Last week on Survivor: Plow, Ashlee was voted out, and no one cared.
This week, weíre two shows in and there are STILL 16 of these people left. Shouldnít we have had a swap or a merge or a jury or something by now?
We fade in. There is a crab walking on the beach. This being a Burnett show, however, we know that this is not an actual crab, but rather a Killer Robot Plot Twist Crab. Wait for it.
We are on Ulongdongís beach. Jeff and StaphEnie are talking about how much going to Tribal Council sucks, and how vital it is that they not lose any more Immunity Challenges. Now, I havenít been over to the Spoilers Board in about three seasons, but even Iím not stupid enough to ignore that this means they will, in fact, be going back. Not to ruin the show for YOU or anything. Not me. Iím all about The Nice.
Kim chimes in and asks permission to come over and cuddle with Jeff, because I mean, itís not like they have an alliance or anything, they just grope each other in the dark and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the game, and how DARE anyone think anything else, and who the hell does Jiffy think he is to try to make it into something that could affect the way the tribe views them or votes? Itís totally unfair and obnoxious, and he should stop trying to make Kim think about anything but Jeff and how warm he is. Kim is, apparently, new here.
Staph laments in a confessional that it wasnít Kimís useless whiny ass voted out instead of Ashlee. I lament that I canít jump through the television screen and throttle Kimís scrawny little neck. She is not representative of Kims as a whole, as we all know, and Iím offended by her attempts to approach the greatness that is inherent in Kims. Since she spends all of her time mewling, acting helpless, and wanting to curl up in Jeffís lap, weíll just call her Kitten. In her defense, she IS a graduate student, so she probably doesnít know any better.
James:They say they ainít doiní nothiní, but we ainít deaf, dumb, and blind like that pinball kid. I kin hear the slurpiní sounds of young love breediní. Not that Iím spendiní all night sittiní up, listeniní, aní watchiní and usiní a liíl coconut milk to grease the wheels, so ter speak, donítcha know. I doní know what Jeffís thinkiní, nohow. Ainít no way Iím trustiní somethiní that bleeds fer five days and donít dah.
Meanwhile, at Kororororor (the Korror! The Korror!), itís daytime and raining. Their shelter leaks and doesnít have a floor or a real roof and does not, in any way, shape, or form, resemble the definition of a shelter.
Tom:Weíre getting wet at night, and we need a better shelter, or at least, we need to put a rubber sheet under Coby until heís potty trained.
Coby:Itís so hard to win all the time. It means I canít really start being as catty as I wanna be, and at this rate, Iíll NEVER be this seasonís Jeff Varner.
Katie Ė and I had to look that name up, because for a minute I thought it was Ashlee returned from the dead Ė is very busy telling everyone what needs to be done, while insisting that she should definitely not be the person do actually do it. Evidently, Katie thought she was applying for The Apprentice.
Cyryn tells us that she thinks Katie tastes tart, which I think means Katie could have a yeast infection.
Cyryn decides to confront Katie about Katieís choice of pastry, because, as we all know, itís always a good idea on Survivor to air your frustration with another person by confronting them directly, and it never, ever makes the confronter look like a humorless, raving lunatic with a bad haircut. She also simply comes over to Katie, yells at her, and leaves, without giving Katie a chance to respond, or to discuss any problems between them in a civil way. Yes, I want Cyryn to be MY civil rights lawyer.
We fade out, and fade in to the reward challenge. WTF? No tree mail? This is completely unacceptable, so I have commissioned the following replacement treemail (and brief, but erudite, overview of the challenge itself):
That bitter twisted wreck of man doth wash Upon Palau's green island beauty fair Breadfruit and coconuts for him to nosh And vipers for him to have protein there But conflict a good story needs to make For we, the home viewer's, thirst, need be slaked
And so upon the day appoint'd we rise Down to the shore we go to find The Jeff Our gaze can but hold to his dreamy eyes Our lizard brains are moved to thoughts of Hef He fires his brute machine, the life rings fly Arc up and down across fair Palau's sky
Our heroes' very lives depend this day Upon their will to swim and fight for all The life rings seiz'd, they make their bloody way Back through the fierce foe's flailing human wall And score points though they could well end up drown'd Duke sucks.
A prize will go to the first person to correctly identify the writer of those couplets as Landru.