Survivor 22: Rerun Island: Acme Loved Ones.

Sausage Fest on Zombie Island: It’s all guys bunking together, bonding like shepherds on Brokeback Mountain, out on Zombie Island tonight: Matt, aka Dr. Jesus, beautiful Mike, Ralph, known to we as Mansweater, and now Steve. It’s like the Retirement Village edition of Delta House in Animal House.

Mansweater figured that, since the jury is mostly Viva Zapata losers, if one of the three Zapatans on Zombie Island can be The Resurrected One, he’d be a shoe-in to win. Maybe, but first he’d have to get around Dr. Jesus, Superstar, and he’s the one with work experience at being resurrected. On the other hand, Easter was two weeks ago.

But no one wants to be back at the hotel compound when the Navy SEALS come for Russell.

Natalie had a crying jag just because. We understand. It was a double-length Tribal Council, and she was up way past her her Beddy-Bye Time. She was overtired and over-excited. We knew there’d be tears before bedtime tonight. Maybe now, she’ll sleep through her two o’clock feeding.

Natalie is the youngest person ever to play Survivor. In fact now, at Day 30, she’s been on Survivor for half of her entire life.

Product Placement: it’s a product placement day, just putting you in that product placement mood, starting with product placement treemail. I decided that, since I don’t see a penny of Palin’s Pimp’s product placement fees, I would sell my own, Replacement-Product Placement Products. So the players got an Acme Doowacky, with 42 trillion gigawhomps of rhinoplasty. You read that right. 42.

Along with inviting all to the Quad-Doofus Tournament for Resurrection, the Acme Doohicky had moving cave paintings of Natalie’s Mom pretending to be missing her. Andrea-or-Ashley’s dad was next, but he couldn’t remember which one was his daughter, so he said “hi” to both. Then Phillip’s, aka Big Chief Numbnuts’s, sister was on, beaming with the special joy with which his family members always glow whenever they know he is safely in another hemisphere. Rob’s Loved One on the Acme Face-Showing Device Thingee was his sister, since Amber has too high a fee for Reality show appearances.

Grant’s Loved One was his brother-in-law. Is it me, or is that reaching? Where’s Mrs. Grant, the hussy? For Heaven’s sake, I’m as qualified to be Grant’s Loved One as his brother-in-law. I Love One him long time.

As if this wasn’t nauseating enough in the tribe, The Squawking Dead over on Zombie Island also got Acme Countenance-Transmitting Grelboings, so we were subjected to yet more people going emotionally nuts when seeing for the first time in a month people they normally go six months without seeing. I haven’t seen my brother-in-law in decades! Do I even still have one?

These were supposed to cheer people up, but Mansweater’s Significant Other back at the sty had to break the heartrending news to him that two of Mansweater’s chickens had - yes! - died! Oh, how fowl a deed is this? For heaven’s sakes, man (Man? Right? That is your species, correct? “Correct” means “right”.), he’s got to go out right now and fight a four-handed duel (we don’t get it either) for his life, and you drop that dead chicken emotional bombshell on him? Are you insane? Mansweater will be haunted by the specter of his two dead chickens, and possibly by one of Chief Numbnuts’s ancestors as well, while he battles for his life.

Mike had never gone 30 days without an email from his mother before. I know just how he feels. My mother died before email was invented, so I went for a whole century without ever getting an email from her, so I never had the pure, innocent, golden joy of deleting my mother’s emails unread, or of “accidentally” forwarding to her some really repugnant porn. Mike, I feel your pain.

Dr. Jesus Superstar pretended with all his might to be overjoyed to see his brother on the Acme Magic Hand-Sized Gizmo, but I wasn’t fooled. His heart was ripping in two with abandonment issues and unloved feelings from the humiliating and unmistakable snub. Yes, I said snub! After all The Doc has been through on His behalf, Jesus didn’t even bother to show up to be Dr. J’s “Loved One.” Cold, Christ, cold.

Zombie Island Quad-Doofus Tournament for Resurrection And Car Show: The first thing Jeff “Indian Giver” Probst did was repossess the Acme All-Purpose Doomsday Machine-and-Can Openers. It was like spending Christmas at Joan Crawford’s house.

