Take Your Broke Ass Home

Awake. Shake dreams from your hair my pretty child, my sweet one. Seriously, shake those dreams right out of your hair because you have no need for them. Dreams, pah! A dream is a wish a homeless person makes. You know what happens to a dream deferred? It marches its ass down to the unemployment office and gets itself a job. That's what! Sing with me, sing for the year, sing for the laughter, sing for the tears. Sing with me, just for today. Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you to get a decent haircut and a sensible pair of khakis so you don't look like a complete tool when Ms. Studebaker interviews you for that file clerk position. The effort spent dreaming can be effort spent fine tuning your resume. Dreams are the tumbleweeds of the mind. Crispy and dry, floating, aimless. They gather dust and end up in the corners of abandoned ghost towns. Not amongst the lilies and waters fair. So let them go dear readers. Let them go from tightened clasps. They cannot be saved from this pitiless wave. We are not but a dream within a dream. We are lazy mole people, with no plan B, destined to live in the garbage pail of life. Oh well. Let's recap, shall we?

We continue our island tale in the thick of night with a lone panpipe as our soundtrack. Sad and desperate, it makes its pleas to the darkness. Little tinkles on the breeze. Hollow mocking tinkles. The moon hangs high in the distance and holds its breath. A breathless shell shocked moon. For it knows what comes. It knows what the morning brings. Yet it can do nothing but hang there and watch. The solemnity of the scene is broken suddenly with the sounds of Menudo (Manono). The boys are back from Tribal Council and all Michael can do is shake his head in disgust. His best good friend, Matthew J. Quinlan, Attorney At Law, has been sent back to night court to defend the street urchins terrorizing our city streets and now the Menudos are down one strong player. Tarzan (Greg) doesn't see it as losing a strong player. He sees it as strengthening the ties that bind and anyone threatening that bond needs to go back from whence they came. Flitter back to your bus stop ads Matthew J. Quinlan. Trundle away to your law offices and class action suits.


While we're talking about people hitting the high road, Tarzan has some very strong feelings about whom should be going home next. As a matter of fact, he has strong feelings on just about everything. You see, Tarzan is a guy who likes to stand for something. When a social injustice occurs, he stands up. When loyalties are breached, he Maya Angelou rises. It's often done with both feet firmly on the ground and one hand pointed to the sky as if to say, "I speak for the big man upstairs so listen up people." And so, speaking for the big man upstairs, Tarzan decides that Cosby (Bill) must be the next person to go home. Whimsical bouncy Cosby scares the vines out of Tarzan's hands for some reason and I'm struggling to figure out why. Cosby rides his own incense stick for crying out loud! With his trampoline walk and glassy eyes, Cosby is not here to be stealthy and calculating. He's here to play with finger trails and sample some local tie dye. Whatever the case may be with Cosby, Leif has had enough for one night as he climbs inside of a wooden box and fastens the lid tightly over himself. Is he undead or up for a game of hide and seek? *shrugs shoulders*


Night gives way to dawn as morning finds the women preparing a skillet of escargot. Hard working Monica feels like the tide has finally turned in the women's favor. They've got the S.S. Vagina, rice, coconuts, and snails. What more does an island dweller need? With the garlic lemon butter wafting on the wind and the tiny crostini warming on stolen embers, the men follow the inviting scent all the way into Camp Salami (Salani). Licking their chops and hiding their drool, the Menudos are prepared to make a deal. Let Jonas use the fishing net and he'll give the women half of what he catches. Chelsea lowers her baseball cap over her eyes while chomping on her lip, "I know I sound like a cold hearted bitch and I'm really not, but we can't be feeding our enemy." Oh Chelsea, don't be silly. A cold hearted bitch doesn't reject a perfectly ridiculous offer. A cold hearted bitch tells bloggers who make up silly stories about a highly edited tv show to go kill themselves. A cold hearted bitch is a joyless funsucker who thinks nothing of lounging lazily by the enemy's fire warming her tootsies without so much as a thank you yet turns her nose up at the first chance of payback. So unless you fit any of the previous descriptions, don't sell yourself short babe. Naturally, the men are annoyed and they stomp off in a huff. Call me crazy, but what's stopping them from making their own escargot? I've consulted with a professional fisherman, Google, and it appears as if snails live close to the sandy beaches. You don't need a vagina or a Vagina to catch them yourselves Menudo.


