillip decimating a piece of flint as he tries to show off for Phantom and, I think, get her to switch loyalties and join his corporation...

"Back when I first played Smurvivor, Slurvivor, Sturvivor, I had to make a big move and I would be a double agent if I had to. Chichaw! You need to make a big move with me so we can get you at least to the Merge. I'm not inviting you into Smealth R Us, but you could be The Internist and be our company gopher. I'll need some filing done, data entry, copies made, the twigs on my antenna replaced and my bamboo missile launcher cleaned thrice weekly."
"What is it about me that makes you want to make such an offer?"
"That was the incorrect answer, young lady. You were supposed to say, 'Sir, yes sir!'"

Phantom is a smart girl, not college educated smart like one Mr. Phillip Sheppard who attended a fictional university on a marshmallow campus with gingerbread dorms, but she's smart. And so, being a smart lass, she seeks out Gay to see how he feels about the new tribe shuffle. Quietly planning a coming home dinner party for himself while humming the soundtrack to Pippin, Gay tells Phantom that he is positively tinkled pink by the tribe shake up. He couldn't be happier! They seem like a crackerjack bunch of people who are lovely and welcoming. Oh Gay. Tapas are not fitting for every single meal and this isn't The Pajama Game. Only one person can have a happy ending on Survivor, not the entire cast.

Elsewhere, Phillip is informing Corinne on how he told Phantom to put up or shut up. Either she submits her resume immediately or the internship will go to someone else. Corinne, however, thinks that getting a flipper is unnecessary. They have the numbers! They don't need anyone else. As long as the Favorites stick together, they're good to go. Phillip then hears an imaginary chopper whiz overhead so he ducks out and takes cover behind a spiderweb. Corinne watches him standing still behind the transparent web and wonders to herself how the hell this guy was a federal agent. What cases has he solved? The Clue Of The Whistling Bagpipes? The Secret Of The Old Lace? Scooby Doo And The Monster Of Mexico? What government agency would give this freak a badge? Is Phillip the reason why North Korea wants to blow us off the map? Did he call Kim Jong Un, The Kimchiest? So many questions. Not enough answers.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, two members from each tribe will race to roll back a big ass crate to the start. Then, the next two will go. Once your tribe has collected all six big ass crates, you will then build a set of stairs and solve a puzzle that says FANS VS. FAVORITES. Survivors ready, go!

We begin with Erik and Theddie for Goiter and Phillip and Phantom for Baklava. Both teams reach their crates at almost the same time, but Erik and Theddie come up with the genius idea of continuously rolling their crate while Phillip, on the other hand, sits and tries to negotiate with his. Is he trying to recruit his crate into Stealth R Us? Your guess is as good as mine. All you need to know is that the Goiters immediately gain a one crate lead and continue to send out team after team.

As the challenge nears its close, people are sent out twice, sometimes three times if you're Phillip Sheppard. And each time Phillip heads out, he turns on his speaker phone and has a conference call with the other crates back at the start line. "You can be The Lumbercator and you can be The Boxinator and you can be The Cubist. To start off, we'll use you as storage units for my many files on The Mystery Of The Fire Dragon, but if you complete your jobs to the best of your ability, I can move you up to front desk. Literally, you'll be my front desk. We'll remove one of your sides and slide a giant chair underneath." Oh shut the hell up, Phillip.

Let's just skip ahead to what we knew would happen. The young buff strapping team quickly sails to a victory while the old disfigured creepy team is still waiting for their crates to send some faxes. Long story short... GOITER WINS IMMUNITY!!!

Back at Baklava, the battered and creaky castaways shuffle their way into camp. As a mom, Calgon knows how important it is to keep a brave face and not let the others know how upset she truly is. With a gulp and a forced smile, Calgon declares, "I'm going to open up a coconut!" It's understandable. She's probably parched and a little peckish. A coconut would be immensely satisfying right about now. Not so fast, Calgon! Phillip has something to say so you just pipe down and tolerate the shakes as your blood sugar plummets.

"We did our best today. We actually did cu-gel together as a group here in camp.We've worked very effectively together. I think we all went in there thinking you know we can go in there and kick some ass. We didn't expect the network to crash and our I.T. guys to take so long. No one threw the challenge. I had to take that conference call from my handler or else the crates could have turned on us and pinned us down to the ground. And trust me, I've been pinned to the ground before. A decade ago on the Jersey Turnpike a box of pipe cleaners flew off a speeding Wide Load and pinned me down on the shoulder. Now, I won't tell you why I was walking on the shoulder of the Turnpike. Sometimes, you have to go undercover as a homeless indigent man who escaped from the nearby mental asylum. But I will tell you this. It's all about upper body strength and that's how I got those pipe cleaners off of me."

Meanwhile, Calgon has passed out and her limbs are twitching as drool seeps out of her mouth and onto the sand. Just let the lady have her damn coconut, Phillip!

After the meeting is over and Calgon has successfully been resuscitated, we find Duck Dynasty and Phillip nibbling on what looks like dried rice. Duck asks, "Who do you think should go home tonight?" Phillip replies, "The Girl." The Girl. Instead of having another Francablebox moment and stammering through the butchering of Juliennecarrots, Phillip simply calls Julia/Phantom, The Girl. Duck nods and tells Phillip he'll do whatever Phillip wants him to do. Gay, too, approaches and asks, "Is it time to plead our cases to Phillip?" Look, I get that the Fans are in the minority and that they have to cozy up to one of the vets, but why would you choose Phillip of all people?! Why not Cochran or Corinne? Calgon is busy making a stew and setting the table so you probably don't want to approach her, but Corinne seems like a viable option especially when Gay is her new best friend.

And then, AND THEN! Phillip, secret keeper extraordinaire, tells Duck and Gay that he still runs Stealth R Us. He won't tell them who the members are, but it is a force to be reckoned within this game. If Phillip chooses to bring the two wide-eyed Fans in as assets then, and only then, will they be given their official names. Others in the tribe might pretend to be the leader of Smelf R Fuss, Inc, but they're not. Unless you hear an order come directly from Phillip, don't do it. There are double agents everywhere. Nikita was one such agent and look at her now. She's gone rogue and is trying to topple the corporation. And by the way, this conversation will self destruct in 10 seconds. Then Phillip rolled himself up in the tarp and waited for his papaya bomb to go off.

With Phillip quietly napping in his tarp cocoon, Duck and Gay steal away to try to figure out what they'll tell Phantom when she asks them how they're voting. And oh look, here she comes now.
"So who do we put down?"
"Golly gee, I have no idea!"
"What do you think they're thinking?"
"Dude, I'm so confused. I just don't know what name that starts with a 'J' I'll be writing down on that parchment."
"Maybe they want to vote for one of their people."
"Maybe they do! Wowzers that would be peachy keen."
"I think we should vote for Calgon."
"Yes! Let's vote for Juli... I mean, Calgon. We'll all write down Calgon. Good idea!"

Not long after Phantom leaves the two traitors, they are approached by both Corinne and Cochran. Corinne is paranoid that one of them has the Idol and is hesitant to reveal any information to them. Duck Dynasty then stammers about how much he'd love to have the Idol. How much he wishes he had the Idol. Dude, it would be so cool to have the Idol! Cochran watches the fidgeting Duck and quickly surmises that the guy is way too desperate to have an Idol. And while he doesn't mind the idea of taking out Phantom tonight, Cochran thinks splitting up the power couple that is Gay and Duck is a much better idea.

Cochran takes his plan to the rest of Smurfs R Us and finds a loyal comrade in Calgon. Calgon is sure Duck doesn't have the Idol. While all Corinne cares about is saving her Gay, both she and Phillip are still adamant about getting rid of Phantom. Phillip thinks he can turn the Duck and Gay into exemplary Girl Scouts while Corinne thinks Phantom is simply boring. Plus, her voice is too nasally. Off with her armpit hair!

And this brings us to Tribal Council. The camera swoops in from a long shot and I see what I'd hoped I'd never see again as long as I live... Dimples in sandals! There is something unseemly about seeing our Dimples in his best khakis and prison sandals. It's like I can't take him seriously anymore. He could ask me a question and all I'd do is giggle and stare at his little toes.

Anyhow, Dimples begins by asking Duck how he feels about his new tribe. "I'm super stoked! I was always a big fan of Cochran and Phillip. And even Calgon!" *snickers*

The discussion turns to exactly how much danger the Fans are in tonight. Phantom gives a roundabout answer about how the Favorites have the numbers, but Gay comes right out and says, "100% A Fan is going home tonight." Corinne then waves her rainbow flag and says how she'd happily replace anyone in her Favorites alliance with her new dandy, Gay. For someone being so careful not to turn on her own alliance, I thought it was an odd thing to say. And something that could possibly come back and bite her in the ass later.

Alright, enough of this jibber jabber. Honestly, I hated this episode. I think this season blows and I need to finish unpacking so let's get to the vote. In a weird and stunning (?) upset, Duck Dynasty is the 7th person voted out of Survivor Caramoan. It is not the outcome I expect or wanted. Duck seems to be a lovely man and once or twice he's even sent a "Quack!" my way on Twitter. So, godspeed DuckMan. That Cochran is much more dangerous than he looks. Cryptograms and logic puzzles fly around that moppet head of his and, believe me, he's not scared to use them and chop your beard off while you sleep. Best of luck to you.

So, what did you guys think of last night's episode? Was it wise to split up Duck and Gay? What if the Favorites dump Phillip and replace him with Gay? Will Mowgli ever speak? Will Dame Reynold ever not speak? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

The Arthur Of My Elimination

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 23:16:00 +0000

Gandhi once said, "A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history." He also said, "No one can feed me without my permission. I FEED ME!" But that's neither here nor there. Across the fabric of time, a handful of people have emerged from the ordinary in order to beat the odds and deliver us something extraordinary. Some call them prophets or saints. Others call them soothsayers or shamans. I like to call them short and stocky deliverers of truth. Brave souls conquering Herculean tasks in order to put us on the right path and guide us through this labyrinth we call life. Divine beings with headsets plugged directly into deity. You may see them barefoot standing on a milk crate in a back alley shouting out a mishmash of Ace Of Base lyrics and nursery rhymes. Or you might stumble across one on your favorite reality show right after he urinated into a United Nations sack of cornmeal and pounded a litre of Windex. Where or how they choose to verbalize their message is of no consequence. The question is: Will you listen to it? Will you inhale their tangy aromas and act accordingly? A message isn't a message unless someone spreads it - much like cholera. Similarly, a cult can't function without at least 6 sister wives (and a ritual killing). Standing here skyclad under a starry night, I give myself over to this man who speaks in broken English and flexes misspelled tattoos. LIL HATZ in a childish scrawl means something to me. It means that there is hope, that the lines can be crossed and blurred and wiped away. It also means that we need to quickly decide what to do with this large man in the feather headdress that is strapped to the altar. Blood always spills during the noblest of missions. And today, my friends, we're about to change the world. Let's recap, shall we?

With the night damp and thick with humidity, we open today's neverending Filipino tale at Goiter (Gota). The weary ruffians have shuffled back to their bamboo cage and now they sit around the campfire tossing platitudes like pinecones into a hearth. "No hard feelings to Whippet (Laura)" lands with a plop and a sizzle while "This is our turning point" slowly catches aflame and burns steadily unto itself. "We have to win challenges," cries Duck Dynasty (Matt) as an ornery pinecone tumbles away from the hearth and sets Freebush (Sherri) on fire. And then, with the cones turned to ash and the dank stillness of the air weighing heavy on everyone's thoughts, there is a brief silence. And by "brief", I mean 0.25 seconds because here comes Dame Reynold and I think he's performing Ophelia tonight...

And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
That sucked the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, it was totally time I dumped that Idol y'all,
It was way too divisive.
And then he climbed up into a tree with the wily agility of a spider monkey. Gazing out upon the night sky, the branch he was standing on cracked almost instantly and down Dame Reynold and his petticoats tumbled into a babbling brook. Don't worry. He's not hurt. His Ophelia always does somersaults.

Michael, always a fan of the dramatic arts, applauds Dame Reynold's brave interpretation of a Shakespearean classic and whispers to no one in particular, "That was so clutch. He's really clutch. What a clutch guy!" At first I thought being "clutch" was a good thing, like maybe something to strive for and put on your dream board. But as Michael goes on, we discover that clutch is both good and bad. From what I can gather, being called "clutch" is a compliment. Only, don't be too clutch because if you're too clutch you become a threatening clutch and no one likes a threatening clutch. Or something like that. Basically, Michael is happy Dame Reynold no longer has the Hidden Immunity Idol. It takes his clutchiness down a few notches.

Over at Baklava (Bikal) the scene isn't all that different from what we just witnessed with the Goiters. Our leading man, Lil Hantz, is giving his own soliloquy and, like Ophelia, he too is distraught and heartbroken. With the moon as his key light and the thunder as his soundtrack, Lil Hantz slowly unfurls shiny pearls of truth. He begins by telling his tribe that those who walk this world with passion in their hearts are the most real people he has ever come across. Passionate people are emotional people and emotional people are often unpredictable people. Sometimes they say things out of the night sky that will leave you scratching your forehead wondering what dimension you're in. But if you look past the flailing hands, the Lee-zee-anna drawl and the fact that Lil Hantz has an entire arm of disembodied mustache tattoos, you just might discover some kernels of wisdom hidden deep down on the hairy underside of his campfire confession.

And so, like men at crossroads before him, Lil Hantz is unable to reconcile how incredibly selfish it is to play a game with a clown in pink panties doing the crab crawl around the shelter when he, Lil Hantz, could be at home with his family. It is an inner struggle we've seen before in Lil Hantz only this time it is not about boobies. This time he looks around at the utter ridiculousness of the company he has been keeping and asks himself, "Is it worth it to leave my babies for this?" I could almost call it his Andy Millman (Extras) moment. Remember Andy sitting in the Celebrity Big Brother house looking around himself, at the bimbos in their bikinis, at the aging entertainers seeking fame at any cost, at the fictional world he was placed in that slowly becomes more and more nonfictional with each passing second? I submit to the Jury (all you Bitches) that Lil Hantz is having his own moment. His eyes have finally opened to the Victorian Freakshow he finds himself embedded in and the realization of it all is slowly beginning to tear him up inside.

However, unlike Andy, Lil Hantz's cosmic realizations affect him just a tad more dramatically than they would, oh let's say, you and me. He is a Hantz after all. Sure, I think he had a profound moment and it is normal at his age to discover what is truly important in life, but I'm also not completely blind to the fact that he grew up at the edge of a swamp on a diet of gator skin and squirrel meat. So when Lil Hantz wants to get up and leave a scene that is making him uncomfortable, he doesn't simply walk out the back door. He threatens to pee in the beans and rice and set his tribe's shelter on fire. It's not because he wants them to suffer or fail, it's because he wants them to experience the same anxiety he is experiencing. It's not enough for Lil Hantz to learn life lessons on his own. He has to force them on anyone and everyone around him who will listen. He has to cram it down their throats and dribble it into their beans.

Thankfully, for Baklava, Lil Hantz decides not to defecate in the food supply. Instead, he tells his tribe that the next time they go to Tribal Council, he will calmly and casually volunteer to go home. This is all fine and inconvenient and whatnot and, normally, it could be something for the tribe to absorb and get past. But. But! Lil Hantz, doing that honesty diarrhea thing of the mouth he does so well, also tells his tribe that they could have woken up eating Arroz con PeePee with a side of Refried Urine Beans. Naturally, the tribe, particularly Corinne, is horrified. She wants Lil Hantz and his pee-rific Mexican menu off the island as soon as possible.

As night turns to day and darkness gives way to light, so does Lil Hantz. Today, with the breeze gently blowing and the sun peeking through the clouds, Lil Hantz has decided that even though he's here for selfish reasons and those reasons eat away at him like a flesh eating bacteria, he will stay and play as hard as he can. In fact, he no longer wants to quit now. So if all y'all can forget that stuff about the marinated beans and yellow rice, Lil Hantz promises not to burn your bed while your sleep. He's thought long and hard about it and even though greed has the camp wrapped like a mosquito net, he'll go out there and give 110%. I mean, it is a Reward Challenge after all. And who doesn't love a Reward?!

