After the Rice Wars last week, and Phillip’s, aka Big Chief Ricethief’s, unfounded and racist accusations of racism leveled against Steve, Steve held out an olive branch, forgave Ricethief, and said: “There’s no apologies needed from either one of us.” Well he’s a lot more forgiving than I’d ever be. But then, Steve is desperate not to get voted out. Ricethief pretended to make up with him, while telling us Steve would probably go next, because: “He mocked me a number of times.” Hey Chief Ricethief, I’ve been mocking you relentlessly for 11 weeks now. Your sole function on earth is to be an object of mockery. If every one who mocks you was eliminated, you’d be alone out there, without even a camera crew. You’d be like lovely Earl Holliman in the pilot episode of The Twilight Zone, wandering around an empty world, calling out: “Where is everybody?”
Steve, about Ricethief: “I would really think that a mature guy...” A mature guy? Chief Ricethief? Mature? Take a look at him: a 52 year old man, in public, wearing a kid’s two-feather Indian Headdress, too-loose fuchsia panties, kind of a loincloth, and that’s it. He looks like Sal Mineo in Tonka as an old man. What about him says “Mature,” besides his being bald?
Steve, still about Chief Ricethief: “He had to have known, you know, what an ass he made of himself.” Have you met Chief Ricethief? Rob once accurately described him as “probably the most unaware person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” He’s been making an ass of himself every single day for 27 days now, and probably for years before that.
But Steve hopes that Rob will see what a fool Chief Ricethief is, and vote the Cherokee out instead of him. Fat chance, Steve. Rob stated what should be obvious: “Phillip’s under my protection. As long as he keeps up his stupid antics, he’ll be coming with me all the way to the finals.”
Chief Ricethief, or as Steve quite sensibly called him, Numbnuts, had another vision-visit from his “great-great grandfather,” Chief Red Herring (his two missing generations from last week have, apparently been restored, or maybe Herring is just putting distance between himself and his insane descendant), and Loose Lips the Cherokee told him where to look for his stolen pants.
“Am I good or what?” he asked as he dug up his pants. I’m going with “What”. Frankly, I think it had more to do with Big Mouth Julie describing how she’d hidden them in such detail, that she only just stopped short of putting a neon sign above them, saying “Stolen Pants Buried Here.” What a true lame-o Julie is. She can’t even pull a Russell successfully. If you steal a man’s pants, burn them. And if you must bury them, don’t tell him exactly how to find them again, you stupid putz! You know, if the Hidden Immunity Idol clues were this obvious, everyone would have an idol.
Please someone, steal his pants again, and burn them this time, preferably, while he’s wearing them.
So now he’s all excited about going to the Tri-Doofus Tournament today, and rubbing his shorts in Julie’s face, I hope metaphorically. He repeatedly crowed about how he found them “without a clue.” While I will concede that Chief Numbnuts is indeed clueless, the fact is, Julie described how she’d buried them in way too much detail, too busy bragging to realize she was telling him how to find them. So now we have a smug Chief Numbnuts, and smug is his most-irritating state.
Out on Zombie Island, which isn’t an island, Mike was feeling pity for Matt, aka Dr. Jesus, who has “kinda been on a little bit of a downward spiral.” Mike, you can’t both rejoin the game, so he’s not your friend nor your ally. He’s your competition. Revel in his downward spiral (It’s cheering me up), and use it to defeat him. Send him to the jury, and bring your beauty back to the tribe.
But Zombie Island does seem to be turning Dr. Jesus into a real zombie. He’s barely got the energy to pray incessantly. We’re ten minutes into the episode, and he hasn’t even spewed any stupid horseshit yet, which is a record for this season.
But, at 11 minutes in, he couldn’t hold back the garbage any longer: “God has me here for a reason.” Why do you keep saying that? It’s so egotistical and stupid, even to those who are deluded enough to believe in a god, to think that something that has an entire universe to run, gives a rat’s ass whether you’re on Survivor or not. But let’s say your imaginary God did keep putting you on Zombie Island. Here’s a theory: She did it to spare the other players from having to be around you.