And this brings us to the Reward Challenge. For today's challenge, tribes will take turns using a slingshot to fire coconuts at a massive wall of targets. In order for the hit to count, the majority of the target must be decimated. The first tribe to knock out five targets in a row (horizontally, vertically, or diagonally) wins one of three prizes: Comfort, Protection, or Luxury. The men sit out Cosby and... Survivors ready, go.


Monica and Fancy Pants (Colton) are up first and someone in the background (Kat, I suspect) observes, "Two girls up." Now, I know Fancy Pants walks around with a Chinese fan in his hands and ruffles on his panties, but let's not call him a girl. We can call him a dandy or a fop. Maybe even Little Lord Fauntleroy, but not a girl. No girl would ever willingly wear an ill-fitting mint colored blouse into the jungle. And puh-lease, that haircut looked better on Ricky Schroeder back in 1982. In the end, neither Monica nor Fancy Pants scores and Tarzan and Sabrina are up next.

Tarzan connects and scores first while Sabrina only hints at nicking her target. That fuzzy headed lollipop Kat scores next while Troyzan (Troy) lobs a coconut gently skyward. Have you noticed that Troyzan isn't all that zan-y? Oh sure, he's zany, but he's not zan-y. If he keeps performing the way he is, I'll have to take back the -zan and demote him back to Troy. A -zan implies certain qualities. Hairiness, obviously, but also fearlessness and agility. Someone with more than a headband. Someone with presence.

So the game continues with Menudo scoring. Then Salami scoring. Then Menudo scoring. Back and forth, back and forth. Chelsea shoots at an unsuspecting monkey in a tree and I have to wonder if she thought that monkey was gossiping about her. Poor monkey. ChaCha (Christina) flashes us her chacha and good naturedly giggles it off while Jugs (Alicia) props a coconut between her jugs and takes out a much needed target. The women have gained some serious momentum and they only have one target left. It's low and taunting, but Monica has never met a challenge she didn't like. She prepares her nut, sets her eye on the prize, lowers herself down into the sand and... Kapow! WOMEN WIN REWARD!!! The women choose the Protection Reward which is a good choice because Prune Hands would shit a brick if it rained again and the men (rightfully) turned her away like she did them with that whole cold hearted bitch net thing.

*thunder claps*


Wait a tic. Do you see what I see? I know that jolly rancher Kat is doing a chicken dance right now, but look at that! *reaches under bed to grab bible* An upside down cross. *lights a stick of sage* A sign that evil is not far away. Like blood on the moon, like a broomstick falling, like a black cat taking a shit on your front porch or whatever. This can't be good. Other than crossing myself a thousand times and double checking my bail out bag (glitter, gin, ammo), I'm sort of at a loss for what to do here.

With a gnawing sense of foreboding in my loins, I trudged onward much like the women have in this game. They've managed to turn prunes into lemonade, ding-dongs into athletes, and monkeys into pelts (right Chelsea?). The mood at the Salami Homestead is one of merriment and rightly so. You've got to enjoy it while it lasts because you never know when that upside down cross is going to light up and unfurl it's evil. Over on the men's camp, the mood isn't quite so merry. Troyzan tries to blame their loss on not having enough time to learn the game. To which Cosby says that they all had the same amount of time. Jonas scoffs and calls the win a fluke while Troyzan mumbles, "Big deal. So they won a tarp. It's even now." Cosby is cool with owning up to the fact that the women kicked their asses. He didn't play so he's surely not to blame. Whatever. It was just a Reward Challenge. Onward and upward. Right, guys?


Well, onward and upward seems to be the plan with Cosby. Fully-bearded and all smiles, quirky Cosby won't let the women's win get him down. The men just need to win more challenges from here on out. No biggie. Leif nods and agrees. And man, wouldn't it be nice to find an Idol? It sure would man. They look to the trees blowing around them. It's that time of the day when everything is calm. It's not too hot, not too cold. They can take in the beauty of the island and be thankful for this rare opportunity they've been given. Leif says, "And when Fancy Pants wanted to vote you out, I didn't really want that." Cosby's eyes shoot open and his attention flings from the trees to the little man on his right, "Fancy Pants said that?!" Leif nods slowly. It was a little comment. A bonding between brothers. A natural evolution of the day. An innocent exchange under the shade of the trees. A secret to keep close, keep within, keep from...