And this brings us to the big Reward Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, two members of each tribe will hold onto a rope attached to a net. The remaining members of the tribes will then shoot coconuts into the nets making them heavier and heavier. The last tribe member left holding onto the net wins Reward for their tribe. Wanna know what you're playing for? An incredibly ridiculous barbecue that none of you deserve yet because it's way too early in the game for you to win such extravagant meals.

Since the Favorites have 85 people too many, Mascaroni (Andrea), Calgon (Dawn) and Erik will sit out. We have Phillip and Lil Hantz holding the nets for Baklava and Michael and Duck Dynasty holding the nets for Goiter. Survivors ready, go!

The shooting starts with Dame Reynold quickly scoring for the Goiters. Mowgli (Brenda) shoots and scores for the Baklavas while Freebush trips over her reindeer legs and spills a handful of coconuts over the side of a cliff. While she tumbles down after them, Golden Boy (Malcolm) begins shooting his coconuts underhanded from between his legs (rawr) which the others quickly copy. And then, as if a silent agreement was made from one Goiter's eyes to another, the Goiters band together (sans Freebush who is now stuck in a tree hanging precariously over raging waters) to target Lil Hantz's net.

"Kunta Kinte!"
"Excuse me Phillip, do you have something to say?"
"Django!"
"Come again?"
"Miss Jane Pittman!"
"Are you just yelling the names of movie slaves?"
"Mammy!"
"Two can play this game. Prissy!"
"Amistad!"
"Amistad was the boat you twit."
"Ya mon. No woman, no cry."
"Oh shut up!"

Meanwhile, Dame Reynold continues to lob coconut after coconut into Lil Hantz's net. Lovely soft air balls that land with a weighty kerplunk and rip the young lad's hands to shreds. Try as hard as he might, Lil Hantz begins to lose his grip on the coarse hemp. It tears through his skin and releases the giant of coconuts which lands at the precise moment that Freebush has crawled her way back into the game area. All we see now are tufts of blonde air and tanned ankles poking out from under the pile o'nuts. Brandon is out and Freebush is probably dead.

With Lil Hantz out and only Phillip left to redeem the Favorites, Golden Boy tosses all his nuts into Duck Dynasty's net sending him out of the competition with a glorious "Quack!" And that leaves us with Phillip versus Michael. With Michael holding his rope like it's a piece of fancy alpaca yarn he's about to turn into a cable knit sweater, his net drops, Phillip shouts, "Mr. Tibbs!" and FAVORITES WIN REWARD!!!

Back at Goiter, Theddie (Eddie) is exthremely frusthrated. He was convinced that with Whippet out of the picture, they had no choice but to win. This was supposed to be their big turnaround not another loss! Dame Reynold then slowly rises and approaches the foot candles. "We need to try something new," he says. "We need to try something new," Michael echoes. "This isn't working," Dame Reynold says. "This isn't working," Michael nods. Meanwhile, Freebush sits alone in the Mezzanine grumbling to herself about how getting rid of Whippet didn't help them out in the challenges after all. She sticks a Playbill in her mouth in an effort to keep her mouth shut instead of screaming over the balcony that the plan to keep the muscle isn't working. Um, pork chop, the tribe still has you! YOU were the one Dimples called worthless in the challenge. YOU are just as bad as Whippet. So please, keep that Playbill in your mouth a little longer until it dawns on you just how physically unfit you truly are.

With another loss behind them and nothing else to do, the Goiters begin to rise one by one and steal themselves away from the camp. First, Freebush tumbles down the theatre stairs and out into the foyer. Next, Dame Reynold gathers his fan, his sword, his petticoat and his parasol before sneaking out into the woods. Right behind him, Michael holds his breath and tiptoes in Reynold's footprints which are easy to spot because he likes to wear a distinctive "Louis" heel when he's performing. Even Theddie and Duck have set out on their own journeys. All have the same goal and none are bothering to keep it a secret - it's Idol Hunting Time. Since Dame Reynold played his last week, another one must be out there somewhere.

Speaking of Dame Reynold, here he comes. I can hear his skirts swishing. "Quick, Producer fellow, place that pouch right there at the base of the tree. No, don't even bother to hide it. Just set it down. Ok, now get out of frame. Here he comes!" With his petticoats grazing over pebbles and leaves, Dame Reynold glances down while looking through his opera glasses. With one toe daintily peeking out from underneath his skirts, he curtsies to the side, picks up the velveteen pouch, opens it revealing an Idol and declares to the monkeys and tapiers at the back of the house, "This... *pause for dramatic effect* is how you play Survivor." And then he fist pumped and rubbed it against his butt.

Over at Baklava, there's a feast a-cookin'! Our very own Lil Hantz is flipping steaks and grilling some veggies. But what should be a happy moment isn't all that festive. Lil Hantz is sullen and quiet as he pokes a pork chop on the grill. When the group finally settles in to enjoy their bounty, Calgon and Erik are quick to compliment the young lad on how well he did in the competition. They did it for two reasons: 1) They could clearly sense that Lil Hantz was melancholy and 2) Brandon may have dropped his net, but he fought through the pain and handled a hell of a lot of coconuts while he was out there. So we can look at Calgon and Erik with big smiles and nod at them. They were simply doing their part to help lift Brandon's spirits. But then, we hear it... from across the picnic table...

"When I was playing basketball for the 4H club and intramural water polo for SD-6, I learned how to hold a net of coconuts the right way. It's all about upper body strength."

And just like that, Lil Hantz is awakened from his melancholy slumber. Just like that, with Phillip Sheppard *clicks heels* taking ownership of the tribe's win for himself, that little fiber in the prefrontal cortex of Lil Hantz's brain snaps and the embers in his belly begin to burn. And then when Corinne asks if they should reassemble their wet shelter and Phillip replies that he needs to save his energy in order to win the next challenge, a whoosh! goes off in Lil Hantz's upper respiratory area as his soul ignites and his entire face begins to turn a lovely Chanel Red. He can't take it anymore! He can't! And neither can I. I'm sick of Phillip sauntering around camp with his stupid names and his stupid stories and his ridiculous weapons and imaginary comrades. I'm sick of it! I don't want to watch The Phillip Sheppard Show anymore. If I was a Nielsen family, I'd give The Phillip Sheppard Show a negative eleventeen in my ratings book. So when little poots of smoke start to eek out of Lil Hantz's ears and the whites of his eyes begin to turn yellow, I get it. I GET IT! I so get it. I get it and I can now kick back with a glass of Chablis thrilled that someone else is about to do what I've wanted to do since day one. It is extremely satisfying that someone finally has the cajones to call that ridiculous Phillip Sheppard out on his parlor games.

And that is what this is all about. This isn't about CBS casting someone unfit for the show. This isn't about a network being irresponsible for letting an unstable kid be broadcast to millions of people. This is about someone finally being brave enough to speak up for what you and I have been thinking about Phillip Sheppard ever since we met him back in Nicaragua. He is a ridiculous clown who lives in a land of make believe. If anyone is being exploited here, it's Phillip Sheppard - not Brandon.

So imagine my surprise when The Dominatrix and The Fornicator stand on the sidelines as Brandon confronts Phillip and shake their heads - tsk tsk - at how Brandon has finally gone off the deep end. Yo, Corinne, Lil Hantz was defending you! Phillip gave you some cockamamie excuse about how he has to prepare for battle and can't fix the shelter now and since you're too much of a pussy not to question him about it, Brandon did it for you. You should say, "Thank you" not run to a camera and call him crazy. And you, Golden Boy, you make fun of Phillip all the time! You snicker behind his back and talk about how ridiculous Stealth R Us is every time someone gets a new nickname.

Meanwhile, in the next shot, this is what we get: "I'm not going to have some young punk tell me to shut up! He just doesn't know. I'm a street fighter." *sighs* No, Phillip, you are not a street fighter. You are not Chief Indian. You are not Girl Scout of the Year. You are not a member of the Jets from West Side Story. You did not kill Abu Nazir. Sydney Bristow is not your partner and you do not report to the President. Joe Carroll is not telling you what moves to make and you are not a member of Originals. How do I know you're not a member of the Originals? I know you're not a member of the Originals because the Originals is a fictitious group of vampires from a CW show. What you are is a pathological liar who keeps getting cast on a TV show purely for us to laugh at. Only, you're not that funny. You're kind of old and sad and you make us all wonder why you're not being medicated.

Oh, I'm not done ranting...

Hasn't someone ever chewed their food too loudly or snapped their gum like a cow to the point that it makes you want to yank your hair out of your head? Has someone slurped their Dorito fingers so loudly that you finally snapped and told them to cut it out? Personally, I do it all the time. I'll tell strangers in movie theaters to stick a cork in it when they're open mouth munching on their popcorn. I glare at a passenger in the seat next to me on an airplane because I know she just farted. I know it. I heard it and I know it so now I'll glare at her and let her know that I know it and hope she doesn't do it again. You see, I'm out here trying to make the world a better place and I think my buddy, Lil Hantz, is doing the exact same thing.

Only Lil Hantz has those pesky moral dilemmas that I don't that make him ferocious one minute and like a pussycat the next minute. So after sticking up for an ungrateful Corinne, Lil Hantz goes to talk to Phillip to try to straighten things out. Only Phillip is still off in Never Never Land. He tells Lil Hantz that he was working his way up the corporate ladder and about to be invited to the next board meeting, but he slapped the gift horse and now it's back to the mail room for Lil Hantz. If I had a conversation like this with a giant douchebag like Phillip Sheppard, I don't know how I'd keep a straight face. I really don't. Could you do it? Lil Hantz, to his credit, keeps it together much better than I ever could. He knows that smacking a gift horse is the same thing as biting the hand that feeds which, oy, means that Phillip has just anointed himself as the hand that feeds.
And since you and I are getting to know Lil Hantz extremely well this episode, we know that this infuriates the young lad. Who the hell is Phillip to call all the shots? Why can't Brandon call his own shots? Why, indeed.

All this turmoil, this angst, once it is let out into the ether, it spreads and infects. This current rift has reached the heavens and caused the sky to open up and cry in response. It's raining, bitches! It's raining at Goiter and it's raining at Baklava. The Survivors are wet and bloated lying in the open air wishing for grim death. But at Baklava, one Survivor in particular isn't letting a rain sour his puss. It's Lil Hantz! In fact, he's rolling up his sleeves and trying to lighten the mood with a nice cozy fire for his tribe mates. But once that fire is lit and those flames go shooting up and reflect into his glassy eyes, they keep shooting and keep reflecting... all the way down into Lil Hantz's soul. That wasn't just a fire he made. That was a mission statement. A manifesto. A new tattoo. Lil Hantz doesn't bite Phillip's hand that feeds. He feeds himself, "I'm a Hantz! I FEED ME!"

I'm a Lala. I feed me too! *pours a tumbler of gin*

But before Lil Hantz or myself could feed anyone anywhere, Cochran reads a Tree Mail for the next Immunity Challenge. Phillip listens carefully and then decides that instead of winning this next challenge like he said he would, instead of "leading" his tribe to victory, he wants to throw the competition and get rid of that firestarter Lil Hantz because, and I quote, "He's not sane." Phillip Sheppard, street fighter and CEO of a fictitious corporation, has just called someone else insane. Oh, this is just the tip of the iceberg, my friends. He then tells Mascaroni that they should throw the challenge to get rid of Lil Hantz and, wait for it, she agrees! Up until this point, Lil Hantz hasn't done anything but defend Corinne, question Phillip, and light a fire. Who is the paranoid one here? Inspector Gadget, that's who.

Now, Lil Hantz may have a straw hat for a family crest (HATZ) and may not know how to properly say every single vocabulary word out there, but his instincts aren't so bad. Something in the awkward air at camp tells him that Phillip is planning to throw the challenge. Not only does it strike Lil Hantz as ungrateful (since he apologized and takes care of the fire around the clock), but he's beginning to boil. All the juices and embers in his gut are starting to swirl together and if he doesn't do something physical, he could spontaneously combust. But first, he'll confront Phillip in a civilized manner and ask what's going on.

Standing in the rain with nothing to hide, Lil Hantz tells Phillip that he thought they squashed their disagreement. He thought everything between them was OK now. Phillip looks at him quizzically and asks,
"So what are you supposing? You are making a supposition which means you are supposing."
"I was talking to Mascaroni and she told me you wanted me out."
"I'm not sure I can trust you. Your activities have been pretty active. You've been sharing information with other people."
"When I pulled you into Stealth R Us..."
"Can you drop the Stealth R Us? It's like playing with a child."
*whips right breast out and dunks into a bowl of red glitter*
"It's true. It's true."
"Nobody is the Exfoliator or the Exterior or the Exterminator. It's really bullshit."
*whips out left breast and dunks into bowl*
"Actually, it's really fun for us."
"It's not! Nobody likes it! Nobody likes their name! Everyone, actually, doesn't like you!"
*dunks head in bowl and blows*

*stands as red glitter rains onto the carpet and applauds*
Lil Hantz, thank you. Bless you. Thank you for telling that twit how ridiculous he is. Look, watch, I'm gonna dunk my ass just for you. *dunks ass* See? Pretty.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that in that above conversation is when Lil Hantz finally became a man. When he told Phillip how childish and completely rah-tarded his laughably phony office games are, his balls dropped. I felt it. There was a distinct *thwump thwump* that jostled North America last night.

And then... and then... they kind of crawled back up a little bit because Lil Hantz promptly dumped out both the rice and the beans. *sigh* It was funny and dramatic though. I'll give him that. That's our Brandon! *jaunty music plays before mashing into the Cape Fear theme*

Immediately, Calgon scurries over to the spilled rice with a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser and some good old fashioned elbow grease. She shows Erik how to scrub each grain ever so gently before instructing Corinne and Mowgli on how to use Soft Scrub on beans. She has a casserole planned for tonight and some little boys fighting is not going to stop her!

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys!

Dimples takes one look at Lil Hantz shuffling back and forth and knows something is amiss.
"Lil Hantz, how are you doing?"
"I had a little outburst this morning. Can I talk to the other tribe?"
"Sure."
"DON'T LET PHILLIP WIN!!!"

Dame Reynold then saunters Center Stage and dramatically opens a hand painted Chinese fan, "Wh-where are you going?" *fan flutters*
Before Lil Hantz can answer him, Corinne raises her hand, "We realize this is a challenge for Immunity. We would like to forfeit the Challenge and go forward to Tribal."
*a single drop of pee runs down Dame Reynold's stockings*
"We respect the game and hope you respect our decision to go to Tribal."
"They don't respect the game! Let me help you out here, they don't respect the Fans! That's bullshit!"
Lil Hantz then turns to the Fans telling them how much he loves underdogs only to be interrupted by Dimples who calls him over to stand next to him. "OK Lil Hantz, tell us what's going on."

And then Lil Hantz goes. He goes and he goes and he goes for Phillip's jugular. He tells the Fans about their cartoon names back at Baklava and how degrading it is to be treated like paper dolls. He doesn't stop there though. Oh no! Here is where he really delivers the goods, "Stop talking 'bout yourself! Boston Rob took you to the end of the game!" *bites fist and giggles* "You ain't gonna tell me you running the game! I took MYSELF out of the game!" And there you have it. Lil Hantz wants to be the arthur of his own elimination. There is no way in hell he is going to let some guy who talks to feathers be the architect of his demise. And you know what? I don't think it's all that crazy. There is only so much you can take from someone where you just finally put your foot down and reclaim you. So, while everyone out there is saying that Brandon is the crazy one, I respectfully disagree. I am awarding my point to Phillip. Phillip Sheppard wins the crazy contest hands down.