Dr. Jesus (after weeping like a little girl): “God has literally been carrying me for the past four days.” Doc, look up the meaning of the word “Literally”. Unless an enormous old man with a beard, or a burning bush, or a giant cartoon hand reaching down from the clouds, has physically picked you up and actually toted you around for four days, your god has not “literally” done anything at all! You are literally dumber than a dead dog.
Zombie Island Tri-Doofus Tournament for Resurrection: We saw what looked like three coffins set out for the Tri-Doofus Tournament. Oh, I hope this is the Premature Burial Challenge, where they are all sealed in coffins and buried alive. Last one to claw their way out of their coffin and back to the surface loses. What more fitting challenge for Zombie Island could there be? No such luck.
Jeff asked Dr. Jesus about his emotional reaction to being stuck for weeks on Zombie Island, although at this point, there’s literally no point in talking to him. He’s never going to say anything intelligent. And the devout Christian Dr. Jesus then lied to Jeff: “Overwhelming peace about everything.”
Liar! We just saw you crying like a two-year-old-girl, and sobbing out how you were “so over this game.” Lying is a sin, Dr. Jesus. Your god will turn Her back on you, and you shall roast in The Fires of Hell, your naughty bits seared with welding tools, while being sodomized by diseased gorillas for a couple centuries at the minimum, to atone for that lie, because your god is a merciful god.
Dr. Jesus said his imaginary god decided: “You’ve honored me enough.” Are you sure that’s what She said? Because I suspect it was more along the lines of: “Lay off of me with the praying already, idiot. It’s getting me bad press in The Huffington Post. I’m busy trying to run four wars, holding back a plague, screwing with the weather, dealing with a Dalek uprising on Omagod 7, punishing Japan because parts of America have Gay Marriage, creating a new galaxy out in the 14th sector, advising Hurley on The Island, smiting lippy Methodists, and I have to get to London for The Wedding, where I’m expected to officiate. (Laugh’s on them. I’ve made her sterile. Ha-ha!) I haven’t got time to babysit you on Survivor. I haven’t even had a moment to watch the most-recent Harry Potter movie. Grow up!”
“I feel like I’ve accomplished what I came here to do,” said Dr. Jesus senselessly. You came there to lose?
Oh rats. They aren’t coffins. They’re shuffleboard boards. This exciting blood challenge is a game of shuffleboard. Later, Canasta-to-the-Death! (I kept expecting Dr. Jesus to say: “Jeff, I think ‘puck’ is a dirty word. Can we call them ‘Paking Pove’ pieces?”)
Once again, only one loser will go to the jury.
Andrea-or-Ashley, Dr. Jesus’s Mary Magadelene-turned-Judas, who tempted him and led him into Eternal Zomnation, was getting dirty looks from Doc Jesus, who may be a Christian, but hasn’t forgiven her for betraying him.
In order to get whiny Dr. Jesus off the not-an-island and onto the jury, Julie has to beat him. Crap. Not a chance in heck of that lame-o winning anything. Sure enough. Dr. Jesus came in first. Julie even managed to knock one of her own pucks out of the end zone. Julie, can you do anything right? Were you a real fireman, who puts out fires, or were you like the firemen in Ray Bradbury’s classic novel Fahrenheit 451, who starts fires?
Mike, of course, won second place. Julie to the jury, where she’ll probably screw up at the Final Tribal Council, and accidentally vote for Chief Numbnuts to win.
Jeff: “How many days did Jesus fast?” Who cares, Jeff?
Dr. Jesus: “40.” Well, duh, everything in the Bible lasts for “40 days and 40 nights”. Everything. I think The Last Supper went for 40 days and 40 nights.
Jeff: “It’s interesting that our game is 39 days.” No it’s not “interesting.” It is the opposite of interesting. The fact of Survivor being a game of 39 days duration, and the myth that some guy supposedly named Jesus allegedly fasted for what someone 2000 years ago said was “40 days and 40 nights,” are unrelated, uninteresting, and unimportant.
If I weren’t recapping this for you, I really would turn this Bible-Thumping-fest off, and switch over to hear the music of my lovely friend Carole King butchered on Carole King Night over on American Idol. (I knew Carole for a while back in the mid-1980s. She is a totally darling charmer, an amazing talent, and very funny.) Palin’s Pimp, you seriously need to dial back all the religion this season has become infected with. It’s making us ill. And American Idol is just two clicks on the “1” button away.