"Leif and Cosby were talking, man!", cries Michael as he runs into the shelter to where Fancy Pants is lying in a state of repose. Fancy Pants seethes, "That little munchkin is about to get kicked back to Oz." *bites fist* Fancy Pants adjusts the robes around himself, claps for more grapes, and tells Micheal to bring Leif to him immediately. Michael bows in submission with his head in the sand and whispers, "Yes, Domina." Within seconds, Leif is placed at the feet of Fancy Pants with Michael gripping his arms behind his back and delivering wet willy after wet willy. Fancy Pants pops a grape into his mouth and asks, "Did you tell Cosby we were voting him out?" Leif tries to wriggle out of Michael's grasp and replies, "What? Cosby? Who?" Fancy Pants breathes in slowly and once again asks with ruby red eyes, "Did you tell Cosby we were voting him out?" Leif groans from the atomic wedgie Michael is giving him and says, "Well, I mean, I told him, not really, yes." Fancy Pants flicks his chin towards Michael and with that the offensive oompah loompah is dragged away to be placed in a burlap sack full of rabid rats. Fancy Pants exhales languidly and lies back on his chaise lounge. Michael should be back shortly. Perhaps he can squeeze in a handy before the challenge.


Speaking of challenges, this next one will have to do with solving puzzles. The girls ooh and ahh at the thought of puzzle solving. Like every other Survivor challenge ever hasn't had a puzzle to solve. Anyhow, the tree mail hints that they'll have to work in pairs. Mensa member Kat turns to Jugs and declares, "You can't solve puzzles! Wanna Starburst?" Jugs smooshes the Starburst in between Kat's eyes and replies, "I just solved that puzzle!" She points to the tree mail puzzle which was pretty much two pieces placed side by side. Oh but Jugs isn't done yet. "I'm the South Side puzzle champ! My blood bleeds lego pieces. My mother was a Rubik's Cube, goddammit. Did you know my middle name is Jenga? I know you're not calling me stupid right now. Yahtzee!" And then she banged on her chest and Scrabble tiles leaked out of her boobs. Talented girl, that Jugs.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, you will be paired up and tied together. Each pair will race across a teeter totter and arrive at a puzzle. Once there, solve the puzzle, retrieve a key, and race back where another pair will then take off to another puzzle. Once all three puzzles have been solved and all three keys collected, one person will use the keys to open three locks and release a flag. First tribe to release their flag wins Immunity. The men will sit out Jonas. Survivors ready, go!


Leading the cavalry is Jugs & Prunes (Chelsea) and Tarzan & Fancy Pants. The women quickly reach their puzzle first and begin flipping wooden pieces back and forth. Jugs whispers, "This is nothing like Boggle" while Prunes worries that the pieces are judging her. She pulls her baseball cap down even farther hoping it'll keep away the prying eyes. In the meantime, the men have finished their puzzle and Jay & Michael are well on their way to the second.


Back at where the women stand, Prunes is cowering under the table while Jugs is trying to wrestle puzzle pieces out of her hands. Meanwhile, Jay & Michael have not only solved their second puzzle, but Troyzan & Cosby are now working on their third. On the sidelines, the awaiting women are perplexed and miffed. They yell for Jugs & Prunes to look at the men's puzzle to which a righteous Tarzan stands and proclaims, "CHEATER! CHEATER!" I think he wants Dimples to put a stop to it or something, but Dimples just giggles to himself and mocks the women (again) for being such dumb asses. Then we hear Jay. Seemingly innocent Jay, nothing special Jay. He mutters, "You guys suck, you know that?" Rowr.


Eventually Jugs & Prunes finish their puzzle and Kim & Sabrina race out in an attempt to catch up. Under Dimples' guidance, they look to the men's puzzle for answers. Again we hear, "CHEATER! CHEATER!" I told you earlier that guy always has to stand for something. Yesterday it was loyalty, today it's integrity, and tomorrow it'll be lobotomy, but I'm getting ahead of myself. And so, in what has to be one of the most embarrassing challenges to date, MEN WIN IMMUNITY!!!