The winner of the “Duel” would get to spend time with his Loved One. Jeff said: “It is a four-person duel, first time we’ve had one of these.” That is because there is no such thing as “a four-person duel.”

Simple, typically tile-phobic, challenge: the players have to smash four tiles with metal balls. First one done gets “Love From Home.” The second one done gets Indifference From Home. The third one done gets Hate From Home, and the fourth one done goes Home.

After Mansweater’s first wild toss, Jeff said: “Very close.” Well yes, it landed in the same country as the tile he was aiming for.

Just to be clear on this, for me to be rid of Dr. Jesus Superstar, Steve has to beat him. Or, pixies must fly out of my butt and sing Bohemian Rhapsody in Yiddish.

After Mike had won Love From Home (I volunteered to be his “Love From Home,” but they rudely insisted on using someone he knew. Favoritism! And then it turned out to be his Mom who showed up to give him “Love From Home.” Ew. Greek Tragedy time!), when it was down to Dr. Jesus and Mansweater having one tile left each, while Steve had, I think, more tiles left than he started out with (Five? How could he have five?), Steve clearly gave up, and was just tossing the ball without even attempting to aim it. Is that how they come from behind in the NFL? What a washout Steve was in Survivor.

This is the second time Dr. Jesus stayed alive in the game, but didn’t come in first. It looks better and better now for Mike being the Zombie who will return. (and I am certain now that that return will not come until the finale.) Mike will make one fine looking Zombie.

Ah, but Jeff had one of those evil choices for Mike to make: He could have time with Mommy, or he could let Dr. Jesus Superstar spend time with his brother, filling in for Jesus, who is on location in Vegas, and unable to get away for the shoot (He can’t be in two places at once now can he? He is only one Holy Trinity, you know!), and allow Mansweater to spend time with his “Buddy” Ronny.

“Buddy”? Is that what they’re calling it now, to keep the Mormons from outlawing it? Last week Mansweater said he was not a gay man, to the relief of every gay man and male farm animal on earth, but now he and Ronny are just itching for some fine man-neck hugging, if Mike wants to curry potential jury votes.

(Don’t read too much into Mansweater not having any relatives show up. The family of wolves that raised Mansweater wanted to be there, but they are illegal to import into Nicaragua.)

OR Mike could let everyone there except him have love from home, or whatever it is they have in Chief Numbnuts’s tribe. Had I been in Mike’s shoes, it would be an easy choice, if a poor shoe-fit: I couldn’t stand my mother.

Jeff asked Mike to take us through his mental steps, and Mike sent my respect for him plummeting as he began babbling about the Bible, and Jesus, who couldn’t even be bothered to come down and be Dr. Jesus Superstar’s Loved One, saying that the most important of the Commandments was to “Love your brother as you would love yourself.”

1. I’ve seen The Ten Commandments with Charleton Heston several times, and I played the Egyptian Mother of Moses opposite Steve Reeves’s Moses in Torah! Torah! Torah!” myself. And “Love your brother as you would yourself” isn’t even one of them.

2. Loving your brother the way you love yourself is still illegal in 37 states, and heavily frowned-on in most of the others, the exceptions being in certain parts of the deep south.

3. Mike has been spending too much time trapped alone with Dr. Jesus and his evil pink Bible. We’ve got to get him away from that brain-robber!

Mike chose to “[give] up your love with your Mom,” which I assume means they will now hate each other for the rest of their lives. Welcome to my world, Mike. Mike also chose to give up Dr. Jesus Superstar’s Love, and Mansweater’s “Buddy Love” (Wait! That’s a Jerry Lewis character! I imagine Dr. Jesus Superstar saying: “It’s okay. It’s not like he’s Jesus. It’s just my kid brother. He always follows me around, now all the way to Nicaragua.”) Jeff: “And you’re giving it to the six people who single-handedly decimated your tribe?”

Okay Jeff, class is in session. There will be a test later.

A. They did not “single-handedly” do anything! “Single-handedly” means one person doing something alone! They six-handedly (or 12-handedly to be really accurate) destroyed the tribe.