Julie explained why she was on Survivor: “My house is in foreclosure and, ah, this was an opportunity for me to make a better life for my girls.” Let me get this straight: this 50 year old woman was losing her house, and her plan to save it was to go on Survivor, compete against younger, stronger, smarter people, lose challenges, and come home with the million dollars? Well, with sound fiscal planning and financial management like that, no wonder she’s in foreclosure.
But Julie has become more than just stupid; she’s lost what little mind she had: “I came short of the money [WAY short!] but I’m walking away with something bigger.” Bigger than the money you need to save your house? What might that be, pray tell. Uh-oh. I shouldn’t have said: “pray tell.”
Julie: “My life is, is changed. I see Matt’s story with God, and I am looking forward to going back home [What home? It’s in foreclosure, and you didn’t get the money you needed to save it. You’ll be building a Survivor-type shelter down by the river.] and finding a church [and burning it down?] and getting involved.” DOH!
One day on Zombie Island, and she was infected by Dr. Jesus’s madness, and has now gone crazy herself. Pathetic. Even more pathetic than stealing Chief Numbnuts’s shorts, and then doing everything but painting a bright red “X” over where you buried them.
Or, is she crazy like a fox? Because now her kids can sue Survivor for putting her in contact with a contagious madman who infected her with his mental illness. They should get multi-millions from Palin’s Pimp. Well played, Miss Julie. Unless that’s not your plan, in which case, you’re merely one of the lamest contestants ever to get as far as the merge.
On her way out, just to grab her last chance to be lame, Julie hollered out: “Peanut butter and oatmeal!” You know, I get that the players on Survivor undergo serious hunger, but I can not imagine being hungry enough to eat peanut butter or oatmeal, let alone peanut butter and oatmeal. Yuck! You can probably get steak and lobster, or Eggs Benedict, or chicken enchiladas, or pizza, or even just a grilled cheese sandwich with extra-sharp Cheddar on sourdough bread with real butter at that hotel. Why would you want peanut butter and/or oatmeal? “Porridge, gruel, and Castor Oil! Yea!”
Back at camp, Andrea-or-Ashley confessed to Natalie and Ashley-or-Andrea that she felt “kinda weird” seeing Dr. Jesus all fatalistic (Honey, he’s always fatalistic. He believes he has no power over his life, that his imaginary god controls everything that happens to him. He’s an idiot.), and felt some mild guilt for playing and betraying him. Rob was listening to every word. She has always been on shaky ground with him over her Dr. Jesus connection, and letting him hear her experience even the tiniest twinge of remorse for Dr. Jesus makes her shaky ground into the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.
Sure enough, a moment later Grant was shirtless......
What? Where am I? Would you please keep your hands to myself! Oh. Sorry. My mind wandered down dark, erotic paths for a moment. Where was I? Oh yes.
A moment later a shirtless Grant was discussing with Rob the possibility, “when the time comes,” of getting rid of Andrea-or-Ashley, before Dr. Jesus has a chance to return, and she assuages her guilt by helping him defeat Rob. If “the time” were to come now, Steve and Mansweater might survive for another episode. If either of them had a brain, they’d be asking Andrea-or-Ashley long questions about her Dr. Jesus guilt, making sure Rob overheard every word.
Grant was disturbed that Andrea-or-Ashley felt sorry for Dr. Jesus. I was reminded of the moment in the classic musical Damn Yankees, when the Devil punishes Lola by making her say “Never feel sorry for anybody,” 100 times. Where is Satan when you need him? He’d be the perfect tonic for an afternoon of The Dr. Jesus Faith Hour.
Immunity & Reward Challenge: This was coming at 24 minutes into the show. That’s early, which means there’ll either be some lively jostling to choose who gets voted out today, or else we have a long, and therefore lively, Tribal Council coming up. The challenge wouldn’t be in the first half of the show if they didn’t need the room in the show’s back end.
Good classic challenge: elimination log rolling. It’s full of action, and people falling into Fabio’s Latrine. (I wonder if Chief Numbnuts has been consulted about moving Fabio’s Latrine about for challenges. After all, he has the army’s highest peacetime medal for portable toilets. He’s an expert. He’s not The Specialist. He’s The Four-Flusher!)