Flip flop, swip swap, it's now the men's turn to be happy and bask in the afterglow of victory. They look to their Idol with pride, happy to have the little man back at home. Overcome with grooviness, Cosby does a jaunty jig around the Idol and thanks him for keeping him safe tonight. From his sanctuary, Fancy Pants peers out with a sneer and with a snap of his fingers Michael is painting his toes a shimmery coral.

Back at the women's camp, Prunes is insisting that the puzzle was much harder than it looked, but it is Jugs reaction to their loss in general that is rubbing everyone the wrong way. She laughed when she should have cried. She exhaled when she should have choked on it. Sabrina calls her "dead weight with a mouth" and it's not looking too great for Jugs at Tribal tonight. Kim, however, would like to see ChaCha cha cha her way home. The two ladies weigh the pros and cons of both Jugs and ChaCha, but I think they're focusing on the wrong gals. Obviously, I'm leaning towards Prunes - for oh so many reasons - but mainly because of her baseball cap. She has to lift her head up in order to peer out from under it and that drives me bat shit crazy. Who wears their hat like that?! Ne'er-do-wells, that's who.


Back at Menudo, that indentured servant Michael is once again on his knees in front of Fancy Pants. Now, I don't know what happened (blow job) to transform Michael from a guy who seemed to stand on his own two feet into this mushy play-doh slave boy we see right now (really really good blow job), but I'm getting a little tired of him reporting every indiscretion at the foot of Fancy Pants' bed. What happened to young buff Michael? Donkey punch. What happened to the Michael with a purpose? Lemon squeeze. Oh well, I'll solve that problem later. For now, Cosby wants to chat with Her Majesty. He wants to just, you know, square things up, let bygones be bygones, leave the past in the...
"Get away from me! I don't like you! Don't touch me! I'm telling!"


Jay stares at the ground in silence while his friend Cosby is being very publicly humiliated by a guy in Keds. Meanwhile, Michael is making sand art with his fingers and quietly singing, "La la la la la." What in the sam hell is going on here? You guys used to be friends! Jay, Michael - Cosby is your buddy. He was in your alliance. Fancy Pants has an Idol not a Go Straight To The Finale pass. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you people? Where's the loyalty? So you lost Matt... big deal! Do you have any idea how easy it would be for you guys to recruit Leif? I'm sorry, but you are no longer allowed to call yourself men anymore. You're snowpeas or raisinettes (no wait, that's Kat) or mung beans. Yeah, mung beans. I have no idea what those are, but today... they're YOU.

So while the mung beans hide their heads in the sand, Cosby does what any decent person would do in this situation. He calls Fancy Pants a stuck up brat. You go Cosby! It's about time someone put that puffy macaroon in his place. I'm willing to bet that for the 5 or 6 days they've been out there, Cosby has had to endure all sorts of looks and snide comments from Fancy Pants. A person can only put up with behavior like that for so long. Sometimes, you just have to blow your top and get everything off of your chest. There always comes a time when biting your tongue just doesn't work anymore. Cosby wasn't being black. He wasn't being ghetto. And he certainly wasn't being trashy. He was being a man. Better yet, he was being a human. How the other players sit back and let the Blood Countess flop around all day reprimanding people and dictating orders is beyond me.


This Elizabeth Bathory of the Survivor world has to be stopped because now he's calling for the head of Cosby on a platter and I'm inclined to believe him. Were he only a Dorian Gray we could all go hunting for the portrait and destroy it ourselves, but alas, I fear he is far more dangerous than that. So dangerous in fact that he wants to scooch that little Immunity Idol over to the women's side and pretend he's never laid eyes on it. You say, "Fiddlesticks!" I say, "Cockamamie!" Do you want to know what Menudo says? They say, collectively mind you, "Oh sure, that sounds like a grand idea. Let's go to Tribal Council!" And off they skip into the awaiting arms of this man...


