I told you what would happen if you watched the show. I said it might turn into a success. Success breeds imitators. Success brings on a fleet of near-clones all looking to cash in on any semblance of fame, which means that yes, The Real Cheers is casting right now and we're going to get a really rude reminder that Norm's alcohol tolerance was amazing, legendary, and above all, fictional. But most of all, success brings -- sequels.
You watched, and now we all have to pay for it, because TBS isn't going to let that 0.00001 rating slip away so easily. They've found two new casts to compete for the roles, live in the huts, cook with the coconuts, and make us wish Sherwood had never reached maturity, which is sort of a shame because I understand he's a really decent person, but this is his fault and so he too must pay. Everyone involved must be punished. They must suffer as much as I'm going to suffer in having to watch this piece of mold-covered driftwood flounder in the waves for another eight episodes. So I'm going to make sure people hurt. Contestants may drown. Blood will flow. And I -- am going to write the first two summaries.
To let the punishment fit the crime, the punishment fit the crime...
In case you'd managed to block it from your memory, you lucky dog: previously on The First Attack In An Unending Wave Of Hostile Fire, fourteen people were brought to Playa del Carmen, dressed up like seven characters from a very bad sitcom that somehow managed to achieve the status of legend (which proves that nothing Ray Romano's done can ever be considered original), and told to start knocking off their counterparts until they got down to a single cast of seven. Once the initial salvo of coconut shells stopped, the survivors began their wholesale ripoff of the Survivors in earnest, right down to the idiotic failure to recognize the most open, blatant alliance imaginable, namely, a married couple that had slipped through the elimination process because getting two married couples into the show was actually part of the casting process, and if you want to know how powerful a voting block of two can be, say goodbye to six hours of your life and then ask Romber for details. In the end, a man worth over $500,000,000 won $250,000, which basically meant he put two weeks into earning what he makes in compound interest during one, and was flown back to civilization while the losers were permanently banished to the most dismal, miserable home anyone could find: FOX Reality.
Who will be brought to the island this season? Which D-List pseudo-celebrities on the downside of what could be referred to as 'their careers' (but not with a straight face) have been conned into playing the Gingers? Have any of Mark Burnett's sixteen thousand lawsuits been granted a court date yet? Will the Skippers finally stop hitting the Gilligans with their hats and move to the much more practical machete instead? As the idiot edit precaps keep asking, who will ultimately be rescued from the island? And will anyone care?
Yeah. Right. 'Care'. Roll opening credits.
And we're back with Generic Reality Host Version 3.6, who's standing in the middle of the island compound and telling us what each cast will be facing. 100 degree heat. Giant iguanas. Poisonous snakes. Coconut cream pie. And the biggest threat of all: the other cast, because none of these people have any clue that their karmic duplicates will be waiting to greet them. (You have to respect the casting directors just a little bit here. It must have been hard to find people who not only never saw the first season, but had never watched a reality show in their lives.) There will be danger. There will be peril. There will be as many Survivor ripoffs as can be crammed into eight episodes of screen time. But most of all, there will be DAWs -- so let's go meet them!