But they are also playing for reward. Jeff uncovered a huge chocolate cake, and at least three players spontaneously exploded. Also ice cold milk, and a “secret” additional reward. (Life After Death? No. That’s the reward Dr. Jesus is playing for on Zombie Island. And he’s just going to end up with Samsonite luggage anyway.)
The first match-up was an interesting pairing: Grant vs Rob. Of course, Rob doesn’t need Immunity. He has his Hidden Immunity Idol that only we viewers and Alfred the Butler know about, and besides, there’s no chance he’ll get voted out yet. But he’s a big believer in no one but him ever having Immunity. But then there’s Grant, the best athlete playing this season, and yet, playing against his bud, his friend, and his commandant.
Grant, of course, beat Rob. Rob was wearing shoes, for one thing, while Grant had sense enough to play barefoot, which gave him a better grip on the log, and better sensing of how it was moving. After they had both fallen, came a touching moment of homoerotic passion, as Grant declared: “I love you, Rob,” as he and the man he will be leaving his wife for after the season ends bobbed about in Fabio’s old urine. I was getting damp myself.
Then came Andrea-or-Ashley vs Ashley-or-Andrea. It was like the mirror routine from The Marx Brothers’ classic movie Duck Soup played by identical bimbos on a log, only not funny.
Andrea-or-Ashley fell first, though how Jeff could tell which one won I do not know.
Next up was Mansweater vs Steve, the whole of Viva Zapata. Fortunately for Mansweater, no spelling is required, but he better be careful. That man is a living sponge. He comes out of the water weighing six times what he weighed when he went in.
Steve, the former-professional athlete, fell first, while Mansweater, the hog-slopper and steer-herder, lasted longer. There was then a one-hour break while Mansweater was run through a wringer, to get the water back, and refill Fabio’s Latrine.
Then came Natalie vs Chief Numbuts. Would his great-great grandfather, Chief Red Herring, help him beat an 18 year old girl? Apparently. I expected him to leap about, yelling: “How good am I? I slaughtered that little girl. I could take on a whole troupe of girl scouts!”
Next Grant vs Andrea-or-Ashley. I then had a visit from my great-great grandfather, the 19th Century Mormon Bishop and Polygamist, William Haney Hickenlooper, who died in 1888. Was he going to tell me if Grant beat Ashley-or-Andrea? No. All he said was that he would have married Ashley-or-Andrea, Natalie, and Andrea-or-Ashley, “all five of them,” except that by Mormon polygamy standards, they were all over-the-hill. “Once they’re past fourteen, I’m no longer keen,” he said. But premonition or no, Grant, of course, won.
Next up, Mansweater vs Chief Numbnuts. Mansweater has the disadvantage of now weighing twice what he did first round, owing to all the water still soaked up by his fur, but Chief Numbnuts was handicapped by being insane. The winner would be going against Grant in the final round, and, either way, I was speed-dialing a bookie to place a bet on Grant winning Immunity.
Mansweater beat Numbnuts. No surprise. The man is part goat, so he’s very sure-footed.
The Goat vs The Adonis. Mansweater also made the mistake of wearing shoes, which has to be the first time that’s happened. Grant won Immunity and a cake far too large for one. How many would he be allowed to share it with? And what was the surprise prize?
Although Grant was of the opinion that he could eat that entire cake himself, nonetheless, he was allowed one person to share it. Was there any doubt it would be Rob, after he’d just declared his love for him? He could have his cake, and eat him too.
I loved watching the other players clapping in a desultory, bitter fashion for their not getting any cake. Let them eat rice!
Grant was then allowed a second choice to share cake. Mansweater made a bizarre offer: “Man, I’d hug your neck if you’d let me have some o’ dat.” Why would he think that offer would be attractive to - well - any human on earth? Who hugs necks? I mean besides The Boston Strangler, and he’s dead.
Mansweater: “Not a gay person, but I don’ know what else to do.” The hurricane-force winds that swept across America at 8:30 PM last night were actually the exhalations of 4 million deeply-relieved gay men, all saying “Whew!” simultaneously. As for what else could he do; he could offer to - ah - silence Chief Numbnuts. Or just promise to start wearing shirts full time.