Dimples stares weirdly at the weird weirdness before him and we know we're in for some super evil Dimples 2.0 magic. "Twenty. Four. Seasons," he begins. "400 Tribal Councils and NEVER has a tribe arrived at Tribal Council after winning." Treat lightly Dimples. If you piss off Fancy Pants too much, he'll be bathing in your blood next.

Troyzan tries to explain how the men came together and agreed to give Immunity to the girls, but to look around at the men, shaking in their little booties, it's pretty clear that everyone has now realized what a mistake this was. Has the spell worn off fellas? Does reality look a little sharper by the light of the campfire? Oh well, too late.

Attention turns to Leif as Dimples asks him if he indeed told Cosby that he was the next to go. Stoic stout Leif nods and replies in the affirmative and I feel for the guy. I really do. He was just making a new friend in Cosby. He wasn't planning or plotting anything deceptive. He just wanted his new friend to know that his name had come up in conversation. Far worse sins of indiscretion have been committed on Survivor soil. I can't wrap my head around why this one in particular is so egregious. In the moment it was purely a "friend" thing. With a guy like Leif, who's probably a genuinely nice man, his brain isn't wired to think of everything around him as strategy. Sometimes you just want to shoot the shit and not have it come back to haunt you.

Dimples then turns to Fancy Pants, "Fancy Pants, when did this idea come into fruition?" "I'm the type of person that if I don't like you, I'm not gonna talk to you. Like, leave me alone." *sigh* That's not what he asked you! Dimples tries again, "Who don't you like in this game?" Fancy Pants stands on his log and chants, "C-O-S-B-Y what does that spell? COSBY!!! Yay! I hate him. "

Dimples continues, "OK and why don't you like Cosby?" Fancy Pants replies, "He's a struggling stand-up comic. Like, get a real job!"

*silence*

Did you hear that everyone? Put down your paint brushes, artists. Tuck away those stanzas, poets. Musicians, throw your guitars on the bonfire. Hurry now. Colton Cumbie of Monroeville, Alabama is offended by you if you struggle for your art. How dare you take up precious space inventing and creating when instead you can sit around like a bloated easter egg filing your nails.


Cosby reacts much more calmly than I ever would when he says that perhaps the differences in their upbringings are the root of the problem. Cosby has been on his own since the age of 17 yet he always has a smile on his face. He sleeps on friends couches between gigs and still his energy is always light and effervescent. Then we have Fancy Pants. He went to an all white private school, lived a privileged lifestyle, calls his housekeeper his one and only black friend, and sits around in judgment of everyone around him. It's Pretty In Pink. Cosby is Ducky and Colton is Stef. But you know who was the happy one in Pretty In Pink? Ducky. Stef was miserable hating everything and everyone including himself and I think you'll find that Mr. Cumbie is a similar fountain of insecurity bubbling over with sociopathy, narcissism, and an urge to cut lines into his milky thighs when no one is watching.


Reaching his boiling point, Cosby's dam bursts and he lays into Fancy Pants. I, for one, dug it. It was a wave your lighter moment where "Don't you dare judge me!" and "I work with people and for no one!" are probably one their way to being new Lady Gaga songs. In response, all Fancy Pants could do was watch and wait while his skull ate his eyeballs. When your only reaction is an eye roll, I think it's safe to say that the point doesn't go to you. Cosby - 1, Fancy Pants - 0


Fancy Pants continues on a hate filled rant where I think he pissed off everyone in the South, gays, straights, people who drive trucks, people without college degrees, and people who live in trailers. I'm sure I've excluded a group or two so let's just say that Fancy Pants hates everyone. It's so much easier that way. So while this is all going on, Tarzan's hand slowly lifts. Oh god, he's ready to stand up for something again. This time it's race relations. He's sick of it. Sick of it! We have a black man in the White House so racism no longer exists. Frankly, Tarzan, I don't give a rat's ass about your take on social platitudes. I'm more disgusted by how you, and everyone else, can sit there and let Fancy Pants denigrate Cosby like he has. Each and every one of you should be horrified by the things he said. Not only that, you should band together and vote out Fancy Pants. If he uses his Idol, fine. At least he won't have it anymore and you can dig your penises out of wherever you've hidden them.