Oh, but we're not done! Lil Hantz then lays it all out for us. He tells us that he had a difficult time after he first played Survivor. It changed his life and it changed who he was as a person. Watching himself onscreen, he didn't like what he saw - none of us did! This time around, he made the conscious effort to not let anyone walk all over him episode after episode. The problem is that not only did Phillip start to walk all over him, but the rest of his phony corporation was too afraid to stand up for themselves in the process. Sure, Lil Hantz could have tried harder, but, somehow, Phillip has all those dimwits snowed. They're listening to him, doing his bidding and even playing along with his cockamamie games. To a person like Brandon who can't keep his feelings bottled up, it was like living in a pressure cooker.

In the end, after a deep tissue massage from Dimples and more tears from Mascaroni, the Favorites, in a live Tribal Council vote, unanimously make Brandon the 6th person voted out of Survivor Caramoan. It is especially unfortunate it went down like that because it looks like the tribes will be shuffled next week. But hey, Lil Hantz, I don't think you're nuts. I think Phillip is the real tribe psycho and you probably dealt with him much better than I ever could. Good luck to you and thank you for not being a Jesus freak this time around.

So, what did you guys think of last night's episode? Is Brandon as crazy as everyone says or is Phillip the true culprit? If you had to share a living space with Phillip, would you kill yourself or the rice? If the tribes get shuffled, which one gets the Mr. Clean Beans? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

Blogus Interruptus

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 07 Mar 2013 14:53:00 +0000

Sorry, bitches. No blog this week. I just moved yesterday and things are a little crazy right now. Never ye fear! I will definitely be back next week to document Lil Hantz PIZZING ON YO BEENS.

In the meantime, feel free to leave your comments about the episode. Did the right person go home and does she have early onset osteoporosis? Was Shalimar crying tears of sadness or tears of joy? How many tata's did Tata squeeze? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

Revenge Of The Nerds

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 21:51:00 +0000

*caw caw, flap flap flap* The men were innocently playing a game of Blackjack when they heard the mammoth bird fly overhead. Back and forth, back and forth. *caw caw, flap, plop, plop* Guano began dripping in violet clumps down the barred windows as Cheswick, Harding, Martini, Taber and McMurphy tried to ignore it. Nurse Freebush Ratched turned the record player up even louder in hopes of drowning out the shrill howls. "Handel should calm the men down," she thought to herself as she shook her head and watched Lil Hantz lick the windows. With her crisp buff and Miracle Bra bikini, Nurse Freebush peered upwards out the window while Shalimar fluttered and spat as he encircled the compound. She's known many Shalimar's in her life. Too many. The anger, the insomnia, the increased levels of Dopamine, the pooping on the windows. *sigh* But with a little cajoling, some good old fashioned tough love, and a few rounds of ECT (thrice weekly for the next 15 years), she just might be able to quell the flashbacks and these little outbursts that have suddenly increased with regularity. But if he doesn't respond to the music and her words of encouragement, she'll have to bring in Orderly Sheppard and his potato gun. What other choice does she have but to fill it with Haldol and let the Former Special Agent shoot Shalimar down? In her 20 years of running mental health facility franchises (Taco Hell), she has yet to lose a patient. And she's not about to now! Let's recap, shall we?

We continue our Filipino tale at Goiter (Gota) with the darkness enveloping us. The night insects chirp up above while a family of ornery rat people skitter down below. Theddie (Eddie) finally breaks the awkward silence, "Doesth anyone want to talk about what justh happened?" Duck Dynasty (Matt) quickly separates his beard into two even pieces and promptly ties it into a knot above his head effectively keeping his mouth shut. You see, Duck didn't vote how the Heathers wanted him to vote and now it's best if he keeps quiet and stays out of the firing line. Easier said than done, because here comes Reynold, Big Mouth Reynold, to address the camp, "You need me to win challenges! I have the Idol! Game on!" Laura, Julia, Hope and Michael immediately scurry over to Duck in hopes of hiding underneath his beard from the impending drama. With their hiding place gone and wrapped neatly in a fetching bow atop Duck's head, they use a Philip Sheppard method of camouflage instead and simply stand very very still while holding a branch and a leaf in each hand.

As is the order of the day, whenever Reynold speaks, Shalimar (Shamar) has an Eye-Rack flashback of an IED blowing Bubba's leg off. His jowls begin to shake as he stomps around camp kicking over pots and pans. He yells, "I don't understand how the game just started cuz I didn't get voted out!" Theddie spits, "It wasthn't our plan!" Bitch pleasth. And thank you. Thank you for reminding Shalimar that mortars could fall at any moment because now he's overturning the shelter and piling up sandbags around Duck. I guess Shalimar didn't see Duck sitting there in his bearded hideout. Wide-eyed whippet Laura saw him sitting there though. She saw him and I'm sure some part of her wanted to make sure Duck would be safe, but she's more angry that Shalimar didn't send her an embossed piece of stationary with a thank you note for not voting him out.

The next morning at Goiter, the drama subsides as Reynold and Theddie giggle with each other over how the cool people lunch table just got a little bit smaller. It blows Reynold's mind how his camp would choose to keep a lazy freeloader like Shalimar around when someone like Allie at least contributed (and would let him squeeze her ass). The only hope Archie and Jughead have of turning the game back around in their favor is if Shalimar continues to piss people off and barricades them in one by one with his sandbag forts.

Freebush (Sherri) is also very aware that Shalimar could "accidentally" take out one of her alliance with friendly fire so she quickly ushers Shalimar behind the bunker he built the night before and advises him to simply lay low today. Reynold and Theddie are in the middle of hazing their new pledge class and they will absolutely 100% try to ruffle Shalimar's feathers today. She's seen it before. Everyday in her thriving franchise business, snot nose bratty teenagers place whoopee cushions on the chair in her office and put pop rocks in the soda machine. Every. Damn. Day. But, she knows how to deal with them. When you run a drive thru mental health facility/Mexican fastfood joint, it means you get Lorazepam in bulk. And so, under the guise of a loving embrace, Freebush stabs a needle of the calming nectar into Shalimar's neck.

The problem is, instead of relaxing Shalimar and knocking him out until the Immunity Challenge, the anti-anxiety juice gives him a case of the sads and now a large black cloud hangs over his head. His neck hangs low and he walks with a defeated shuffle whereas before he'd be buffing his nails in the shelter sipping Rum Coco's while hurling bamboo spears at Reynold's head. Is the million dollars (a used piece of dental floss and a dust bunny if you're Jeff Kent) really worth all of this pain and sadness? Is it worth that much money to nap all day and torture white people at night?

These Goiters are getting me down, man. They're harshing my mellow and killing my naturally sparkly love of life. Let's take a peek over at Baklava (Bikal) and see how the Favorites are doing today. I'll bet it's a frolicking good time with Calgon (Dawn) cutting the crusts off of everyone's sandwiches and Golden Boy (Malcolm) sitting magnificently in the sun while the light dances on his glistening pecs. I'll bet Cochran accidentally fell asleep in his half shell again and floated out to sea. The Survivor Coast Guard will have to do another water rescue and we'll all laugh about it as Cochran groggily wipes the sleep from his eyes and asks, "Did I float towards Cambodia again?"

*jaunty quirky xylophone music plays off key*

Oh look, it's another episode of The Phillip Sheppard Show.

"Hello, my name is Phillip Sheppard and I am in the best shape of my life. I really know how to take care of myself. I really do. At 54 years old I can lift this here twig and jump over fallen coconuts with agile flare. I frequently draw hopscotch squares in the sand to mimic my rigorous hopscotch training back at home. When I train at the military facility near my neighborhood (Dwight D. Eisenhower Elementary School) I play in an intramural basketball league against a new race of military defense robots twice my size and half my age. We jokingly call them the Green Giants even though they're technically silver. But when I play, whoo! Dunk! Catch me if you can! I got a little rebound sprint. Cha cha! Cha cha! All air, baby! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some barnacles to scrub. Excellent for finger dexterity. Specialist out!"

Back in the real world, Corinne is looking around her alliance of six and noticing that both she and Golden Boy are probably fairly low on the totem pole. Mascaroni (Andrea) and Phillip are long time buddies as well as Cochran and Calgon. If Corinne and Golden Boy want to feel somewhat safer in the game, they need to work together and find that Hidden Immunity Idol. And that's exactly what they do. They venture into the wilderness with their wits and loose boxers *flip flop*. Golden Boy sticks his hand in and out of trees while Corinne kicks over a rock or two. Suddenly, they stumble onto a large menacing tree with a gooey crevice of swamp water and cholera. Golden Boy trepidatiously sticks his hand in and voila! Hidden Immunity Idol. Nya nya nya nya nya nya. In all honesty, Golden Boy isn't exactly thrilled that Corinne was with him when he found it and he's definitely leery of now having his wagon hitched to hers. Corinne has a Survivor reputation and it's not a fluffy one with puppies and rainbows. It's more like barb wire hats and buckets of acid waiting to be thrown on someone.

So while Golden Boy and Corinne get busy hiding their Idol, Cochran is back at camp trapped in a feast for the eyes. A garden of delights and boobies. Girls, girls, everywhere! And always in a state of undress! Back at Harvard the co-ed's rarely frolicked in the quad in just their unmentionables so all of this is quite new to the young Cochran. So when you think Cochran is sitting quietly in the shelter coming up with cunning chess-like moves to outwit his competitors, he's not. He's actually trapped in his head thinking, "Boobies! Boobies! Boobies!"

Speaking of boobies, or a lack thereof, here comes Mascaroni ready to get rid of someone on her own alliance again. They haven't even lost a challenge yet and she's already plotting a way to send Corinne the way of Francannedham. Someone help me understand how you go through the trouble of getting a majority number of people in your alliance only to keep cutting them all loose one by one. If you keep kicking out your alliance, precious, you will no longer have an alliance. Duh. And all of this because Mascaroni saw Corinne having a chat with Golden Boy. So, in true Mascaroni style, she scurries from player to player telling them that Corinne needs to be the next one to go. In fact, she wants to replace Corinne with Lil Hantz (Brandon). Lil. Hantz. That paradigm of mental stability who threw a hissy fit when Frankrustytheclown got voted out. Lil Hantz. The guy who has "EYE GONNA PIZZ IN YO BEENS" tattooed on his neck. *slow clap for Mascaroni*

While things are getting a little gamey and putrid at Baklava, the same cannot be said for Goiter. Shalimar is still down in the dumps and his Seratonin levels are plummeting with each passing second. After wallowing in his own darkness for a spell, he finally tells his tribe that his happiness isn't worth a million dollars and that this experience just isn't his bag anymore. Como what? Come again? First off, you haven't been happy since you've been here! And secondly, my happiness is worth a cool $20. For real, I'm the Jeff Kent of happiness. If I find a fiver in my jeans, I'm on my way to Trader Joe's getting a bottle of Two Buck Chuck and a bag of croutons being happier than you'd ever imagine. For the love of god, have you ever tasted their croutons?! So imagine what I could buy with a million dollars. Millions of croutons I would imagine.

I'm not going to get on some moral high horse and say that a former (?) alcoholic with PTSD and visions of bloodied body parts dancing around his head shouldn't have been cast on the show in the first place. I'm the type who actually likes the crazy unstable people. To me, the sin is when a boring person gets cast. I can't do anything with boring. Boring makes my blogging life difficult. What I do take issue with is when someone goes through the rigorous process of getting cast on a show and then considers quitting. That, I will not stand for.

(Thanks Max Dawson!)

Freebush, however, looks at it in a much more practical manner. If Shalimar quits and they still lose the challenge, then the Goiters will be down TWO people and that screws up her plan of total world domination. I don't know whether it was guilt eating him up inside or the injection of Lexapro that Freebush shot into his ass, but Shalimar doesn't want to disappoint the older white lady who took him in and nurtured him back to mental stability.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, you will swim out to a cage. Once there, you will lock Phillip Sheppard inside and conveniently lose the key. He may tempt you to get him out by donning a lunch tray on his head. Pay no attention. Instead, dive down and push a crate filled with the bodies of former Survivors across the ocean floor. Once you are back onshore, lift the trunk o' bones onto a track. With a grappling hook, you'll toss it to a ring and try to complete your track with the remaining pieces. The first tribe to push their chest o' cadavers across the track to the platform wins Immunity and Reward. Wanna know what you're playing for? Fluffy goose down pillows and some lawn chairs. Survivors ready, go!

Both tribes race into the water and immediately the weak links stick out like sore thumbs. For the Goiters, it's wispy Laura. She lies on her back and rotates her arms in such a way that they're actually carrying her back onshore. And then we have Cochran over on Baklava. Instead of swimming, Cochran has chosen to hang onto Calgon's fanny pack and let her swim them both in. Hey, if it works!

With the Favorites already at the cage, they quickly climb over and begin to tumble down into the water. The Fans, however, are still waiting for the wind to pick up and carry Laura out to them. Impatient and frantic, Reynold swims back and brings Laura in himself. He then tosses Whippet (Laura) over the cage and all we hear is a faint yelp as she hits the water.

With both tribes in their cages, it's a race to unlock their gates and unearth their chests. The Fans gain a slight lead as both tribes head back to shore, but once onshore the Favorites begin to pull ahead again. With body parts knocking around inside the water logged crates (Handlebar's leg in Prunes' ear), both tribes lift their boxes onto their tracks and begin tossing their hooks. Once again it is Golden Boy and Reynold as the starting tossers. Reynold snags his first section of track almost immediately as Golden Boy passes off to Phillip who then snags his section. Toss, toss, toss, yadda, yadda, yadda. Both teams have one more piece of track left and that's when I saw it. I saw it and I knew, in an instant, who was going to win. You saw it too, didn't you? Golden Boy's hair! His stubborn hair unfurled and tumbled down. It hung loosely, gloriously, and off to one side. And there you have it... FAVORITES WIN IMMUNITY!!!!

Back at Goiter, the tribe is having another one of their post-challenge meetings. Those meetings where they try to figure out what went wrong and how they can prevent it happening ag... "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I HAVE CONTACTS! SHUT UP!" Oh, hey Shalimar, do you have something you want to say? "SHUT UP! DON'T TALK TO ME! YOU'RE DISGUSTING! YOU'RE ON MY NO TALKING LIST!" But, I'm just trying to write a blog. "SHUT UP! I NEEDED THE GOGGLES. YOU DISGUST ME." Ok, we'll make sure to get you some next time. "I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP! THE NO TALKING LIST IS FOR REAL. SHUT UP!"

The meeting ended very much like the Protestant Reformation began. It ended with Shalimar nailing his list of 95 People Who Should Shut The Hell Up to the Tree Mail tree. I'm on it and so are Reynold and Theddie. You know who isn't on it, but should be? Whippet. Even though she was like a drowning dog in that last challenge, she has herself a large alliance and she's not a Heather. All of this begs the question: Why is she freaking out so much?! I realize whippets are skittish and easily nervous, but homegirl will talk herself right into an eviction if she keeps reminding everyone how bad she did in that challenge.

Later, Freebush gives Whippet a spoonful of peanut butter and finally, finally! - a new plan begins to take place. Since Reynold and Theddie are decent in challenges, the anti-Heathers (AKA The Mildreds) decide that Hope should be the next one to go home. BUT they're worried about that pesky Idol that Reynold keeps in his skinny jeans so they'll split the votes between Theddie and Hope. The boys will vote for Theddie and the girls will vote for Hope. It's easy breezy Cover Girl. Or, it should be easy breezy Cover Girl.

Freebush then tells Shalimar that he is supposed to vote for Theddie tonight, but Shalimar accidentally put Freebush on his SHUT THE HELL UP list and now he can't hear her too well. Once you're on that list, your voice cracks and a firm grip takes hold of your vocal chords every time you try to speak. It is incredibly painful and the more I type, the more my inner voice sounds a little like a gravelly Abby Lee Miller. Clearly, the inclusion of Freebush on the list was an oversight on Shalimar's part, but now Shalimar thinks he's allowed to make decisions and you and I both know that that can't end well.