B. This is the third time in two weeks you’ve said Up Tempo “decimated” the other tribe. I let it go by twice. No more. “Decimated” means to be reduced by a tenth. When the Romans “decimated” a village, it meant they lined up everyone, and killed every tenth person. At the merge, if Viva Zapata had five people, and they were then decimated by the other tribe, they would then have four-and-a-half people. What Up Tempo did to Viva Zapata was to obliterate them.

Jeff, words have actual meanings. A “duel” is a contest between two, and only two. Any more players and it’s not a “duel.” An “island” is a bit of land entirely surrounded by water, not just “Another Part of the Forest” (though that is a wonderful Lillian Hellman movie.), “single-handedly” refers to something achieved by one person acting alone, and being “decimated” means being reduced by a tenth. Don’t just invent pretend meanings for words. You speak for a living. Learn the language you’re employing.

Did Mansweater’s “Buddy” Ronny say: “I love you” to Mansweater as he left? Sounded like it to me when I played it back four times, though the others were talking over him. Ronny is nicely built. He’s too good for Mansweater.

Well the important thing is, Grant got to see his brother-in-Law.

Mansweater was pissed off that he didn’t get to spend time with his “Buddy.” Mansweater said: “I think it was kind-a stoopid.” Yes, culling five potential jury votes, vs culling two potential jury votes, or no potential jury votes is so stupid. That’s what larnin’ ‘rithmatic’ll git ye.

Mansweater: “That’s something he has to live with.” Yes, giving up spending time with his mother to let six other people be happy is something that will weigh on his conscience like a ton of feathers. Oy, the guilt! How could he be so not-selfish? That anti-cad! That counter-bounder! That not-even-a-cur! His inner-Ayn Rand will be torturing him for doing the nice thing! Bastard! No neck hugs fer ye!

Mansweater: “If I’d-a been in his shoes, I’d a spent with my mom.” And his mom would have said: “Whose shoes are those? Are you stealing shoes again? Give them back, young man, right this minute!” Oh and Mansweater, Ronny isn’t your Mom; he’s your “Buddy,” and his neck longs for the scratches and abrasions only your own personal steel wool bestows on his fair flesh.

Dr. Jesus Superstar expressed gratitude for not-winning. We are all grateful when he loses. His reason was that he would not have done The Christian Thing, and sacrificed time with his annoying little brother so that others could have joy, as Jesus would tell him to do. That’s okay Doc; we knew you were a hypocrite as soon as you told us you were a Christian.

Mike then explained to Dr. Jesus that the reason God made him the winner was so that the others could have their family visits. Dr. Jesus was deprived of his win this time because God foresaw his craven selfishness. I thought God was busy in Pakistan, but I guess he gets around, and Survivor is apparently His Highest Priority. Mike, I was liking you up till now. Please shut off the God Chatter. You know why you won? You have better aim and calmer nerves under pressure. It’s your military training. Nothing to do with “God.”

Watching the Survivors show their Loved Ones and Brothers-in-Law around camp was every bit as fascinating as spending Christmas Eve with a family of strangers. Oh boy, Johnny got an electric train. Who is Johnny? What is a “train”? Where is the “Fast-Forward” button? At least at a stranger’s Christmas party, there would be food. And no Chief Numbnuts.

I saw Grant and his Brother-in-Law handle each other a good deal more in one clip than I have ever handled any and all of the brothers-in-law I’ve had over the whole of my life. He’s a brother-in-law; he’s the guy you never get around to talking to at Thanksgiving, unless he needs money, and then he corners you.

Natalie’s mom, who is not Albert Einstein, was telling her infant daughter that God was watching over her in the game. Her also? How many horses is God backing in this race? Is this legal? What does the Nicaraguan Gaming Commission say about Divinely-Fixed TV Game Shows? How many contestants is one Deity legally allowed to control the fate of? And why are so many players this season Sky Pilots? I’ve seen more intelligent people slinking out of midnight screenings of Atlas Shrugged, Part One, dressed as their favorite characters, and sticking needles in their own eyes “to make it STOP!”, than I’ve seen on this show this season.

Chief Numbnuts’s visit with his sister (whom I suspect was also his prom date), “empowered” him. Oh lovely.