Alright, enough of this. It'll take a year to wash away the ickiness. No glittered boobages this week. Instead we get to say goodbye to Cosby who is the fourth person voted out of Survivor: One World. I'm not sure what happened out there Cosby, but you handled him as best you could. Keep on dreaming buddy and never give up. Best of luck to you.

So, what did you guys think of last night's episode? What the hell happened to Michael and Jay? How did Fancy Pants get so much power? Are Leif's days numbered? More importantly, is he a vampire? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

If you're trying to friend me on Facebook, please click on my link at the right hand side of the page. There's a faux me out there so make sure you DO NOT friend the Colette Lala who went to the "School Of Life". That's not me.

Again, all Survivor photos were blatantly and unapologetically stolen from the Survivor Seasons Facebook Group. One stop shopping over there. Five finger discount.

Go Kill Yourself

Last night on Swamp People we met The Rain. Nature's terrible secretion. In some pockets of the universe, The Rain is a cleansing tonic nourishing the soil upon which we stand. This is not the case in Samoa, my friends. The Samoan rains are hateful little beads full of anger. Tiny pelting daggers of malice whose cries are carried on the wind and into our hearts. Pyew, pyew! You're all pruney now! Pyew, pyew! You're a racist! Pyew, pyew! Extra douchiness for you! Hurtling through space and time it is almost impossible to run from The Rain. One way or another, whether through a rickety matchstick shelter or from the plops off of a mocking palm tree, The Rain will get you and it will poison you. We're talking Hunger Games poison. Twitching on the ground, sizzling into vapors poison. You can fight The Rain, but you'll never beat The Rain. And so the Swamp People live with it and mutate. Their skins peels away revealing soft underbellies of truth. It is this truth I bring to you today. Let's recap, shall we?


We continue our Polynesian tale in blackness. Not the blackness that makes Fancy Pants' (Colton) skin crawl. The blackness of night. In silence the Salami (Salani) tribe sits huddled around the campfire as the night crackles and pops with energy. Perhaps preoccupied with their losing streak, the women stare blankly lost in their own thoughts while the wind gusts around them toppling mountains into the ocean. Uprooted trees whiz by their heads yet Kim and Chelsea sit hypnotized by the flames. Gripping his bonnet for dear life against the gale force winds, Fancy Pants tiptoes into the women's camp and makes a kindly offer, "Y'all can come over to our camp if you want. Well, except Sabrina. She'll have to stay here and fend for herself." Kim mutters in reply, "Thanks, but no thanks. We'll tough it out." And tough it out she does. For what could a little rain do to a hardcore outdoorsy gal like her?


The night departs yet The Rain stays and all we hear is a clacking. Jaws and bones... clack, clack, clack. It's Kim. Soaked downtrodden Kim. Huddled beneath her own hair, she sits in a puddle of mud and wonders where the sun has gone. The fire is nothing more than a pile of soggy leaves while the shelter of matchsticks bends and moans with the new rooftop swimming pool sloshing above. Shivering and wild-eyed, Ms. Kim has had enough. Enough! On hands and knees she crawls to the men's camp and collapses in front of their fire. I mean, we didn't need the vote or birth control anyways. It's ok Kim. Crawl away. The men stare at the pile of bones at their feet and wonder how the hell it got there while Matt, who has just returned from a trip snatching infant babies from their cribs, pokes it with a stick and wants it as far away from his bed as possible. His bedspread of newborn baby skins is the only dry thing in the shelter and that festering pile of soggy hair and bones is twitching a little too close for his comfort.

Before Matt can fluff his puppy fur pillows and realign his unicorn pelt, we've got ourselves a Reward Challenge to get to. Yup. You heard correctly - a Reward Challenge! Reward Challenges are mysterious rituals from hundreds of years ago that have been all but erased from Survivor history. They used to be a regular thing, but Rhode Island annexed the South Pacific a while back and things got weird there for a sec. Anyhow, it's back now so let's get to it.


For today's Reward Challenge, tribe members will square off in a memory test. A series of items lined up in a specific order will be revealed behind a heavy curtain. Once you've memorized the order of the items, pull the lever to drop the curtain and then race to recreate the same set-up back at your little diorama stations. First person to get it right scores a point for their tribe. The first tribe to get 5 points wins a reward of fishing gear and a canoe. As the men have 300 extra people, they'll sit out Tarzan (Greg) and Leif. Survivors ready, go.