And so we find Shalimar sitting in the water doing exactly what he isn't supposed to do - telling Hope, in not so many words, that the votes will be split between her and someone else. He tells her point blank that they can't get rid of Reynold because of his Idol. So who does that leave? That leaves Theddie. And here is where is things get interesting. Hope then goes and tells Julia that Shalimar was hinting that it is either Theddie or herself going home tonight. Julia. Julia! Julia, who is not a Heather. Julia, who is a Mildred. Was Hope trying to turn the Mildred's against Shalimar? Why doesn't she just keep her mouth shut and write down "Theddie"?

Julia immediately runs to the rest of the Mildred's and tells them what Shalimar did and, naturally, Whippet is freaking out with her tail wagging like crazy. "Is he going to vote for me? Am I on the chopping block now? I did bad in the challenge. Oh my god, what do I do? Woof! Is he turning the Heathers against me? Arf! Should I talk to someone? What happens now? My coat itches. Ruff!" Freebush then shoves another wad of peanut butter in her mouth to shut her up. This time she laced it with Thorazine. Shush, Whippet. It's ok. Lay down. There you go. Good girl. *Whippet quietly snores and runs in her sleep* What in the world would we do without Freebush and her bevy of pharmaceuticals?

And this brings us to Tribal Council. Dimples begins by asking Reynold if there was any fall out from the last Tribal Council. Reynold stands and points to Shalimar, "That man! Him! He was screaming from a kilometer away!" Shalimar rolls his eyes and replies, "I wasn't a kilometer away. I was yelling right at him! He's lying. They're all lying."

Reynold then smirks to himself before standing again. This time he's holding a skull up to the footlights. "Alas, poor Yorick! I've never lied to you. Oh, and also, Dimples, I can't really lie to Shalimar because I'm on the SHUT THE HELL UP list and I'm not allowed to talk." At home I raised my hand. Me too, Dimples.

Dimples does one of his saucy sideways glances and probes for more. While the SHUT THE HELL UP list is fascinating, he wants to know if life is always this troubling for Shalimar. Shalimar tells us he is simply misunderstood. In fact, he's the one who is always smiling at camp. The one who is nice to everyone! And then one by one, like hostile bullets in the night, the Goiters come forward and tell their own sad Shalimar tales.

Hope: "Shalimar was in the water with me and he got my hair wet!"

Duck Dynasty: "Shalimar gets carried away. He buried me in sandbags the other day."

Julia: "Shalimar yelled at me and called me weak. He also kicked my dog." *Julia glances at Whippet*

Whippet: "Arf!"

Theddie: "Sthalimar put me on the listh. I'm not sthupposed to talk, Dimplesth."

OK, let's vote. Tada! It's a three way tie between Hope, Theddie and Shalimar. Let's vote again. Only this time, Hope, Theddie and Shalimar will not vote.

And so, because she wasn't too bright in the first vote of the night, Hope is the 3rd person voted out of Survivor Caramoan. Personally, I'm fine with this. Hope did nothing for me, nothing for her tribe and nothing for the show. Later much.

So, what did you think of last night's episode? Is Freebush our guiding light? How much longer will the Goiters put up with Shalimar? Doesth Theddie have a chancth in hell of sthurviving if the Goitersth losth next week? When it's Cochran's birthday, should we get him a cake in the shape of boobies? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

Thanks to Rob Beasley for my Survivor photos!

My Pants Are Too Tight

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Thu, 21 Feb 2013 23:01:00 +0000

Merriam Webster defines pollution as: "The presence in or introduction into the environment of a substance or thing that has harmful or poisonous effects." Pollution can be anything from chemicals buzzing willy nilly in the air to the airport down the road with its planes whizzing noisily overhead. Big thick industrial type contaminants seeping into our lungs and ringing in our ears. Unsafe tap water tainted with hormones. Apparently, frustrated women bang their laundry out down by the creek and then pierce estrogen pills in an act of defiance as their bloomers dry. Pollution is all around us. We will never escape it. Headaches. Cancer. ADHD. "Turn down that stereo!" But, perhaps, there is one of kind of pollution that can be stopped. Introduced into the environment a couple decades ago, it is still young. Still learning. Still adapting. I speak, of course, of the honey badger. A tough, persistant little stocky fellow with skin thickened by the belts of uncles, the honey badger doesn't play fair. He infects. He pokes. He prods. But if we grab him by the neck where the skin is the thinnest. If he club him over the head with young Billy's baseball bat left in the back of the minivan, we just might be able to remove him from society. Our best plan of attack is when the mating season is nigh. When the female honey badger swings her hips to and fro. The male will be frozen in shivers and moans for he fears the very act that can keep his bloodline alive. If only there was a seasoned federal agent and a sophisticated system of bamboo anti-tank rifles to help us orchestrate such an attack. Let's recap, shall we?

We begin under the cloak of night. The honey badger's favorite time of day. In the stillness, he can burrow and hunt. With his foretoes turned inward, he can trot hither and thither poking and daring innocents to spar with him. And this is how we come to find Lil Hantz (Brandon) on this starry night. The eviction of Francurtaincall has tickled the moral ooey gooey center of the young lad and he is having a hard time dealing with the cruel and unusual departure. Dawn, however, has consulted her Mormon chore wheel and it turns out that "Vote Out Non-threats & Embarrass Them" is right up there with "Re-alphabetize Osmond Albums." It is moral, acceptable and, quite frankly, just another item to check off of her to-do list. On the other hand, this honey badger guy taunting her with misspelled arms and defending his friend is, in her mind, an immoral bully. I'm going to have to award the point to the honey badger on this one. Sure, he's demonstrating an aggressive stance and his canine teeth are dripping with saliva, but he is standing up for his best good friend and it is hard to hate him for that.

But someone can hate him for that. Someone can huddle in the corner with a glass of Chablis with 3 Xanax floating on top and hate him with a clenched teeth ferocity. That someone is Dawn. It's been a long day of ironing and carpooling and all she wants is for Calgon to take her away. Instead, she gets a rabid muskrat in her face rattling her fragile nerves. There is no foamy bubble bath to sink into. There is no Danielle Steele novel to get lost in. There is only this lonely night... and tears. Frantic, whole body shaking, tears. The kind of tears that keep coming and coming. The kind that are accompanied by primal wails. Hiccups and snot and gasps and chokes. A face contorting ugly cry that reminds you of everything wrong with the world. Mean people! Pollution! A fallen bundt cake! *shakes fist in the air* Oh, cruel world.

And that cruelness is infectious. What was wrapping Dawn in a tight embrace has now leapt back over to Lil Hantz. It is in his blood now. It is coursing through his veins with a hot Sriracha kicker. Is it cruelness in general or is it something more specific? Something a little closer to home. Something revengeful and fedora'd. Something mischievous and rascally. Something this little bloggy blog once referred to as Lucifer (Russell Hantz). Lil Hantz toys with the idea of throwing his cares to the wind and becoming the camp saboteur the way his infamous uncle once did. But, let's face it, that's not Lil Hantz. It's not in him to tinkle on beans and poop in socks. It's not in his nature. He can be hot tempered at times, but that inner moral struggle is what grounds him. It is what brings him back around. In the end, Lil Hantz workshopped the evil plan and found it didn't really have a captive audience. So, he'll shelve it and loan it to whatever prepubescent Hantz is on deck for a reality show in 2020.

Over at Goiter (Gota), the atmosphere isn't quite so tense... yet. In fact, it is sort of summer day in a garden lazy. And, I don't know about you, but when I'm lying in a relaxed state sipping gin coolies in my garden watching butterflies flutter around me, I like to dab a certain fragrance on my neck. Guerlain's Shalimar, with its citrus top notes, floral undertones and flirty defiance, it is the only scent befitting such a scene. So when I see Shamar lying in a magnificent state of repose on a rattan cot sipping pina coladas, I have no choice but to henceforth refer to him as "Shalimar".

Instead of contributing and working around camp, Shalimar (Shamar) prefers to spend his days conserving his energy and worrying about his own hydration. Now, I don't know if when Shalimar was in the Eye-Rack he experienced severe headaches and cerebral edema from a violent loss of electrolytes, but hydration is all he thinks about. If the entire camp isn't working to refill his canteen, then he'll lie perfectly still so nary a drop of sweat can trickle down his cheek. Also! Also, also, also... we learn that this is actually Shalimar's strategy. To be lazy. To be useless. To be so hated that his tribemates will deem him nonthreatening. Umm, fancy boy, you're 300 pounds with a military background and can toss Survivors through the air like confetti. You are indeed a threat, fat man. So, while I can see the game you are playing and the verse you are contributing to this powerful play, it is a bad verse. It's like a non-rhyming Hoops (Semhar) verse where she talks about having 10,000 babies with some weirdo guy.

But, wouldn't you know it? Wouldn't you bloody know it? Someone is falling for Shalimar's antics and that someone is Freebush (Sherri). In fact, she tells him to continue on. Keep being a pain in the ass! Keep pissing everyone off! To Freebush, Shalimar is a number. A number that makes her alliance bigger than the Heathers Alliance. Oh those Heathers are so snotty. They're so full of themselves that they won't even sleep in the same shelter as everyone else. They sleep together on the beach... swinging. Eddie with Allie. Allie with Hope. Hope with Reynold. Reynold with Eddie. It's a 1970's key party is what it is. Each night they toss a personal item into half of a conch shell and leave the rest up to chance. So, while you may be jealous of how the Heathers spend their nights, don't be. Freebush has herself a gang of six now and the Heathers' days are numbered.

Back at Baklava (Bikal), Lil Hantz is suddenly feeling the repercussions of the night before. His head hangs low and his shoulders slump as he confides to Cochran that, today, he feels like he is lower on the totem pole. This confiding in Cochran seems to be a recurring theme this season. If you'll remember in the last episode, both Franceilingfan and Dawn sought the young lad out to seek his advice. And now I know why. He's Cochran on the half shell! Anyone who can sit bone dry on a half shell in the middle of the ocean is someone you need to bow down in front of and tell all your sins to. He's like Venus, only slightly more ginger-y. Being wise and all knowing and riding across the sea with dolphins splashing around him, Cochran tells us that while Lil Hantz has his moments of overwhelming pleasantness, he is also a sociopathic murderer-in-the-making that will eventually kill his entire family and store their appendages in a freezer underneath the stairs. So basically, for the rest of his stay in Caramoan, Cochran will sleep with one eye open... probably on his half shell... several hundred yards offshore in case Lil Hantz gets that murderous urge in the middle of the night.

Speaking of murderous urges, here comes Phillip Sheppard *clicks heels and salutes*. With a generous wave of his hand, Lil Hantz invites the former special agent to join their conversation. He tells Phillip that he'd like them all to be on the same page and vote the same person out the next time they go to Tribal Council. Phillip then shuts his eyes and nods solemnly in the young lad's direction. "My Sensei, Boston Rob, used to minimize the flow of data. But when I look at you and ask, 'Trust? Don't trust?' Shamon! Whoo! Not. Enough. Data. Yet. Specialist. Still. Waiting. For. Confirmation. In every great corporation there are business lunches and occasionally company picnics. I don't know. Can I count on you to throw horseshoes in a timely manner? Can you master the egg toss before Spring? Not. Enough. Data. Right now, you're middle management. But if you work hard and put in the extra hours, I might be able to bump you up to a low level Vice President. I'm not giving you a corner office though and definitely no overtime!" And then he radioed into the palm of his hand and somersaulted backwards into the trees.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, you will race out to a raft and dive down to a cage where you will remove bamboo sticks that will release floaty rings (floaty rings seem to be this season's balls). Once you have released all of your rings, you will then have to toss the rings and try to land them on 3 posts. In addition, you are playing for a fishing kit Reward. Survivors ready? *Crash! Flergle! Kerplonk!* Oh, never mind that. That's just the coconut rocket launcher falling out of Phillip's pants. Go!

For the Favorites, Erik, Mascaroni (Andrea) and Mowgli (Brenda) are on the raft. For the Fans, it's Julia, Freebush and Hope. The rafts cruise peacefully over the water - much like Cochran on his half shell when he's running from the murderous rage in Lil Hantz's eyes. Both teams arrive at their platforms at the same time and into the water they go. Freebush for the Fans and Erik for the Favorites. Both quickly release their first rings and after yanking a few more poles, Erik gets switched out for Mascaroni. However, on the Fans side, Freebush refuses to get out of the water! She's like a wet pussy (cat) bobbing up and down with stray hairs in her eyes. She struggles to catch her breath as the Favorites continue retrieving ring after ring after ring. Mowgli plops in and still Freebush plugs her nose and tries again. Even from the shore we can hear the rest of her team shouting, "Switch out! Switch out!"

At this point the Favorites have 6 rings compared to the Fans' 1. And since I'm sure you hate reading these challenge summaries as much as I hate typing them, let's fast forward a wee bit to the Favorites happily back onshore. And if someone could dim the lights please. *lights dim* Thank you. Bowm chicka wow wow... look at Golden Boy (Malcolm) throw. Look at him toss those rings so effortlessly. He lands one! He land two! Don't stop baby, keep going. *toss toss toss* Alright, so he's not exactly a master thrower. That's ok because he has long luscious hair, loses his shorts frequently, responds to the phrase, "Barkeep, more gin!", and has Phillip Sheppard *21 gun salute* to pick up the slack. With a flick of his wrist and a push off of his toes, Phillip Sheppard lands the third ring as FAVORITES WIN IMMUNITY!!!

Strangely, after the challenge ends, we don't return to bask in the misery of the Goiters. Instead, we end up with the Baklavas. At home I scratched my head and wondered if Lil Hantz is about to slaughter the tribe "accidentally" as he runs up and down the beach swinging a machete and celebrating their win. Maybe everyone's heads get in the way of his merriment? Or maybe Cochran gets whisked out to sea on his half shell and there is a dramatic air rescue on the horizon. I just don't know. I don't know why we're here at Baklava, but the suspense is killing me. *pushes Play*

"Hello, my name is Phillip Sheppard, former federal agent and CEO of Smiths-R-Fuss. I mean, Stilts-R-Bus. Skrancesqua-R-Muss. Whatever. You know what I'm trying to say. For unforeseen reasons we have expanded our operations here in The Philippines and I need a crackerjack Brownie Troop to help me on my mission. Allow me to introduce them to you. This here *points to Golden Boy* is The Fornicator. And this gangly piece of peeling skin *nods to Cochran* is our Intelligence Attache. Over there is Mascaroni, The Eliminator. She eats lots of beans and eliminates to the point where I cannot stop the flow of, umm, "data". And here we have Corinne, The Dominatrix. *Corinne whips the air and shoves a ball gag into Cochran's mouth* And that little person there *points to Dawn* is True Spit. I mean, True Grit. We are not a large corporation, but we are indeed a powerful one. Our mission is one that not many dare take on - to beat the skra... I mean, glin... I mean, prib... heck, to beat the HECK, out of the Fans. Thank you and good day."

And then he cloaked himself in a camouflage net and shuffled next to a bush. Was I right or was I right when I said that as long as Phillip is on this show, it will be The Phillip Sheppard Show?

Finally, we soar over to the Goiters and find Eddie in unusually high spirits. "Theresth no fisth here anyway," he declares. Everyone kind of laughs awkwardly and kicks the sand with their toes. As a group they discuss and brainstorm possible reasons for their loss. Michael thinks they needed a cheerleader out on the raft for morale. Eddie thinksth everyone was placthed incorrectly. Shalimar thinks people need to realize their limitations (*ahem Freebush*) and own up to it. And Reynold? Well, Reynold uses this opportunity to make sure one of the Heathers isn't going home, "Shalimar I'm going to call you out right now! You're behavior is not acceptable! Can everyone hear me? Shalimar. Bad man!" Reynold then mimes making a giant 'S' with a Sharpie on a piece of parchment paper. "I think you're childish!" Then he makes an 'H' and winks to everyone around him. "You're pouty!" He makes a giant air 'A' and nods. "You're childish!" We get it Reynold. We get what you're trying to do. You finally did some counting on the way back from the Challenge and you realized that 4 isn't a high enough number. We get it.