Hearing Rob get weepy as he talked about how much he wanted to win it was too over-the-top for me. Rob, I don’t care how much you love your kids; blah, blah, blah. I care about: will your tribemates ever figure out that they need to blindside you or they are all doomed?

Rob’s more immediate goal is to make Andrea-or-Ashley the next evictee, for, you know, reasons. One big reason: She’s not Rob.

Immunity Challenge: The stairway set for this challenge could be seen from space. It looked like it needed a chorus of 20 singers and dancers to come strutting down it, belting out some Irving Berlin or Gershwin song, and cake-walking up and down the steps.

The players had to fetch “puzzle steps” (Like in “Ballin’ the Jack”? Those steps were always a mystery to me.) And build their staircase on the stairway, and ascend to Survivor Heaven and win Immunity.

This challenge was less fun than that musical number would have been. It had much of the excitement of watching Amish farmers raising a barn while on meth-amphetamines.

Okay, Chief Numbnuts had not taken any speed. He was plodding. This chore, I mean challenge, involved a lot of running up and down steep steps, in 100+ degree heat, so players were getting seriously winded indeed, but without Laurel & Hardy totting a piano up and down the steps, it just wasn’t funny enough.

Okay, Rob Haters, admit it. Rob deserved winning this one. That man was spent! I haven’t seen a man that spent since Errol Flynn at the end of that three-day weekend we spent “accidentally” locked up together in his wine cellar. The cork wasn’t all that got screwed.

If Rob’s winning state had been any more altered, he’d have reverted back into a young William Hurt. (Which, come to think of it, isn’t such a bad idea.) Anyway, that is “going all out,” and giving it your all to win. Not NFL Steve’s lame little, WTF, tosses as he gave up in his challenge. This was Rob in 110 degree heat, working himself up into a near-stroke, to win Immunity, when he has a still-secret immunity idol in his pocket! If Rob wins this season, he has earned it.

The plan is a simple one. Andrea-or-Ashley votes for Chief Numbnuts, and everyone else votes Andrea-or-Ashley. What could go wrong? What could use up three or four minutes of time and desperately try to drum up a little suspense? What is the Capital of Nebraska?

Big Chief Numbnuts to the time-filling post! He points out a wasp hovering over Andrea-or-Ashley, ignoring that this girl has “W.A.S.P.” written all over her, and takes issue with how she moves her arms. Or, since the WASP was a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, I can only assume it’s Numbnuts replaying his peculiar version of The Race Card.

Chief Numbnuts now revealed his “strategy” was to make himself the villain, so every one would want to take him to the end. “It’s brilliant strategy” he assured us, as he gloated over his guaranteed-to-lose-the-million Cunning Plan.

Numbnuts got all hissy-fit over the fishing nets being tangled. If I were him, I’d want all nets anywhere near me tangled up, because I’m sure men with nets chase him a good deal, and if they don’t, they should.

So Rob had to reconsider his decision, or so we were led to believe.

Tribal Council: Andrea-or-Ashley felt 100% confident she was not going home tonight.

Chief Numbnuts admitted he was lame at the challenge, citing his age and the heat. He longed to have a challenge that displayed the upper body strength he had “went I went in the army, at 29...” Chiefy, that was 23 years ago. You win this show because of who you are, not who you were two decades ago. I’ve been hoping for a challenge where my body of 20 years ago is time-warped onto me and I show what I can do!

Jeff basically asked everyone if they felt safe still or not, and everyone was sure someone else was tonight’s patsy.

But as always, Chief Numbnuts was in a world of delusions special to him, blithely missing the winces and laughter on his tribemates’ faces as he said stuff like: “I think everybody knows me to be, you know, the Senior Statesman,” Yes, they all noticed the statesmanlike way you accused Steve of being racist for noticing you were crazy. “I’m a guy who leads by example.” As in “Don’t do what I’m doing”?

Chief Numbnuts said his Cherokee great-great grandfather, whom I believe is now on The Jury, would tell him: “You’ve done everything right.” I think he’d ask about the big metal birds in the sky, but I think his most-likely comment would be either: “What are you wearing?” or just the simple, classic: “Ugh!”