Grant chose Andrea-or-Ashley. I wonder why? I mean yes, she “hugged his neck” without scratching up his body, but she’s the very bimbo he’s considering voting out tonight. Is this a consolation prize? You can have some cake, but you’re going home? Natalie looked none-too-pleased, though frankly, these girls all look like they never eat cake anyway. Natalie only weighs two pounds, and the Bimbo Twins together don’t hit a double-digit weight. The cake itself outweighs all three of them.
Jeff tossed the mystery packet to the tribe, telling them to bring it, still unopened, to Tribal Council. What was the point of that? Why even mention it at all at the Challenge, if it’s a twist for council and not a prize?
And then Jeff only gave Rob, Grant, and Andrea-or-Ashley two minutes to scarf cake and milk. And no plates, no forks, no cake slicer. What are they, animals? He’s forcing them to eat like Mansweater on Thanksgiving.
As he ate, Grant said: “Ugglemphgh, grgmphlgrbgh ftagn.” I couldn’t agree more. I think I read that in an H.P. Lovecraft story once. It’s how you summon Great Cthulhu from the sunken city of R’lyeh.
Grant explained his strategy to us. He was putting Andrea-or-Ashley at ease, the better to blindside you ,my dear.
The second half of the show began with some breathtakingly gorgeous shots of beautiful whales breaching the sea. Unfortunately, they then cut back to our players. More whales; Less Chief Numbnuts.
Andrea-or-Ashley began babbling her speculations as to what the “twist” is. There is 100% no point to doing this. It is whatever it is, and we’ll find out at Tribal Council.
But Rob then had the whole tribe pointlessly speculating on it. They said it “felt like a deck of cards” so Andrea-or-Ashley said maybe they drew cards, and the one who got the wrong card would go home. Ah yes, a twist that would completely invalidate any and all game play, and make leaving totally random. I’m betting that’s not it.
In any event, as Oscar Wilde wrote: “These speculations are profitless.”
Mansweater tried to make a pointless statement to Steve, as they wondered which of them was going home, but it came out as:
Mansweater: “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”
Steve: “Pardon me?”
Mansweater: “Qwsghdl offgruten shani wallace yuggoth.”
Steve: “One more time?”
Mansweater: “There’s gonna be none telling what happens.” (Thank you CBS for the subtitle.) That was a long way to go for a sentence not even close to grammatically correct. Who knew Mansweater read Lovecraft? Who knew Mansweater can read? What amused me was it was no big deal to Mansweater to be asked to repeat himself twice. I’ll bet few people ever understand what he’s saying first crack out of the barrel.
Mansweater sat on a rock and told us: “Gribbledung blurbington chopping block tonight bgrfgh twist at Tribal dorfknoocky paddington.” I think he may be right. (I’m guessing at the spelling of “bgrfgh.”)
Rob had his plans worked out, and also can speak intelligibly, despite his thick Boston accent. Steve was burned out and apathetic. Mansweater still had some game, unless the next challenge was tongue twisters. Therefore, Mansweater was marked for death.
But Rob was bothered by the secret twist: “I don’t understand why there has to be a twist.” Then allow me to enlighten you, Rob. You have this game so utterly under your control, so mapped out and finalized, that I get complaints, usually 20 or 30 each week just from “Saddle Bum” alone, in my comments column, endlessly and tiresomely bitching and whining that the season is “too predictable.” And what do they do when things get too predictable? They toss in a twist to shake things up. And things need a really thorough shaking at the moment.
But Rob doesn’t want things shook up. He likes things just as they are, with him on a straight track to victory. He can’t strategize or prepare for a secret twist, and it irritates him.
So, just in case the twist was an immediate second elimination vote, Rob floated to Ashley-or-Andrea and Natalie, voting out Mansweater first, and then Andrea-or-Ashley, for the sin of feeling sorry for Dr. Jesus. They were all for it. Sitting there watching Andrea-or-Ashley stuff herself full of chocolate cake hadn’t helped her case either.
Ashley-or-Andrea on Boston Rob: “We’re kinda taking our lead from him.” Kinda? Yeah, the way the allied troops in the European theater of war during World War II “kinda” took their orders from General Eisenhower.