BUT, you've roused the beast so now you have to deal with him. I'll step aside while Shalimar responds... THEN LET IT BE CHILDISH. LET IT BE CHILDISH. LET IT BE CHILDISH. LET IT BE CHILDISH. *inhales* LET IT BE CHILDISH. LET IT BE CHILDISH. *spit flies everywhere* LET IT BE CHILDISH. I was ready to roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of it all, but then a slow smile creeped along my lips. A fight. A fight! *titty bounce* How long has it been since we've had a genuine, for real, all out, lips flapping fight on Survivor? You can double check my math, but I think it's been like 18 seasons. Hang on. I'll be right back. *skips to the fridge and removes 2 bowls of gold glitter* All together now... DUNK 'EM BITCHES!!!

I may love my fights, but Reynold clearly does not. Shalimar doesn't even blink when Reynold ends by saying, "I'm going to vote for you." In fact, Shalimar kind of giggles to himself before flopping his head back onto his pillow. Reynold, however, listens to those giggles and, instead of giggles, he hears alarm bells. Quickly, and with urgency, he then spins on his heel and announces, "We gotta keep this fire going. I'm going to get some wood." Wood. Is that what they're calling the Hidden Immunity Idol these days? Actually, they might be. More on that later (bulge).

With Reynold off climbing trees and digging holes, the anti-Heathers get together and discuss how they should vote tonight. Duck Dynasty (Matt) wonders if perhaps they shouldn't just vote out Shalimar anyway and he can "pretend" he's with the Heathers. They'll still have a 5-4 advantage over them with Shalimar out of the picture. Freebush flat out says no. She insists that Shalimar will calm down once the tension in the air dissipates. And before Duck can get Michael on his side with the whole "voting out Shalimar" thing, Freebush yanks Laura over and asks her who they should vote out tonight. Laura replies, "One of the girls. Allie." Allie?! Why? She's the only Heather I actually like. It turns out that Laura thinks Allie is a strategic threat. I do too which is precisely why I like her. Laura continues, "She's the only one of the four pretty people that's really thinking." I don't disagree with you Laura, but... not Allie. Not yet!

I guess we can't avoid it any longer. I guess we have to actually check in with Reynold and see what he's up to. With only creepy crawlies around him, Reynold tiptoes through the jungle thick and starts poking sticks into random holes. You see, he's a fan of Survivor so he knows that there is an Idol out there somewhere. In one tree he finds a rock. But in the second, bam! The Hidden Immunity Idol. You know what I wonder? Does the Hidden Immunity Idol hider person get in trouble if the Idol is found too quickly and without a clue? Are they no longer invited to Dimples' Opium Den tent parties? OR do the producers want the cast to find the Idols easily so it creates plot points? I remember back in Survivor heyday when an Idol was underground and you had measure paces and know the latitude and longitude merely by your wits and which way the wind was blowing. Idols used to be hidden by burrowing nocturnal animals (much like a honey badger). Deep and safely out of sight. Now they throw them at trees and see where they land.

So, with an Idol now in his possession, Reynold has to be sure not to skip back into camp with a huge grin on his face or a giant bulge in his pocket. BUT, tonight is Tribal Council and Dimples will be there. This calls for skinny jeans! While Reynold shoves his legs into his pants, the rest of the tribe is lolling about wondering what to eat for dinner tonight. Laura then casually glances over her shoulder to steal a peek at the handsome Reynold sliding his pants up over his ass. Only, what she sees isn't a succulent piece of man meat. It's a giant bulge fighting against the lycra in his jeans. Laura then leans closer and squints her eyes to get a better look. Through the thin material she can make out an indigenous Filipino warrior symbol carved into stone. "That there is an Idol," she thinks to herself. But strangely, she also thinks that Reynold is unselfish enough to hand the Idol to one of his paramours. A) Reynold would never do that. B) The Heathers have no idea that Allie is the name the rest of the tribe is considering. It's a long shot, but I can't fault Laura for thinking and, strangely, having impeccable over the shoulder glance timing. Very impressive.

And here we are at Tribal Council. We begin with Dimples asking Michael how difficult it is out in the wilderness with people you might not have anything in common with. Michael says that Freebush and Duck have families. "And then there's the foursome." Did you hear how he said it? FOUR-SOME. Like it was bitter and he had to spit it out as quickly as he could. Something tells me Michael must not swing. Dimples asks Allie how the foursome came to be and Allie says, "We were just drunk one night and then Reynold had this wild idea about keys and, I don't know, I've never been with a woman before so I thought, 'Why not?'." Dimples nods with understanding. Why not, indeed.

Dimples then turns his attention to Shalimar and asks how this experience has been for him so far. "Well, Dimples, I'm 300 pounds and I've had 2 bowls of rice and whatever coconuts fell and rolled to my side as I napped in the shelter so I'm a little drained and lacking energy." Dimples then asks Shalimar if this is an experience he's used to. Shalimar tells Dimples that he's been in the Eye-Rock for two tours with very little food. The only difference with Eye-Rack is that there are leaders there while here on Survivor it is full of individuals.

Michaels agrees with Shalimar's assessment and says he knew they were in trouble the second they started strategizing. Dimples then turns to Reynold to see if he agrees. "Why yes Dimples, I do agree. We need to be one cohesive unit and *stands and points to Shalimar* THAT MAN is the guilty one, your honor. He critiques us too much. He doesn't help at all while I'm here covered in cuts and rashes." Eddie blurts out, "I counted Dimplesth. He wasth in the tent for nineteen hoursth today."

To Shalimar's credit, he doesn't deny the nineteen hour nap he took. But he does think that he's an outcast and the "5th scapegoat". I think he meant "wheel". Wheel. Scapegoat. It could happen to anyone.

Dimples then turns to Laura and asks what she think of all this. Laura says she saw something untoward go down and now it's shattered her faith in family and loyalty. "I saw a bulge from one pocket." Reynold's neck snaps in her direction and ever so slowly the blood starts to drain from his face. Laura then turns to look Reynold in the eye and says, "I will not say who." Dimples is all like, "Uh bitch, you just did!" Reynold now has no choice but to whip out his bulge. "Dimples, my pants are too tight." And then the two bicker a little bit over why he'd bring the Idol with him to Tribal in the first place. I'm going to give a point to Reynold on this one. It would have been STUPID for him to leave it behind. What if his name came up in a suspicious way? Laura, you seem like a smart girl, don't be a dingbat. You would have brought it too.

Let's get to the vote and wrap this bitch up for this week. If anyone has the Hidden Immunity Idol and would like to play it, now is the time. Reynold lies flat on his back, shoves the Idol into his pocket again and struggles to zip his jeans back up. Eddie then grabs a pair of pliers and helps the lad zip things up while Hope whispers for Reynold to suck it in. Teamwork!

Sadly, Allie is the second person voted out of Survivor Carmoan Islands. I'm annoyed because this is one of those shitty votes where someone got the short end of the stick before we could actually see what they were made of. Personally, I would have preferred Hope went home. Oh well.

So, what did you think of last night's episode? Will the anti-Heather alliance stick together? How much longer will the Baklavas continue to amuse Phillip Sheppard? Is Dawn peri-menopausal? Should I call Eddie, Theddie? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

Thanks to Rob Beasley for my Survivor photos.

I Will Eat This Rock

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 00:46:00 +0000

Fans v. Favorites. Two groups diverge in green jungle. One, freshly scrubbed and shiny. Sprightly and pert. The other, slovenly and wrinkled. Tattered and rumpled with wisdom and age. The first, a group of fawns teetering on new legs. Shaky and trepidatious. Sinking in the powdery sand with wide eyes and giggles. The second, seasoned sages and feathered shamans. Pocketing indigenous fauna. Harvesting fruit and berries to pickle for the rainy season. Two vastly different groups of pioneers brought together by circumstance, happenstance, one last chance. Another 39 days of living deliberately and sucking the marrow out of Reynold, I mean... life. Sucking the marrow out of life. Thoreau went into the woods with purpose and so do our twenty new friends. Their purpose, though different from Thoreau's, is no less significant. Savage wildebeests clawing through the mud for a shortcut to a payday (a flimsy piece of bark with tree rot and a Canadian penny if you're Jeff Kent). Hurling decorum over the edge of a grand structure and watching it smash into a million tiny pieces (400,000 tiny pieces if you're Jeff Kent). That's right, bitches. I'm back. The winter of our discontent has left the building and all that sits in its place is a salad bowl full of blue glitter, a lock of Golden Boy's hair and a brand new package of double AA batteries. Let's recap, shall we?

We open with a chicka. You know the one. The one that slices through the air and careens through the jungle thick. *chicka chicka chicka* Frantic blades emerge from puffy clouds and we hear him, our Dimples (Jeff Probst), "This is the Caramoan Islands. A stunning paradise and dangerous wilderness where the lemur people roam free." Derived from the word lemures meaning "ghosts or spirits", these preternatural poppycocks will serve as our guides during this barbaric sojourn. The answers we seek lie in the inky blackness of their enormous eyes. For what others might miss, the lemur always sees. Nocturnal and cagy. Flitting from branch to branch. Re-hiding Immunity Idols before the castaways arrive at camp, these naughty tricksters just might be the searching hands that grope you in the middle of the night. Or it could be Reynold. *shrugs shoulders* Who knows.

Speaking of Reynold and other names we've never heard before, a gaggle of Fans sits in thoughtful repose atop a rickety raft as a tiny Filipino in a canoe paddles them into shore. Meanwhile, overhead, two Blackhawks whiz hither and thither. Spasmodic white caps topple the raft held together by rubber bands and pipe cleaners. Sand tornadoes dance tarantellas on the beach. This wild fit of folly gives way to a piece of rock. A majestic and towering Prudential rock. Atop it stands a dandy.

Fetching in teal, we see Dimples. At home, my lips drew taut into a thin line as I thought to myself, "Why isn't this an air entry?!?" But then, before the anger could bubble, I squeed (and peed) with glee. Not only can we ask ourselves how Dimples got to the top of that rock in the first place, but he danced for us! You may have missed it, but there was choreography there, my friends. Allow me to break it down.

*left leg jauntily astride the highest peak*
"39 Days... 20 People..."
*right hand sternly juts index finger into the air*
"ONE..."
*both hands quickly move to hips*
"SURVIVOR!!!"

All the while the Blackhawks glided to a carefully choreographed foxtrot in the background. Blades narrowly missing one another. Dimples digging his heels in for dear life. How did he stay on that rock? How did he not blow away? He's Dimples, dammit!

Inching its way through alligator infested waters, the rickety Raft O'Fans makes its way ashore. Hipster cool in a straw fedora and plaid shirt, Michael casually tosses his satchel over his shoulder as he disembarks the water craft and promptly topples over. Whether it was the weight of his man purse or first day jitters, we'll never know for Michael is no longer with us. Remember how I said those waters were alligator infested? *chomp chomp* Adieu Michael, we hardly knew thee.

Waiting impatiently, Dimples barks, "Come on in! Leave him. Just leave the arm. We'll send a P.A. in later to gather the remains. By the way, Welcome to the Caramoan Islands!" The Fans whoop and cheer with elation. Amongst them is a very excitable blonde Sandra Bullock lookalike formerly known as "Sherri", but to you and I, she will now be called Gracie Lou Freebush. "Freebush" for short.

Dimples then tells the Fans that they will be playing against 10 of their most favorite Survivors. I take issue with the word "Favorite" (*ahem Francopacabana*), but let's not be petty. Let's bring in those crotchety old coots! And in they swoop, the Blackhawks. As they descend in tandem, waves roll ashore knocking down the Fans like bowling pins. Sand swirls into their eyes and nether regions as one by one the Favorites are paraded out:

Cochran, Dawn, Corinne, Mascaroni (Andrea), Erik, Golden Boy (Malcolm), Mowgli (Brenda), Lil Hantz (Brandon), Francheesybread and Phillip Sheppard. For those new to this blog, the nicknames may seem overwhelming at the start, but I'll have you know that Malcolm will only respond to you if you call him "Golden Boy" in real life. The players are their nicknames. The nicknames are the players. It's a Bitchy institution so get used to it. The Favorites tribe will be known as Baklava (Bikal).

As for the Fans, we have: Julia, Shamar, Hope, Eddie, Freebush (Sherri), Michael, Matt, Laura, Reynold and Allie. Their nicknames will develop over time. The Fans tribe will henceforth be known as Goiter (Gota).

So, let's get this show on the road with a Reward Challenge. Two members from each tribe will race to retrieve a ring. They will then work together to get back to the flagpole with the ring in hand. The first tribe member to have one hand on the flagpole and one on the ring scores a point for their tribe. Wanna know what you're playing for? Flint and a 20 pound back of beans. There's definitely a fart joke in there somewhere. Survivors ready, go!

First up is Erik/Dawn and Julia/Shamar. Erik may have 800 lbs of unruly hair atop his head, but the guy can run. And run he does! He runs to the ring and then is promptly run into the ground by the behemoth Shamar. Fans lead 1-0. But not for long as Mascaroni manages to score for the Favorites in the next round. We are now tied.

Rather than go through every... single... round, let's dim the lights and get to the round I know you're all waiting for. Put on some smooth jazz and light a candle or two because next up is Golden Boy/Corinne and Reynold/Allie. Out of the gate the strapping lads race to remove my NuvaRing... I mean, race to get the floaty ringy thingy waiting for them (my NuvaRing). Reynold grabs the ring seconds before Golden Boy can. Golden Boy, with hair cascading down his shoulders and intensity in his eyes, leaps out of the water and tackles Reynold. *fans self* The lads tug back and forth, back and forth, creating waves. Tiny disrobing waves. Tiny naughty horny waves. Waves that have the ability to REMOVE GOLDEN BOY'S SHORTS FROM HIS ASS. *hurls twenties at the TV*

The tussle continues as the two grope and yank. At home, I put the Magic Mike soundtrack on the stereo and giggled into my glass of Chardonnay. Onscreen, Allie leapt on top of Golden Boy under the guise of trying to steal the ring. I know what you're up to, lady. Don't you tell me that grinding against a nekkid Golden Boy is about winning some beans. It's about doing the hibbidy dibbidy is what it is! In the end, nudity is the way to go for our Golden Boy. He should compete naked from here on out. All the time. Not only does he get the point, but he wins the entire match and a bag of beans. FAVORITES WIN REWARD!!! *collapses onto the bed and lights a cigarette*

Over at Goiter, the Fans are getting acquainted with their new home and deciding what to do first. Duck Dynasty (Matt) wants to build a shelter. To him, that's the most important thing right now. And as all bearded fellows with tattoos covering their front and back, Duck is a crackerjack little builder as well as an effective foreman. In a matter of minutes, he has the entire tribe cutting beams, laying brick, installing plumbing and all the rest of it. Well, almost the entire tribe. You see, Shamar wants water and he wants it now. This overgrown Veruca Salt is more of a 12 yr old girl with an attitude problem than he is a former marine. Instead of politely suggesting that a few of them perhaps work on a fire, he lambasts the dumb asses for wasting their time on something the tribe doesn't need. Duck, matter of factly, retorts, "I'm not a fire guy. I'm a shelter guy." No, you're a glorious frog catching specimen who sometimes eats squirrel for breakfast. Please introduce me to your brother Jase when the show is over.

Frustrated and sore from his new boobies coming in, Shamar sits and pouts on the end of the shelter - the SHELTER he'll be happily sleeping in tonight thanks to Duck. The muttering under his breath was bad enough, but then he took to mocking Duck in that way a little kid does when he's trying to make fun of someone, but can't come up with anything more clever than a silly deeper voice. Can I just say that I am SO GLAD that this douche is here on American soil and not fighting for whatever over in the Middle East? I wonder if he was dishonorably discharged for freezing the Captain's bra or putting the Major General's hand in a bowl of warm water as he slept.