First up is Sabrina and Matt. The curtain rises to reveal a hodgepodge of shells, skulls, and empty wine bottles (which looks surprisingly like the glass shelf in my bathroom - Pirate Chic, bitches) and the race is on. Sabrina snatches the lever and both she and Matt scurry back to recreate all they have seen. Matt lines up an entire row of skulls (wishful thinking?) while Sabrina actually paid attention and gets the point. Women - 1, Men - 0


Pair after pair continue with the women clearly better decorators than the men. Fancy Pants was a little too heavy handed with the seashells while Jay just sort of slumped over and fell asleep half way through the task. It was the battle between Dumb and Dumber though, I mean Troyzan (Troy) and Kat, that was the real nail biter. Troyzan flicked the lever without even bothering to look at the items while Kat kept trying on skulls like they were hats. Round after round passed blissfully through the drizzle and neither side could manage to rustle up a point. Finally, during the 127th round... with the shells all scuffed, the bottles in shards, and the skulls nicely broken in... Kat, with her arms full of bric-a-brac, trips over her own feet and unfurls the items in precisely the correct order. Women - 4, Men - 0


Last up is ChaCha (Christina) and an excited old gypsy woman with a cowl wrapped tightly around her head. Oh wait, never mind. It's just Bill. Comedic genius Bill. And this brings me to my newest nickname. I give you "Cosby". Cosby, Bill Cosby. So ChaCha and Cosby are next. ChaCha furrows her brow and focuses intently while Cosby hops in circles on his toes excitedly. It's all or nothing, baby. The curtain lifts and Cosby almost immediately races back to his station without pulling the lever which gives ChaCha a few more seconds to memorize. Place, replace, displace... we wait on Dimples to give the final word and... WOMEN WIN REWARD!!!


Back at camp The Rain still falls but a seaworthy craft awaits the womenfolk and that's all that really matters. The boat represents everything the women have needed but never had- success, confidence, momentum, a solid structure. Taking inspiration from the S.S. Vagina, the women regroup and refocus. ChaCha gets to work rebuilding the shelter while Monica sets her mind to starting a fire. Flick, flick... goes the flint. Alright, that's enough. Let's just give up and go ask the men for an ember. That's not an unreasonable request, is it? Yes it is! Yes. It. Is. It's completely unreasonable and weak and moronic and, oh look, Jay is actually giving them an ember. *smacks self in head* Without a real solid promise of a ride in the S.S. Vagina, he hands over an ember - apparently to the delight of Democrats and the repugnance of Republicans everywhere. In response, Fancy Pants flicked his wrists through the air in anger while Matt sat grumbling in the corner sharpening a starfish. The men are angry and they should be angry. They should be angry at dumbass Jay for giving up that ember! Look men, the women are like stray cats. If you keep giving them stuff, they'll keep coming back for more!


And that's exactly what happens, the women are back for more. Meow. This time it's Jugs (Alicia) and Chelsea and they're in search of warmth and yarn balls. Jonas remarks that if this were actually a life and death situation then, sure, he'd be happy to help them, but this is Survivor! This is a game. A game in which you survive. So far it's the women's game of taking. Take, take, take. Ladies, I want to root for you. I really do. It's not like I can root for anyone on the men's side. Look at them all - buffoons! Buffoons and Klansmen. But you really need to stop being such twits. Twits with tits.

So Jugs and Chelsea are standing there, hanging out, warming their hands by the fire when one of them remarks, "Our brand new boat is so cool!" *jams shish kabob poker up nose* Shut your face! Why would you say something like that?!? Apparently Monica and whatever mindless scamp was with her earlier completely forgot to tell the rest of the gals that the boys want to use the S.S. Vagina in exchange for that ember. Granted, no solid deal was ever made, but still... don't go flaunting your shiny new Vagina around especially when you're being total mooches. Naturally, the men reply, "Well, we want a ride in that boat." Jugs responds, "I don't know. We'll see." And this is where the men get all uppity. The bickering begins and the voices start to raise yet Chelsea is still sitting there waving her tootsies in front of the fire without a care in the world.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Tarzan steps forward and tells the women that they need to leave and go discuss the Vagina deal with the other Salamis. Good on you, Tarzan! Instead of sitting and grumbling like Mike, Matt, Fancy Pants, Cosby, and Jay, you actually stood up and said something. Sure, it was said in a shirt that looks like Bozo puke, but you said it and that gets you points.