Steve crept over to Natalie and Ashley-or-Andrea, telling them that he and Mansweater were voting for Rob tonight, and trying to seduce them into turning “this whole thing upside down,” and joining their vote. This is like telling Susan Atkins and Patricia Krenwinkle that “we’re killing Charlie Manson tonight.” Frankly, if he’d said Chief Numbnuts, he might have had a shot, not much of a shot, but a shot. They, of course, ran right off to report the offer to Rob, as required in his bylaws.
Of course, what Steve accomplished by this was getting Rob’s target-site swung over from Mansweater to himself. Nice of him.
Tribal Council: It’s only 40 minutes into the show. Tribal Council normally comes around 50 minutes in, so we’re in for something, probably connected to that twist. Last week, over on EW.com, Jeff Probst promised a Tribal twist “that nobody saw coming.” Well, they’ve seen coming random drawing for elimination (Ridiculous. It won’t be that), or a double-vote Council, so either it’s neither of those, or Jeff didn’t know what they saw coming.
Jeff asked Andrea-or-Ashley if she’d maybe consider making a big move tonight, and joining the Last Stand of Viva Zapata, but she feels “completely safe tonight.”
When even Chief Numbnuts wasn’t buying Steve’s feeble-and-harmless act, he brought up Rob’s betrayal of allies in previous seasons. While this is actually a solid point, it’s not making a dent on these guys and gals.
Now they were voting at 43 minutes into the show. Oh, we will be getting another elimination. What else will they do for ten minutes? Play Scrabble? (Imagine playing Scrabble with Mansweater. “Yes you have put ‘Zaquapia’ across a triple-word space, but it’s not a word.” “Are ye callin’ my grandmammy a liar?”)
As the vote began, Steve whispered “Let’s do it” to Natalie. Steve! You’re 51. She’s 18, almost one-third your age. That’s inappropriate at best, revolting at worst.
Mansweater actually spelled Rob’s name correctly on his ballot. That’s something for him to be proud of on Zombie Island, where he was quickly sent. It’s just as well his torch was put out. Every time I saw it near his furry shoulders, I worried about the fire hazard.
Twist Time: “This could be interesting,” whispered David to Julie on the jury. I sure hope so.
The twist turned out to be that they would play another Immunity Challenge right then, and then vote someone else out. Well Jeff, they did see 50% of the twist coming, and even prepared for it, so your “twist nobody saw coming” wasn’t all that accurate.
The package did indeed hold a stack of cards, and Jeff was then dealing out stacks of cards to everyone. “Steve’s gotta win” whispered Julie to David, ignoring the fact that Steve never wins challenges. She just can’t be right this week to save her life, which she failed to do.
It’s a memory challenge. They have to show back, using the cards, symbols Jeff will show them, in the came order he showed them. Oh dear. A mental challenge. The smart money will be on Rob.
Natalie and Chief Numbnuts, the two biggest dummies left, went out first. They both made amazing mistakes. They didn’t just show the symbols in the wrong order; they showed symbols Jeff hadn’t displayed at all. It’s one thing to get the order you were shown them wrong, but to think he’d shown you a symbol he hadn’t shown at all takes real stupidity. I guess those federal agents aren’t trained to remember what they’ve seen for an entire three minutes.
Grant and Andrea-orAshley went out next. They got the order wrong, but at least they showed symbols that had been shown to them. As I predicted, Rob won.
Steve switched his vote to Grant this time. I have no idea why. Did Grant play for NFL teams Steve had played against? (In different decades, obviously, there being a 22 year difference in their ages and all.)
But Rob had also changed his mind, because Andrea-or-Ashley was not voted out, Steve was, and the last of Viva Zapata was gone to Zombie Island. I was disappointed. As shake-ups go, this twist was a fizzle. I was looking forward to one less bimbo in camp. Well now, next week, the Up Tempo Tribe can begin feasting on itself.
So the Zombie Island challenge next week will be what? A duel duel? A Quad-Doofus Tournament? Bridge? Scrabble? Uh-oh, Mansweater, if it’s Scrabble, you’re doomed, although Dr. Jesus will probably spell all his words in Latin.
To read more of Tallulah Morehead, buy her book, My Lush Life. Also, you can read Little Dougie's contributions to the newly published book Creatures of the Night That We Loved So Well: The TV Horror Hosts of Southern California by James Fetters.