Over at Baklava, the scene is very different. These seasoned veterans are already devising strategies and planning alliances. Phillip Sheppard *clicks heels and salutes* has come to the game prepared this time around. Like his father in Iwo Jima in WWII, he has already fashioned a walke talkie out of a banana leaf and some twigs so he can radio both Langley and his spirit animal. In addition, he has dream catchers embedded into the soles of his sneakers. And if you know anything about the great Cherokee Chief, He Who Wears Sagging Panties, then you know that a dreamcatcher can serve as a talisman of strength in addition to a fetching window adornment.

In preparation for one Mr. Phillip Sheppard's return to the game, I've been boning up on my Native American history. In fact, over the break I have acquired my very own Native American name:

Your Native American Name Is: Onawa Tayanita

Your name means: Wide Awake Young Beaver

You can find your very own Native American name HERE. Be sure to share it with us all in the Comments.

So while Phillip Sheppard is hard at work building his Girl Scout Cookie Stand (he's a Girl Scout Senior Ambassador, I'll have you know), Franchipotle is eager to get a group together and ensure her first week's safety. Safely hidden in the trees with Mascaroni and Dawn (and Larry and Lana and Little LouLou - the lemur family), Franchesapeake forms what looks, on the outside, to be an alliance. Only, as quick as it was formed, it gets hijacked by Mascaroni who insists on bringing that bespectacled paradigm of loyalty, Cochran, into the fold. Dawn, too, gets excited by the heat of the moment and suggests Lil Hantz as a fifth. Elbowing Franchiliconcarne to the side, Mascaroni adds Phillip to the shopping list Dawn whipped out of her purse and voila! They have six people now. Francholesterol is in no place to disagree or argue. All homegirl wants is to get through week one. So, for now, she'll happily be in an alliance with Phillip Sheppard - an alliance he is completely unaware of.

And speaking of Phillip Sheppard, Franchucknorris has some fences to mend with the Special Agent. With Phillip busy digging a trench circle around where the shelter will go, Francraigslist gingerly approaches and tries to make nice. It's a disturbing scene of awkward forced giggles and unseemly fidgeting. Phillip Sheppard simply ignores the poor girl while hiding his rock collection into the dirt wall of the trench. He'll camouflage the area with a sign that says "Out Of Order" to keep Nosy Parkers away. But still, the song remains the same. Phillip Sheppard is firm in his stance on Francalifornia - she annoys him. It's as simple as that.

Back at Goiter, the Fans have decided to go ahead and try their hand at making fire, but they're doing it all wrong. Finally! Finally, a chance for Shamar to put away his burn book and step up and be the marine he was meant to be. And wouldn't you know it? When they put their minds to it, the Fans work well together with everyone pitching in. The music swells as they make their fire and even Duck and Shamar manage to hug it out.

Over at Baklava, it is once again The Phillip Sheppard Show (plan on this for as long as he's on the show). Instead of letting us get to see tribe dynamic and what Golden Boy is wearing right this very second, we get Phillip spouting off a list of rules, BR Rules, that he has compiled based on data he received from Boston Rob.

#1 - Get an alliance.

#2 - Get a sub-alliance.

#3 - Get rid of your alliance before they get rid of you.

#4 - Get the cookie money upfront.

#5 - Arm the lemurs with slingshots in case anyone thinks of ignoring "Out Of Order" sign.

I've got to hand it to him. With the lemurs on his side, he can't lose. And with their sophisticated system of clacks and yelps, of which Phillip Sheppard is fluent, they can carry messages from player to player, camp to camp, base camp to the submarine positioned offshore, trench to satellite overhead. The possibilities are limitless.

And so, with swift precision, Phillip puts together an alliance of Corinne (The Dominatrix), Mascaroni (The Eliminator) and Golden Boy (The Fornicator). His plan is to stay in the background and let the others do all the work for him. So naturally, Phillip loafs around camp in his bright pink panties and openly approaches even more people. Dawn, Cochran and that Troll Doll, Erik, are the last 3 to receive their assignments - "Bee in the MeSS HAll at ZeRo DaRK 30. Don't 4Get 2 bRIng yOur COOKie smILES. This messidge wiLL self-DEstruct in 10 secONds." And then 6 lemurs in Girl Scout sashes pooped on the very messages everyone was holding in their hands. Messy, but effective.

Speaking of alliances, the Goiters have an alliance too. They're called the Heathers and it is made up of Eddie, Reynold, Hope and Allie. Reynold thinks it was serendipity that brought them together while Eddie thinks it is just natural for the best looking people to want to hang out with each other. Except for Allie. If you ask Reynold, "She's not the cutest." In fact, "She's not the anything." BUT, she's totally good enough to feel up in the middle of the night and do some booby squishing with. So, with the bamboo floor creaking and the night rats nibbling at their toes, Reynold and Allie rock back and forth in a loving embrace on the first night of Survivor Caramoan. *smacks self in head* Dammit, dammit, dammit. Allie was my early favorite out of the Fans. Look, I'm all for wanton sex on reality shows, but not on Survivor! Not when the castaways smell like the underside of Phillip Sheppard's ball sack.

Back over at Baklava, we finally get to spend some quality time with my favorite ginger from Virginia, Cochran. Bespectacled and spindly, Cochran always brings me great joy. So imagine my delight when my gangly fop now has 2 plump roasted red peppers for tootsies. You see, this sort of thing happens all the time with brainy fellows. They can recite theorems off the top of their heads with ease, but when it comes to knowing that the sun in the sky will scorch fine porcelain skin untouched by the outdoors, they're clueless! But Cochran being Cochran does what he does best, he turn a foible into a strength and delights the ladies with self-deprecating humor.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge you will race out in pairs and climb a 4-story tower. Once inside, you will find and hurl 3 crates filled with sandbags over the side of the structure. Once you've smashed your crates, you will race back down and another pair will continue. Once you've smashed all of your crates from all 4 floors, one person will toss the sandbags and try to land them in their designated spots. Survivors ready, go!

For level one, we have Cochran/Phillip and Freebush/Laura. Both race into the structure, hurl their crates and race back down at roughly the same speed. When Franconcubine/Corinne and Michael/Hope burst into the building, the Fans gain a slight lead over the Favorites only to have it wiped away when that mess of curls Erik flies up the ladders. What Erik started, Lil Hantz finished as he widens the lead over the Fans and passes off to Golden Boy for sandbag duty.

With Golden Boy with one sandbag on the board, Reynold starts to toss for the Fans and, unbeknownst to everyone everywhere, there is such a thing as cornhole champion. Unfortunately for Golden Boy, Reynold is that champion as FANS WIN IMMUNITY!!!

Back at Baklava the mood isn't all that depressing. I get a feeling that they're slightly bummed, but these hardened veterans are used to having disappointment in their blood. They've all had their torches snuffed and experienced the humiliation of having their fellow brethren scribble their name down on a piece of parchment. It's part of the game. It'll probably happen again. No biggie. Unless you're name is Francubagoodingjr. If you're name is Francharlizetheron, you are totally flipping out right now and trying not to be the first one voted out for a SECOND time. The problem with Francupofnoodles is that she's kind of annoying. It's not even something specific that I can put my finger on. She's not crazy like Phillip Sheppard and she seems perfectly nice and with good intentions, but ugh. I just can't stand her on this show! Maybe it's her presumption that she's safe. The fact that she feels comfortable to go to everyone and whisper "Phillip" into their ears is a little pompous, no? No offense, but I'd never let someone who essentially hasn't played the game tell me how to vote.

So there sits Franconquistador in a moderately sizable group of people announcing, "Phillip." The look on Cochran's eyes was a mixture of "Thank god!" and "Man, is she screwing up!" You could tell by the way he shifted side to side in his overly roomy khaki pants that Francoconut was doing a bang up job digging her own grave. While this sort of thing serves Cochran well, the awkward nature of it all makes his allergies (and his feet) flare up.

Unfortunately for Franchickencordonbleu, Mascaroni was in that large group listening to her suggest they get rid of Phillip and the tattletale in her is just itching to run and tell The Specialist. Now, I'm not sure what happened to Mascaroni between her last season and this current season, but she's not who she used to be. On camera and off. If you'll remember, I was a big fan of hers back in the day. Well, things change. Seasons change. People change. Anyhow, like I said, Mascaroni is a tattletale and she runs to Phillip to tell him that Francorrugatedcardboard wants him out. My problem with this maneuver is that Mascaroni was the one who initiated the alliance with Francallmemaybe in the first place! She was one of the original architects. It is all very strange to me. Maybe she's trying to make up for being a doe-eyed boy crazy player last time around. Who knows.

Naturally, this is all music to Phillip's ears. Like Machiavelli who said something about killing children and villages and families, Phillip would like nothing more than to do the same thing to Franchaiselounge. There is one thing standing in the way of Phillip's Machiavellian utopia though and that someone is the human mop, Erik. When Phillip was asking Erik to join his army, Erik stared into Phillip's eyes and heard words come out of his mouth that I'm not sure he even said. Then again, when Phillip speaks my eyes tend to glaze over so who knows if he threatened the kid or not. *shrugs shoulders* Long story short, Erik is all bunged up about it and doesn't take kindly to threats. He tells Lil Hantz that he wants Phillip gone, but he is worried that Phillip has the numbers to stay. Lil Hantz generously passes this news onto Francrispyduck who is simultaneously stunned and skeptical that Phillip could actually have an alliance in place.

And this brings us to Tribal Council. Dimples pops the Tribal cherry by asking Lil Hantz if there is a boss back at camp. Lil Hantz replies that they're all Indians with no Chiefs or Chiefs with no Indians. I can't remember, but I do know that Lil Hantz's Native American name is "Shameless One With Three Fingers". So there.

The topic of discussion then turns to Phillip and Franchoppedliver's rivalry. Instantly, Phillip insists that he has always known how to say Franchesqua's name, but we've seen the footage. We've seen it over and over again. Phillip knew how to say her name as much as he's really radioing Central Command with his coconut Sat Phone back at camp. Phillip could say "Francesca" with as much ease as he could dismantle the clam bomb he made back in the South Pacific. When Langley told him to stand down, he said "Aye aye Schmangley, ready to fire!"

So it is indeed a little strange that Phillip Sheppard, Survivor class clown, is actually one of the people calling the shots. Sprinkle in the fact that he heard his name on the wind and you've got a recipe for loose cannon. Fire! Oops. I forgot that Phillip actually has cannons wired and ready to launch.

Let's not beat around the bush any longer. If you've watched the episode 18 times like I have, then you know that every time there was a mention of the "first person voted out", the editors cut to the same face every single time - I wonder if they moonlight on America's Next Top Model - so this is no great mystery. There is no heart in throat anticipation. It is what was meant to be as Francoffeetable is the first person voted out of Survivor Caramoan. I've heard you're lovely in real life so best of luck to you.

So, that's that. What did you think of the first episode of Survivor Caramoan? Is anyone standing out as a favorite for you? How long can Phillip's alliance remain a united front? Is Lil Hantz officially done with the dreaded "Jesus" word? Does Eddie have any idea he has a lisp? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

Thanks to Rob Beasley and Scott Hudson for my Survivor photos.

Reynold: The Dazzler

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 20:52:00 +0000

Last one! Thank god.

Alright, so this is Reynold Toepfer. Reynold is an extremely charming 30 year old real estate agent from San Francisco. At least that what his online bio says. Charming. He's a charming charmer who charms people into submission. Calm down there, Alyssa Milano. You are but one man. There is no power of three here.

As annoying as Reynold is in his CBS quiestionnaire (Tom Brady is his inspiration in life), I will give him credit for using the word dazzling to describe himself. Not many straight men do that with such ease so kudos to you, sir.

Let's get this over with. Please to enjoy:

*stares into space*

Sorry, I've been dazzled into a comatose state of boredom, charmed into stone. Only when Reynold shook his jazz hands was I released back into my body and able to move my limbs. He may be this season's eye candy, but my adoration is firmly pointed in Golden Boy's direction. He bewitched my loins long before Reynold came skipping along with his baby blues and matching silk blouse.

The ladies at home will love Reynold and I'm sure the gals on the tribe will dig him too. He has a good chance of lasting awhile especially when the only other men on the tribe are Lispy Firecracker, Sy, Snowflake and Sergeant.

And that's that. These newbies suck, don't they? Let's hope they come out of their shells once they're left to fend for themselves amongst the harsh elements of Caramoan.

I will see you all back here on Thursday for my first Bitchy Survivor recap of the season. Friend me, follow me, whatever (links are on the right hand side) for updates when a new blog is posted. Or just sit there and refresh over and over again on Thursday. Either or. Later, bitches!

Shamar: The Rascal

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 20:17:00 +0000

Next up is Shamar Thomas. Shamar is a 27 year old Iraq War Veteran with a tattoo collection to rival one of Mr. Lil Hantz. Let's hope Shamar is a better speller. Many things annoy Shamar including: people who chew with their mouths open, ignorant people, and civilians who aren't passionate about their jobs. Oh, he's going to be a total pain in the ass. Holier than thou. I'm better than you. The whole bit.

If I dive further into his CBS.com bio, I'll discover that Shamar looks up to Rupert because he "played the game with honor." *rolls eyes* If I've said it once, I've said it a million times - honor and integrity have no place on Survivor. Honor and integrity are BORING. Honor and integrity are the perfect recipe for you not getting invited back.

I'll bet he talks nonstop about being in the military and wants to make the world a better place. Please to enjoy:

Well, looky here. Hel-lo Shamar! Welcome. Come to mama, lover. Nestle yourself into my bosom. You've done well and you've shown me that you've come to play a game of hijinks and shenanigans. Bless your humongous arms for wanting everyone to suffer. You had me fooled with all that crap about Rupert in your bio. And the parts about wanting to help your community? You tease!

If Shamar doesn't come across as too bossy and overbearing from the start, he could be an interesting guy to watch. Can you imagine if both Shamar and Phillip make it to the Merge? Phillip will be screaming "Mayday! Mayday! Langley, send reinforcements!" into his twig and shell walkie talkie before you can say "pink panties."

So, what do you think of Shamar? Can he last as a covert villain or will his bunk checks drive his tribe mad?

Michael: The Token

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 19:53:00 +0000

Today we'll be meeting one Mr. Michael Snow. Besides having a fabulous movie star name, Michael Snow (age 44) is an Event Planner Personal. I'm sure he meant to write Personal Event Planner, but Event Planner Personal has a lovely dyslexic ring to it, n'est-ce pas?

Michael's hobbies include running, theatre, knitting and photobombing. Hold up, did he say knitting? And photobombing? I could almost forgive him that tank top for saying something as delectable as knitting and photobombing. In addition to spinning a yarn, yours truly has been known to actually knit a yarn. A whole mess o'yarn (nipple cozies and flask warmers). But enough about me. Let's get back to Michael Snow. If Michael could bring three things with him on the island, he'd bring knitting needles & yarn, cribbage and a journal. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say we've found our token gay.

Let's see if I'm right. Please to enjoy:

A picnic basket in gingham. Fabulous. However, unless he wows with stellar physical prowess, I'm predicting an early exit for Michael Snow. Unfortunately, he has the unpleasant nightmare of being placed on a tribe with a bunch of threadbare doormats. Cuckoo clocks with missing parts. Wind-up dolls wandering hypnotically out to sea. Age could work against him and do we really care? For the love of all that is holy, do we even care anymore? These newbies are about as exciting as an Ambien slushie.

So, what do you think of Michael Snow? Since he's not a ripped and chiseled action star, will he be a Survivor whose name we never forget?

Allie: The Villainess

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 17:19:00 +0000

Let's try to cruise through these final four as quickly as possible. Next up is 25 year old bartender Allie Pohevitz from Oceanside, N.Y.. Glancing over her CBS.com bio, Allie strikes me as one of the most relatable of the bunch. Anyone who lists "drinking at work" as one of her hobbies is not only someone I respect, but someone I admire.