Oh gee, the fake Will-Rob-decide-to-vote-out-Chief-Numbnuts,-who-is-doing-exactly-what-Rob-wants-him-to-do “suspense” sure was purty. Andrea-or-Ashley, like totally surprised, like, wow, is off to the arms of the man she betrayed. True love. Cheers darlings.

To read more of Tallulah Morehead, go to The Morehead, the Merrier, or 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.

The Royal Consummation

They'll never get a Royal Heir that way. Kate learns the "hard" way why commoners kneel before royalty, or my name isn't "Morehead."

Survivor 22: Rerun Island: The CBS Faith Hour.

In tonight’s episode of Survivor, Jeff said of The Viva Zapata Twins, Steve and Ralph, aka Mansweater, the final members of the Viva Zapata tribe: “Their only hope? A crack in the Ometepe Alliance.” Be more specific, Jeff. Whose crack? And what a vulgar way to open an episode hammocked between Easter and The Royal Wedding.

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.

Oh, and Chief Red Herring: you’re dead. Butt out!

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.

Cheers darlings.

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.

My Miscellany.

Hello Darlings. You know, in Hollywood I've met a lot of two-faced people, but that washout from Cirque Du Soliel, Dr. Lao, is seven-faced!


My Facebook page keeps showing me ads for "H.P. Lovecraft audiobooks." Ignoring for the moment the insult that it thinks I can't read for myself, I'm tempted, if only to hear how some poor actor pronounces: "Ph'nglui mglw'mafh Cthulhu R'lyeh Wgah'nagl fhtagn." (That's transcribed directly from a Lovecraft tale.)

But then, if someone did pronounce it correctly, it would unleash a shitstorm of ancient, inter-dimensional monsters upon us. It was some poor schmuck reading that story aloud last November that accidentally put all those insane Teabagger candidates into Congress. Let's face it, Michelle Bachman is clearly Yog-Sothoth, Speaker of the House John Boner is obviously a Shoggoth (the crying is a dead giveaway), Rand Paul is unmistakably the horrific Nyarlathotep, while everyone knows that the hideous and revolting Sarah Palin is actually Ia Shub-Niggurath, aka "The Goat with a Thousand Young." And the state of Texas is obviously the hideous Yuggoth, while poor Wisconsin is being turned by its wacky Governor Cthulhu into the Fabled Plateau of Leng, where only nameless horrors live. Take a look at the Teabaggers' platform; it's the Necronomicon in English.

Think about it. In Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos stories, the hideous "Old Ones" are the Elder Gods, who once possessed the earth millions of years ago, and now reside in some inter-dimensional netherworld, trying ever to seduce extremely stupid and/or evil humans into performing the rites that will unleash these horrors back onto earth, to wipe humanity off the planet, and reign as Nameless Evil forever. Good grief, it's the Official Teabagger Agenda. Now it all makes sense.


Mark Twain, seen here with his second wife, Betty White, is dead, yet he put out a new book this year, a best seller in fact. Being dead is no longer an excuse for not writing. Come on, Charles Dickens, finish The Mystery of Edwin Drood already, you slacker!


Don't you love the American newsmedia? There are revolutions all over North Africa and the Middle-East, Wisconsin is being devastated by a crazed Fascist Governor who is trying to destroy the unions, Congress has been taken over by the Cult of Cthulhu and is trying to destroy all that is good in America, and an earthquake in New Zealand has killed a large number of people, but the big headlines this week were "Charlie Sheen Off the Deep End Again," "Jennifer Lopez Cries on American Idol," and the really big one that has every fat, pimply 13 year old girl in the country wailing in despair: "Justin Bieber Got a Haircut." Stop the presses! No, I mean it. Stop them, if this is what they're printing.

Not that I have anything against Celebrity news. In fact, I'll be recapping The Oscars on Monday over at The Huffington Post. After all, I am the second-oldest surviving celebrity in the world these days, after Betty White. I was delighted to see another ancient celebrity, my old pal and (blood) drinking buddy, Sir Christopher Lee, receive a the BAFTA version of a Life Achievement Award. Seeing all the great of movieland giving him two standing ovations did my heart good. Congratulations to Sir Christopher. Here he is with his award, his wife, and me. Lady Lee must be stronger than I am, because I could never stand erect wearing that 50 pound lead necklace she has on. I overheard a Ubangi saying "That's a bit much."