When asked what she'd take to the island, Allie replied, "Eyeliner - so I could be prettier than I already am." Not only is that the best answer I've heard yet to this question, but those 10 words tell us everything we need to know about Allie. She's confident, matter of fact, fearless, probably slightly insecure and, if it was meant to be funny, a budding comedienne with a dry sense of humor. Or it could mean that she's a superficial cow who shouldn't be marooned on a deserted island because she could mess up her hair. *shrugs shoulders* Who knows.

To the video! Please to enjoy:

You know what? I think I like her. She's tough and she doesn't give rehearsed stock answers that make my ears bleed. I appreciate her money hungry bloodlust and she could probably handle herself in a bar fight with a pageant princess. Don't get me wrong, she's no Abi-Maria. No one will ever be as great as my precious Abi-Maria, but Allie has some promise. Let's keep an eye on this one.

So, what do you think of Allie? Can she be our new Survivor villainess?

Julia: The Pudding Pop

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 19:59:00 +0000

Next up is 21 year old Julia Landauer. 21? Why is this cast so young? I'm not one of those people who needs 60 year olds traipsing about around camp, but enough with the under 25 crowd! 30 somethings are naturally more interesting. They've accomplished more, they're a little wiser, they're still sexy... The last thing I want to see is a bunch of Angie's wandering around bumping into trees and daydreaming about sweets. My apologies to Julia for hijacking her write-up with a rant as I haven't even seen her bio or video yet. Perhaps she is a wise and mature 21 year old. Let's find out.

Ok so Julia is a race car driver from Stanford, CA. Her inspiration in life is Paul Newman because he lived his life passionately and was a true gentleman. Hmm. Maybe she is a mature 21 year old. Maybe Julia will prove my ageist rant as unfounded and unfairly judgmental.

Julia's pet peeve is slow drivers in the left lane which, if you think about it, totally makes sense. Not because she's a race car driver, but because slow drivers in the left lane deserve their own ring of hell where they are forced to drive behind an old lady in a Rascal for all of eternity.

Alright, let's get to the video. I hope to God you're interesting, Julia. I'm desperate for someone exciting. Please to enjoy:

While she's not an immature fop, she's a thumping bore. I'm predicting this one gets the Jell-O Pop (Carter) edit. She'll flit by here and there, but we'll never get to know her. We'll confuse her with other brunettes and when her elimination episode airs where she finally gets some airtime, we'll wonder where the hell she came from. Being overly cautious may serve her well as far as lasting to the Merge, but it won't serve her well as far as entertaining me and giving me some material to work with.

Look, I hope I'm wrong. I hope I'm wrong about each and every one of these people. I hope they trot out and knock me over with their resounding wit and duplicitous gameplay. I hope I'm eating my words at the end of episode 3 as I sit here awestruck by the awesomeness of all of these super young newbies. But, let's face it, I think we've got a genuine All Stars season to look forward to. With Phillip Sheppard and Cochran milling about, we'll never get to know any of these newbies. Too bad, so sad.

So, what do we think of Julia? Is she too serious and level-headed? Can she possibly form alliances with the other vapid windbags on her tribe? Comment it out.

Eddie: The Little Boy

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 19:19:00 +0000

Let us now meet 23 year old Eddie Fox. Eddie is a fireman from East Brunswick, New Jersey and says his claim to fame is "helping others." My claim to fame is drinking topless and flicking light switches on and off with my nipples. I don't know about you, but that is so much more handy than helping people.

Why Eddie looks like he's taking a dump in his cast photo is anyone's guess. The better question would be why Eddie wants sneakers and a cutting tool on the island when he will already have sneakers and a cutting tool on the island. Eddie, my love, you can bring whatever shoes you want and I don't know if you've seen an episode of this little show you're on called Survivor, but they GIVE YOU A MACHETE.

Let's see what this brain trust has to say for himself. Please to enjoy:

A vision in periwinkle. A freshly scrubbed bright-eyed lad ready to take on the world. Full of plans, ripe with ideas. A real go-getter. The little boy optimism has some charm to it, but it is the lisp that has stolen my heart. That lisp! It's a crumpled-hair-roll-out-of-bed-in-your-Batman-PJ's-kick-the-air-trip-over-a-Tonka-truck-and-take-the-ritalin-your-mama-set-out-for-you ball of innocence. A lip furling 10 year old in a 23 year old man's body. He's the movie Big in real life.

Socially, he could win people over. Strategically, he'll play too hard, too fast. I don't expect much from Eddie in the way of cutthroat backstabbing game play. But I do expect him to say Sthurvivor a lot. And isn't that just as satisfying? I mean, sthatisfying.

So, what do you think of Eddie? Does he have sthaying power? Can he lasth in the game? Comment it out.

Hope: The Question Mark

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 17:57:00 +0000

This is Hope Driskill. She is a 23 year old law student from Missouri who hates complainers. She describes herself as tenacious, intelligent and personable. Meanwhile, I describe her as a really boring questionnaire filler outer. She loves her dad, she wants to win the money to pay for college, she's strong inside and out... *cocks rifle and shoots my face off*

These stock answers are making me insane, you guys. Let's just skip to the video. Please to enjoy:

I don't know. What is there to say? She's pretty. But, what else? What else, what else, what else. There's nothing to be mean about, there's nothing to be nice about. Are these people really boring or is it just me? I don't think I've ever been this much at a loss for words before. If you give me nothing, Survivors, you get nothing in return.

So, whatever. Comment. What do I care?

Matt: The Angel

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 17:26:00 +0000

This is a delicious morsel called Matt Bischoff. Matt is 38 years old and hails from the great state of Ohio. In addition to whittling wood, attending Skynyrd concerts and protecting the town of Charming, Matt dabbles in BMX bike sales. His inspiration in life is a hirsute fellow by the name of Hans Langseth. You might be asking yourselves, "Who is this Hans? And why does Matt worship him so?"

Voila! Hans holds the record for the longest beard ever. 17.5 feet long, I'll have you know. I don't know about all of you, but Hans is now my inspiration in life as well. Not for his beard, no. But for the wave like crest his hair makes, the soul piercing glare of his eyes and for the grand throne he sits upon. I feel you, Matt. I do. All hail Hans!

There are two other things that Matt loves almost as much as facial hair - his sons. Matt is a proud daddy and even though he has a mane that would make a chestnut thoroughbred jealous, his sons are his greatest achievement so far.

Oh god, I hope he talks with an accent. Please to enjoy:

I have no idea what he just said. I was too distracted by how his dreadlock titter tattered back and forth in the breeze. Glorious! At one point it was a little like a metronome - tick, tock, tick, tock - hypnotizing me with images of sticky floored biker bars and big bosomed feathered gals riding bitch on the back of Harleys.

I'm not so disillusioned to think this beautiful specimen will actually win, but I do hope he is around long enough to entertain us with tales of Sturgis, Altamont and how he makes those duck calls sound so melodious.

So, what do we think of Matt? Does he make your nipples hard like he does mine?

Sherri: The Stepford Survivor

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 16:57:00 +0000

Next up is 41 year old Sherri Biethman from Boise, Idaho. Sherri is a fast food franchisee and says her personal claim to fame is finding the right diagnosis for her autistic son. Her inspiration in life are her parents and clutter/dirt drives her mad.

*sigh*

Allow me to make a side note here - a side note and a plea to future reality contestants - THIS is how you fill out a questionnaire. Come on, people. Entertain me! Everyone loves their stupid parents and hates dirty things. Be creative! Get my juices flowing. En-ter-tain me.

If Sherri could have three things on the island they would be: a toothbrush, coffee and a computer with wifi. If I could have three things on the island they would be: a sack of glitter, a barrel of gin and a greased up Extra from Spartacus with a vasectomy.

Maybe Sherri is just bad on paper. Let's find out for ourselves. Please to enjoy:

*yawn*

"I'm here to win. I'm here to prove you can do it. I didn't leave my family not to win. You can do it. I'm 40. I want to win. Oh yeah, I have a husband. You can do it. I have kids. 1, 2 kids. No, wait, there's a third one I think. Yeah, 3 kids. You can have 3 kids too if you want. You can do it if you want it and I want it so I'm doing it. I'm here to win."

And then her battery ran out and wires spewed out of her chest. When the smoke started eeking out of her nose, Dimples ran in with a fire extinguisher and covered her with foam. Hot.

So, what do we think of Sherri? Is she related in any way to Jell-O Pop (Carter)?

Laura: The Reaper

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 16:27:00 +0000

Pas de bourrée, jeté, jeté, curtsy. Tada! I'm back. You're back. It's back. We're all back and we're gooey with promise and nipples. Uncrackling the cracks, unwrinkling the wrinkles, with a squee and a burble, I begin...

First up is Laura Alexander. A 23 year old from Washington D.C., Laura slaves away as an administrative officer. With hair like wheat and features placed just so, Laura reminds me of a farmer's daughter. Devout in the daylight amongst the moos and cocks, but wanton and carefree when the sun sets and the crickets chirp. She's Ariel dancing when there is no dancing in Bomont. Or maybe not. After all, she does have Froot Loops on her bathing suit.

Diving further into Laura's biography, we discover that she has climbed a mountain. A very high mountain in Northern Africa. As mountain climbers tend to be competitive and always at war with themselves, Laura might not be as innocent as we once thought her to be back on the farm. Then again, she loves her mother and jigsaw puzzles. Laura, you bewildering cheddar chintz!

Let us turn to the video and see if we can get a better read on our fair Laura. Please to enjoy:

She talks a good game and she says the right things, but she's got a tell. That lower lip of hers is a neon William Tell and it betrays everything her stern forehead punctuates with conviction. It trembles like an epileptic and twitches like Michael J. Fox. To watch on mute, you want to hand the poor girl a tissue and tell her everything will be alright. To watch with a blindfold, she's just like all the other gals who say, "I think everyone will underestimate me." If she can keep that impudent lip under control, she may not crumble like the Cookie (Angie). She may impress us with her cutthroat-y wheat sickle tongue. Then again, she has Froot Loops on her bathing suit.

So, what do you guys think of Laura? Is she all talk? Will she crumble and go soggy the first night it rains? Comment it out, bitches.

Karma Is A Bitch

noreply@blogger.com (Colette Lala) — Tue, 18 Dec 2012 04:57:00 +0000

This fete galante has come to a close. After 39 days, The Philippines has kindly asked us to take our leave and pack up our wares. Gingerly, we tuck our tissue wrapped porcelain into our picnic baskets and prepare to skip into the yon. Over our shoulders, gentle yet insistent waves purr, "get out, get out, get out." Bundle up those notions and trimmings, those cares and dreams. Nestle burrito rolls of sandy panties between the crinoline and farthingale. And when the covered wagons groan weak with the weight of our past, we can look once more at what was, what never will be again. Blow your kisses to the creepy crawlies. Wave goodbye to the frivolity of yesteryear. Exhale one last hot breath over the sweat in the sand. Salt on salt. Life sucked dry. And when you've said your final farewells, trundle onward, gentle readers. Trundle into your futures until you hear the camera's final whir. That last clickety clack of an empty magazine. The flicka flicka flicka of one lonely frame of film ticking down to silence. Fin. Let's recap, shall we?

We begin our final chapter of our torrid Filipino tale with the night chirping all around us. The crickets sing a mournful tune for our lost hot tamale. Looking around, the camp is a little blander, a little *yawn*. Fetid clothes hang limply. An empty pot where abuela's rice and beans once sat proudly now sits empty and alone. Little footprints marking out the Merengue encircle the dying campfire. Yet our four remaining Survivors, giggle and guffaw. Yo, Melty (Michael) and Blair (Lisa), are you still giggling and guffawing this morning? Has the joy of kicking out your one and only chance of winning lingered? I wonder...

Golden Boy (Malcolm) is the only one whose giggles are tinged with worry. That feisty Shakira (Abi-Maria) dropped a compliment bomb and now he's left to sweep up the pink mist and body parts. Not only did she not go gentle into that good night, but she laid a wreath of laurel atop Golden Boy's head. With anger and resentment, Golden Boy rips the wreath off his head and tangles with the leaves caught in his tendrils. Furiously he tries to bury the crown deep in the sand hoping no one remembers ever seeing it. Maybe no one noticed. Maybe they were too busy giggling...

And this brings us to the big Reward Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, you will race through a series of obstacles collecting bags of puzzle pieces along the way. Once you have all three bags of puzzle pieces, you will then use the pieces to solve a puzzle. But hold onto your nipples, bitches. This isn't just a regular ole Reward Challenge. This is a Reward Challenge that will inexplicably give the winner a huge advantage in the final Immunity Challenge. Como what? Why? Have we ever seen this before? Can't you just toss another enormous meal their way - I think it's been 8 hours since they've last gorged themselves on a buffet - and be done with it? What is this cockamamie advantage you speak of? Come back from Clever Clever Land, producers. Different doesn't always mean "better". Oh well. Survivors ready, go!

The players burst forth and as has been the norm lately, Melty and Golden Boy take an early lead with Dr. Denise somewhere in the middle and Blair way far behind wrestling with the skirts of her burka. If we fast forward to the puzzle portion, we'll find Denise furiously sliding pieces in and out - kind of like she does daily with her penis and vagina displays back in her sex office. "This one goes here and that one goes there." Melty, however, doesn't play with penis parts on a daily basis so he sits in a confused jumble while the puzzle pieces leap out of the puzzle frame - on their own accord - and into this lap.

Without a prayer and a clue, we can count Melty out and focus our attention on the good doctor and the young stud. Sliding a crucial piece into place, Golden Boy makes it over the hump and is able to slide the remaining pieces back into their rightful homes. There is no stopping him now as GOLDEN BOY WINS REWARD!!!

Back at Migrayne (Dangrayne), a woefully exhausted stench lingers in the air. Not only is everyone plum tuckered out, but that pesky Golden Boy has won an advantage in the next Immunity Challenge. Blair, in particular, is miffed and ticked and kerflipped. Ever since her brother Injustice visited the camp and gave her an injection of the naughty stuff, Blair's bloodlust for Golden Boy has been insatiable. At night she howls and claws at the earth while snarling and drooling over his sleeping form fighting the urge to sink her fangs into his tan and inviting throat. The longer he stays in this camp breathing and moving and adjusting his swim trunks just so, the more she craves his scarlet life force dripping down her chin. Plus, he's just so freaking good at everything! This Elizabeth Bathory of the Survivor world can only lay dormant for so long. It was the "Sister! Sister!" that set her off. We all have a trigger word that gets our juices flowing and makes our primal instincts bubble to the surface. "Sister" is Blair's ("Nipple" is mine).

Speaking of Golden Boy, he has long had a final three deal with Melty and Blair - only, I don't think they really know about it. Injustice left 7 weeks ago and Blair has been licking Melty's many bloody wounds to quench her thirst for strapping young buck blood. Ever since the Jeff Kent days, where a rotted parsnip and a carpet fiber equaled a million dollars, Blair has pined for Golden Boy's demise. And even though she turned on him in the past - lied to his front, pinched him in his back - Golden Boy still trusts her. In fact, he trusts her so much that he has now completely turned on his best good friend, Dr. Denise, Medicine Woman.

Dr. Denise and Malcolm have a lengthy history together. They survived the tyranny of Dreads (Russell) , were cruelly ripped apart midseason, and then happily reunited like a Parent Trap movie. This unlikely couple warmed our cockles. Their little hand dances and high fives made us want a wiggedy whack friendship just like theirs. Unfortunately, wiggedy whack has a short shelf life especially with that creepy Blair and Melty buzzing about camp murmuring about apostles and angels and vanilla wafers (surely Jesus tastes like vanilla, right?). With platitudes and beatitudes hanging everywhere you turn, you can't help but doubt your inner goodness. Or the goodness of your best good friend.

So, with Golden Boy and Dr. Denise eying each other up and down suspiciously, all Melty and Blair had to do was kick back, puff on a couple of smokes and wait for the two players who actually deserve to win this game to come a'running begging for safety. And that's exactly what happened. Golden Boy heard the rumors in the wind that Dr. Denise would be hard to beat so he dropped that prune like a hot potato and pledged his allegiance to the Christian Right. Similarly, Denise has been hearing some awfully good things about this Golden Boy lately. A) He's golden and gold is always good, never bad. Charcoal would be bad. Festering pus sores would be bad. But Golden Boy is neither. He's shiny, hard and looks fabulous with a tan. B) People like a Golden Boy. He's good for all occasions. He's fun at holiday parties, devilishly handsome in a lederhosen while scrubbing your kitchen floor, and knows his way around the back of a bar. Clearly, he must be destroyed.