Little Dougie is a lifelong fan of Sir Christopher. Here he is with Sir Chris back when both of them were in considerably better shape. As you can see, Sir Christopher was obviously taking fashion tips from Dougie, as the only major differences in their outfits is the colors of their otherwise matching sweaters.

But along with an honor, came a mistaken disgrace, for poor Sir Christopher was the victim of identity theft, when a douchebag Teabagger (Yes, he's a teabagger and a douchebagger) congressman began passing himself off as Representative Christopher Lee online, where he was trying to cheat on his wife. As his cheating shows, he is, or was, an actual congressman, but don't be fooled. Sir Christopher only pretends to be Evil in movies. Ex-Congressman Lee actually is Evil. In fact, he took Christopher Lee's name because his real name is Azathoth, another of Lovecraft's horrors.

Speaking of The Oscars, The Wolfman was nominated for Best Make-Up. Who knew CGI constitutes "Make-Up." (But I really liked the movie. Good luck to Rick Baker, like he needs another Oscar.)

A 40-year member of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association committed suicide the day after the Golden Globes were awarded. Talk about overreacting to Ricky Gervais! I thought Ricky was funny.

I saw this headline last week: "Schwartzenegger to Act Again." What do they mean by "Again"?


Did you watch the Rose Parade? During the broadcast, longtime parade TV host Stephanie Edwards actually said: "I'm going to apply some nuts to my face this year." Steph, your mike is on! Stephanie is a lovely woman. I shared a dressing room with her for a TV broadcast once many years ago. Perhaps it was observing me that gave her the idea for this unique beauty treatment, or maybe she was inspired by the Teabaggers.

Speaking of old celebrities, poor Zsa Zsa Gabor is not in the best of health, and had to have one of her legs amputated. Her ex-leg just announced its marriage to Long John Silver's old leg. It's the first marriage for his, the ninth for hers. (Too soon? Well, Zsa Zsa won't see it.)

Darling David Tennent, the 10th Doctor Who, now regenerated, is marrying Georgia Moffett, who is the daughter of Peter Davison, the 5th Doctor Who, making The Doctor into his own father-in-law/son-in-law. This sort of thing may be considered okay on Gallifrey, but here on earth, you're not supposed to marry your own daughter, now matter how many times you've regenerated since.

Plus, Georgia's mother played Trillian, the heroine of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in its TV series version. So she's also descended from Douglas Adams's other TV comic science-fiction universe. This is the sort of thing that can cause a time vortex that can swallow all of Reality.


They've got to get this stupid Spider-Man musical opened, so it can close. Julie Taymor needs to get on to her next dream project, a $100 million dollar revival of The Fantasticks. A cast of 40 will perform the entire show flying on wires at all times, manipulating twice lifesize marionettes. Julie has promised: "This time it will be fantastic!" The show, she promises, will be so deadly, she doesn't expect to get through any entire performance without killing at least one cast member. That's entertainment!

Here we see a typical Republican, the ones who invented this Teabagger scam to con stupid people across America into voting for people who are out to rob them and destroy all middle-class Americans, celebrating the extension of the Bush tax cuts for the rich. You know the Teabaggers are serous about balancing the budget by their extending those tax cuts which, if ended, would vastly increase America's income. Well, millions may be out of work, thousands have lost their homes, and essential services for the poor may be cut, but at least our overlords can still swim in their obscene personal wealth.

Here's Dick Cheney at his winter vacation undisclosed location, relieved that he won't have to pay his fair share of taxes to repair the country he destroyed. Did you vote for him, or for any Teabagger? If so, go screw yourself, asshole.



Speaking of Dick Cheney, here he is celebrating his latest Not-Fully-Dead-Yet Day. Why can't we deny him healthcare, the way his minions labor to deny it to you?


In other bad news, while the supremely Evil Dick Cheney lives on and on, artificially, several wonderful people have died recently. Jeanne Siegel, widow of Jerry Siegel, co-creator of Superman, and the inspiration and model for Lois Lane passed away, with no Superman to rescue her from old age. And my darling Betty Garrett died.