From the looks of things, Blair and Melty are sitting pretty high atop their perch of judgment. No matter how many times I go over the calculations in my head, these two chuckleheads have a majority and will most certainly be going to the final three together. It doesn't even matter who wins Immunity. They'll both go in every scenario. The problem is that they don't very often agree on much. Blair wants to cut her threats loose as soon as possible while Melty wants to suckle them and take them to the end. You see, Melty has heard these rumors about Golden Boy, but he doesn't believe them at all. Somewhere in the fleecy cotton woolly section of his brain is a part that tells him he is the Sole Survivor. When Shakira hit him in the head with that coconut way back when, she must have broken the pulley that carries oxygen to Melty's noggin. You need to understand that Melty's brain doesn't look like yours or mine. His is made of legos and string and looks a lot like a dumb waiter. Only one thing can be delivered at a time - whether it be oxygen, pain, sight, recognition, memory. So when one of those strings breaks, we get a broken record of whatever it is he last heard. Today the record scratches... s-s-s-s-sole survivor, s-s-s-s-sole survivor.

And then everyone died.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge you will stand in the scorching sun and balance a ball on some sticks. Every 5 minutes your sticks will get longer while the softcore porn ab-cam zooms in on your tummies (except burka Blair's) and tries to look down your shorts. While your ripply taut muscles glisten in the sun you'll need to keep your balls from dropping. Except for you Golden Boy. If you drop your ball, you get another chance. Survivors ready, go!

The challenge begins and while the first round was simple enough with tiny little pixie sticks, we can see that Golden Boy is going to have a problem. All those bitches telling him he'd win everything has seeped into his brain and now his hands have a touch of the Parkinson's. Hey, I get it. I'm the exact same way. It drives me crazy when people say, "I can't wait for your next blog!" I don't know why, but it's like a festering fart in my face as I try to write. That one tiny comment can wreak havoc on my entire existence. And apparently Golden Boy is the same way. Which is why we should probably get married and have a lot of sex. What do you say Golden Boy? I've got the lederhosen right here.

But I digress! Look, you would too if you had to shuffle through photos like this one. I mean, come on! One inhale and you know what's going to happen. I'm not going to say it. I'm a dignified writer who references Disney movies and obscure historical serial killers. Again, tangent. (My god, this blog sucks today.)

So, Michael J. Golden Boy has a spasm in like round 2 and this happened. Naturally, his "touch" of Parkinson's is now full blown and attacking his entire central nervous system. We all know what's going to happen now. It is written all over Golden Boy's face. While he is a determined young buck, he has a teeny tiny problem of whisking away the bad thoughts and replacing them with happy ones in times of stress. And so, without a breeze, without a jostle, only with the camera strangely caressing his torso, Golden Boy flubs again and is out of the challenge. In anger he chucks his sticks at Dimples' head while fighting back tears of frustration. Come, come, Golden Boy. Rest your head on my bosoms. Shhh, there, there. *handcuffs Golden Boy to nightstand*

Back at the challenge, we are left with who we are left with. It is an unremarkable threesome, really. Whoever wins, it doesn't matter. We know who they'll pick. We know how this will play out. To their credit, they duke it out a little longer with Denise dropping next followed by Blair. So, ugh, MELTY WINS IMMUNITY!!!

Back at camp everyone congratulates Melty. Thin, sheer congratulations. Flimsy, meaningless congratulations. Congratulations' that don't mean anything. Congratulations' that you can easily poke your finger through. So while the monkey cymbals in Melty's brain were clapping with joy, Golden Boy confesses that everyone telling him he'd win really threw him off his game. In fact, it was Dr. Denise who laid it on pretty thick beforehand. Was it a reverse psychology thing? Did she know showering Golden Boy with compliments would completely freak him the fuck out? I wonder... tricky tricky Medicine Woman. It's tricky to rock a rhyme, to rock a rhyme that's right on time. It's tricky.

So with the clang clang clanging in his noodle, Melty is very proud of himself. He hasn't tripped over anything or rammed a crustacean into his cornea yet today. And he has won Immunity. It's a banner day that calls for a smug face and an "I told you Golden Boy wasn't unbeatable." Dude, you held some sticks together. When you have Cocoa Puffs and cotton balls for a brain, it's easy not to let outside thoughts invade your mental clarity. Your thoughts get stuck in your creaky pulleys and just kind of hang out there until someone accidentally bumps into you and sends them to the proper nerve center.

All anyone can do now is make their case to the duo in charge. Again, how the hell did this happen? But, here we are with both Denise and Golden Boy pleading their cases to Melty and Blair. Denise says what Shakira and others have been saying at every Tribal Council - "No one can beat Golden Boy." Blair licks it up and loves it while Melty is offended that no one talks about him that way. He lost an eyeball, a tooth, scraped his knee, jostled his pulleys, broke a toe, survived an ember attack yet no one is singing his praises like they do the Golden Boy. Plus, if everyone thinks Golden Boy is so great then wouldn't it be better to win Survivor going up against the fiercest competition? There's that annoying morality crap turns people into dummies and ends up costing them a million dollars. It's always rearing its ugly head and waving pudding fingers in your face trying to lull you into a sense of uselessness.

And here we are at our first Tribal Council of the night. I'm going to kind of cruise through this because, let's face it, the only semi-interesting part of this finale episode was the jury. I hate to say I told you so (no I don't), but that is what happens when you lose the only player serving up any drama. The last thing I want to see is a bunch of people getting along. No one wants to see that! I want 13 episodes of Shakira spitting Brazil nuts in everyone's eyes and sprinkling the air with putas. Come back Shakira... come baaaack.

So, blah blah blah. In the end, Melty pussies out and we are forced to say goodbye to our man candy as Golden Boy is the 15th person voted out of Survivor Philippines. Golden Boy had a lot of promise for villain status early on, but it never really panned out. He went the way of the nice guy and I think it clouded his judgment a little bit. Had he stayed loyal to Denise, brought Shakira into the fold and just got his ass into that final three, he would be a millionaire today (or standing on the corner of the freeway selling fruit if you're Jeff Kent). Golden Boy played an excellent game up until those last few weeks where he somehow let the power fall into the hands of an indecisive Christian and the camp jester. However! The good news is he'll be getting another chance to redeem himself. That's right, ladies. Golden Boy will be back for Survivor Caramoan. And he goes into it with the biggest advantage you can ever have in Fans v. Favorites - at the time of filming, no one (fan or fave) had any idea who he was. So, good luck Golden Boy. It's been a pleasure embarrassing you these past few months. I look forward to doing it again in February. And, call me! I've got those lederhosen all ready for you.

Back at camp, the final three bemoan how brutal that Tribal Council was. Well, in front of each other they do, but once you get those scamps alone, their real feelings come tumbling out and they're very different from feeling sorry for poor sad sack Golden Boy. Denise, the queen of matter of fact, tells it like it is. She outwitted Golden Boy, plain and simple. Which, if we're being really real, isn't exactly true. The truth is that Blair and Melty were less scared of her than they were of Golden Boy. Speaking of Blair, is that her burka I see strewn on the shore? Yup. Blair is having celebratory naked time in the water while Melty is off pouting because Golden Boy congratulated Denise at Tribal Council for winning a million dollars. That last little remark by our resident stud really chapped Melty's ass which, naturally, makes me giggle. It's always funny to see a grown man act like a 13 year old girl who just got passed over for the winter formal. Maybe he'll ask you out next year Melty. Fingers crossed!

Let's skip forward to the good stuff. And by "good stuff", I mean "mediocre crapola." I don't know. Correct me if you think I'm wrong, but I really hated this finale. There were a few classic Jury moments but nothing like Juries of yesteryear. This Jury was more into hearing themselves speak than they were into hearing answers to questions. And since I was so dissatisfied with the performance of these stoned miscreants, I've heavily edited the nothing material they thrust upon me. Let us begin.

First up is Dr. Denise. With a laser pointer to the Survivor logo, she begins her speech,
"I beat all of you bitches. Wut wut! Here I am and there you are. Peace out."

Blair is up next and unfortunately for us all, she is not quite as succinct as Denise is.
"My strategy wasn't pretty. I fell down, I dusted myself off, and I learned. It took me 86 weeks to figure out that Survivor was a game and had Injustice never told me that teeny tiny fact, I might not even be here today. But thanks to him *swoon* and the deep thrust of ideas he squirted deep inside me, I survived to play my ugly game. It wasn't pretty. But I threw a punch and knocked out the heavyweight Golden Boy. God be with you."

Lastly we have Melty.
"Returning player. Returning. Player. I did things with such FIRE this time. And I didn't even fall in! I love Survivor. I melt it from my innards. Partly, because the pus has to leak out once in a while or I get infected, but partly because I just LOVE this game so much!"

Blackbeard, please ask the finalists any questions you may have.
"Avast! Normally I'd congratulate all you scallywags, but not today. Shiver me timbers, I cannot do that. If you started this game with a holier than thou attitude - *cough Blair cough Melty* - and then played contradictory to that, you reap what you sow. Karma is a bitch! Arrr!"

And here comes Jello-Pop. With a slow long drag on his cigarette and a languid sip of what I can only assume is a Xanax/THC slushee, he begins...
"Hey, 'sup. Good game."
*collapses into a heap of tweed and suede as a lone Sobranie burns a hole through his Saville Row trousers*

Prickly Pete approaches next. With the toe of his shoe, he rolls Jell-O Pop over for a flat surface to stand on.
"Blair, they should call you Judas."
"Wha-wha-why?!?"
"You hide behind everyone you didn't vote for."
"But I, I, I didn't know Blackbeard was going home!"
"Shut up bitch and go make me a turkey pot pie."
*Blair wonders to herself where production keeps the pie crust*
"Denise, why did you play this game better than everyone else?"
"I looked for the cracks and I penetrated them. I'm a sex therapist you know."
"Hot."

Squirming and giggling her way over to her assigned mark on the floor, RC smooths down the front of her crimson dress before tangling her jittery fingers together into a nervous jumble of skin and bones.
"A huh huh, a huh huh, a huh huh."
*Denise, Blair and Melty quizically look at one another*
"A huh huh, a huh huh..."
*The Jury shifts uncomfortably while Shakira sneaks a hand into her own bra*
"A huh huh, a huh huh, a huh huh..."
*Blair looks at her watch wondering when RC's time is up*
"A huh huh. Blair, you're sneaky and sweet. A huh huh."
"Thank you RC."
"Melty, a huh huh, tell me about day 19."
"I thought Scurvy was going home! I never wanted to get rid of you."
"A huh huh, a huh huh, a huh huh... a huh huh, a huh huh, a huh huh."
All of a sudden, the laughter stops as RC inhales sharply and her body begins to teeter forward. Cupping one hand over the side of his mouth, Prickly Pete leans forward and whispers to no one in particular, "Tim-ber!" When RC's body hits the floor, we see one shiny ninja star plunged into the back of her skull. With a slow smirk creeping up the corner of her mouth, Shakira stares straight ahead and beams.

Clean shaven and, for some reason, wearing another infernal ponytail (Stop it! I'm giving you advice here, girl advice, NO MORE PONYTAILS!!), Golden Boy is up next.
"I didn't have questions until now. Denise, stop appeasing everybody."
*Denise nods*
"Don't nod, don't nod! Cut it out! You're doing it again, making everyone happy."
*Denise stares with wide eyes*
"I want to know why you played better than everyone else."
*Denise begins to nod causing Golden Boy to make a slicing motion across his neck.*
"Don't lie. Don't appease. Don't be everyone's friend."
"Appeasing is who I am and keeping the peace is part of the game. I'm standing here and you're standing over there. Wut wut!"
"You didn't answer my question."
"It was a dumb ass question. I'm better than you. End of story."

A smiling Jeff Kent steps up to the plate and he seems different, almost jovial.
"Melty, there are three types of people in the world. People who make things happen, people who watch things happen and people who wonder what the hell just happened."
*Melty's smile contorts into a hard thin line as the Jury bursts into laughter.*
"Which one are you?"
"I definitely make things happen. When my name was said that one time at camp. That time when someone said, 'Where did Melty put the machete?' I went and i found it. Sure, I sliced off the end of my nose, but I found the machete when people wanted it."
"Blair, tell me how you didn't play the middle."
"I wasn't on The Middle. I was on The Facts... whoopsie. Never mind."
*Jeff Kent scratches his head*
"I can't recall ever playing the middle. I was the first one to make a major move. I knew Golden Boy had an Idol so I tattled to Prickly Pete and then he twisted my plan and turned it into his own so... what was the question again?"
"Nevermi..."
"Plan B! Plan B! I did that. Morning After Pill. That was all me."

And here comes the one and only Shakira. Looking lovely in a cha cha dress.
"Putas"
"Ooh, I miss your Puta Rice & Beans, Shakira!"
"Shut up Melty. My heart is broken. Do you even care if I vote for you?"
"I deserve your vote."
"You deserve my foot in your cabeza, puta."
"Outwit, outplay, outlast."
"Shut up moron. You're such an idiot."

Last but not least we have Scurvy. I'm going to skip the first 20 minutes of his speech because it was basically him talking about heart and soul and congratulations and oh shut up, I don't care.
"Denise, I'm confused by things you've said tonight. No biggie, you've shown the world you're an enormous bitch."
*Denise looks back stunned*
"Melty, you were so worried about your name coming up, but your name was never written down! Mine was written down fifteen times. Fif-teen. You were never the target I was. Never!"
*Melty begins to eat his face*
"Blair, would you like to share your secret or shall I?"
"Umm..."
*points to Blair with force* "YOU, madam, were on a television show! From 1833 until 1996 you were on The Facts Of Life."
*turns to the Jury* "She was a TV star! American's Sweetheart! Guilty!!!"
Then, an interesting thing happened. All the God that Blair has ever known left her body, her soul, and her belief system in that moment. Poof! Just like that it was gone. Her eyes grew beady and black and she looked at Scurvy with an evil so pure that even I was impressed. Having said that, it was a great reveal by Scurvy and as much as I dislike him, I'll give him credit for that moment. He held onto that secret even while at Ponderosa waiting, planning, and plotting for this one moment. The pay off was worth it so good on you Scurvy. Now, go away. We're done here. Buh bye.

Bitch or not, the votes went the exact way they should have gone... CONGRATULATIONS DENISE!!! You have just won one million dollars (or a baggie of cigarette ashes if you're Jeff Kent).

Out of the choices we had left, I'm glad Denise won. I feel like she was the most deserving of the three, and hey, she reads this here little bloggy blog! Plus, it is incredibly comforting to know that her winnings will go towards vibrators and cock rings. I absolutely can't hate on that.

Overall, I enjoyed Survivor Philippines. There were a handful of casting missteps and some whackadoo production decisions (remember the ball in the mud forfeit???), but we had some interesting characters and hopefully I managed to entertain you all just a smidge. Super bitchy thanks to Shakira, Golden Boy, Jell-O Pop, Denise, Blair and Pixie for reading my silly drivel and taking the time to comment and/or send me love notes. More importantly, thanks to each and every one of you who come back week after week. Thank you for taking the time to comment whether it is to create insane stories of your own or just to yell at me. You guys rock. *dunk dunk*

So, what did you guys think of this season? Did the right person win? Was that finale as excruciating for you as it was for me? Did the Jury phone it in or were they all wasted? Comment it out bitches and have a great day! I'll see you back here Thursday, February 14th, 2013 for Survivor Caramoan!

And if you've enjoyed what I've done this season, please click on my PayPal Button and show a bitch some love.

Thanks to Rob Beasley for all of my Survivor photos!