I've known Betty slightly for a long time now, and she was a powerhouse. She even presented Little Dougie with an acting award once, back in 1996. (It must have been some sort of horrible mistake.) Betty was a musical star at MGM until her career was sidelined by the Red Scare, that disgraceful blot on American history that happened the the last time the conservatives went power mad. (If we let these stupid Teabaggers run riot, the blacklist will return, mark my words. American Fascism lies happy and hungry in the heart of the Teabaggers.) Betty's crime? She was a liberal.




But she fought her way back, and found a second career on TV in the 1970s, winning another generation of fans. She was indefatigable. She even taught a musical comedy workshop the day before she died. She won the Kenny Award (named for my dear friend, the late Kenny Sasha, who was its first recipient), given to the person each year who does the most the help people with AIDS. Betty was a saint, and the conservatives who hounded her will never meet her again, as she won't be dropping by Hell, where they will all rot forever.

And if all that wasn't bad enough, the great Kenneth Mars died the same week. Even attempting to list all of Ken's magnificent career could take weeks. I first met him on the set of Young Frankenstein back in January 1974, and fairly recently ran into him in the Ahmanson Theater lobby, where we had a lovely chat. Along with being a brilliantly funny actor, he was approachable, friendly, warm, and very smart. He was also about 9 feet tall. I adored him. He was, after all, the man who told us: "Not many people knew it, but the Fuhrer was a terrific dancer."

"Nobody efer said a bad vord about Vinston Churchill! Churchil, vith hiz cigars, and hiz rotten painting, rotten! Now Ze Fuhrer, there was a painter. he could paint an entire apartment in one afternoon, two coats!"

"Shit! To zee lumberyard!"

It turns out the Easter Bunny has a drinking problem. When I mentioned this to my friend, Little Brian McCray, he replied: "The Easter Bunny can quit anytime it wants to, damn it! Get off its back! Do you have any idea how stressful it is for a pink rabbit to lay chicken eggs to hide for Christian children to find in a pagan ritual? This is wheels within wheels, buddy. He just needs something to take the edge off."

Brian misunderstood my meaning. Bunny's drinking problem is finding a bar that will serve animals.

Is this the British guy they cast as Superman? Because he looks a little young. In fact, he looks like charming Billy Mumy, whom I've met a couple times and know to be a delightful chap, nothing like the creepy magic kid Anthony he played on that classic episode of The Twilight Zone based on Jerome Bixby's story: It's a Good Life. I can hear the new movie's dialogue now: "Clark, it was a good thing you did to Lex Luthor, a good thing. He'll be much happier out in the cornfield."

On another matter altogether, Little Dougie wrote the forward for this book, and a long essay about Larry "Seymour" Vincent, and it will contain some of the scripts he wrote for Seymour's TV show. Any baby boomer who grew up in Los Angeles will want to read this book, which is now available at trc4u.com.

In parting I offer you this thought: There are no strangers in the world, just friends you haven't offended yet.

Cheers darlings.

The Desert Rata.

Go placidly among the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in riches.
Speak your truth softly, and carry a big stick.
Listen to others, even the dull and ignorant, no matter how boringly and stupidly they may waste your time.
Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, and recall that a pot that is watched will never boil.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, for they may punch you in the mouth.
If you compare yourself with others you will find you are a loser among losers.
Keep interested in your own career, however insignificant, and possibly illegal it may be.
Always buy low and sell high.
Exercise caution buying used cars, for the world is full of lemons, but don’t let this blind you to the killing you can make, for everywhere, Life is full of suckers.
Be yourself, however dull. Especially, do not feign marital intentions in a motel room.
Neither be cynical about Love; promise her anything, but give her Arpege.
You are a child of the Universe, no less than the Edsel and the dinosaur, you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the Universe will ignore you. Why shouldn’t it? Who are you?
Therefore, be at peace with the government, whatever it conceives you to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of Life, keep peace with your wife, or she’ll soak you for every cent you’ve got.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a crummy world.
Tippiecanoe and Tyler too.
Be prepared.
Strive to have power over others.
And remember, only you can prevent forest fires.


Cheers darlings.