So in a huff and a puff, Chelsea and Jugs stomp back to their camp. Chelsea flops under the shelter and in a stream of tears burbles out something along the lines of, "Give them everything. I don't care. I'm so freaking cold. My poor fingers! Prunes! Waaa waaa waaa." Want some cheese with that whine? I understand that you're miserable, but you're supposed to miserable! In fact, the original title of Survivor was Les Miserables until that Andrew Lloyd Webber stole it and made 18 billion dollars off of it. Instead of taking him to court, Mark Burnett decided to steal the title of a Destiny's Child song and the rest his history. Pure factual chronological history. Werd.

Eventually, the sun peeks out it's weary head and the women are able to take the S.S. Vagina out for a little spin. Chelsea is willingly dunking her whole body in water and I can't help but wonder about the prunes. All water is wet you know. Oh never mind all that. The ladies catch some minnows and all's good. Everyone seems happy. The Vagina has lived up to her promise. She's proved to be a worthy vessel.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge one person will be your caller while the other suckers are tied up into pairs and blindfolded. The caller will then guide them into lamp posts and scaffoldings where hilarity will ensue. Buckets of goo will fall on their heads as they retrieve puzzle pieces. Once all of the pieces are gathered, the caller when then solve the puzzle. First team to finish wins Immunity. As the men seem to be multiplying overnight, they'll sit out Fancy Pants and Jay. Cosby will call for Menudo (Manono) and Sabrina will call for Salami. Survivors ready, go!

The challenge begins and Cosby proves to have one hell of a voice. His thunderous boom is drowning out anything Sabrina could possibly hope to offer. It went a little something like this:
"RUN! GO FORWARD! DUCK! TURN LEFT! STOP!"
"ok now go that way and then to that thing over there that's about to take out your vagina"
Smash!
*silence*
Ouch. Poor Monica just body slammed her vag into a pole. I think I saw her NuvaRing fall out.


Matt and Leif retrieve the first bag of puzzle pieces for the men while the women are left to flounder wondering where their caller is. Sabrina has gone silent and Monica is half way to Fiji by now leaving a trail of unfertilized eggs behind her.

The men continue to gather even more puzzle pieces while Sabrina is plum tuckered out and draped over the banister of her calling post. "no no no not that way. go the other way to the thing where the things are. whew! i need a drink. can i get some water up in here?" *snore* Seriously?



With the girls literally begging for help from Sabrina, the men whoosh forward to a five bag lead. Cosby gets started on his tree puzzle where his silence and concentration actually serve the women well. Without Cosby yelling like a maniac, the ladies can finally hear Sabrina and get their puzzle pieces. Monica even makes it back from Fiji.


So with the men in a huge lead, Sabrina finally starts on her puzzle. Cosby may have time and a learning curve on his side, but he doesn't have Kim behind him shouting instructions. Nor does he have Monica directing where to place the pieces. All he has is Troyzan grunting. Good luck with that. And so, what seemed lost, what seemed impossible, what was once so hopeless has transformed itself and... WOMEN WIN IMMUNITY!!!

Back at Menudo the men gather around Cosby and try to console him as best they can. "Good job dude.", "You did a great job man.", "Go kill yourself." Wait, what? Did a little girl just tell Cosby to go kill himself? Yes. Yes she did. It turns out that Fancy Pants doesn't care for Cosby and thinks him to be "ghetto trash" so now he must die. *bites fist* Ghetto trash. Ghet-to trash. *looks around the room* Did that seriously just happen? Uh. Um. Ok. Wow.

In between fashioning a cross and trying to hide his man boobs with a horizontally striped cardigan (hey, you asked for it buddy), Fancy Pants is trying to convince the rest of his tribe that Cosby is the type of guy to slit your throat when you're not looking. Because, you know, black men are like that... or something. Tarzan objects by stating that Matt is the much bigger threat and I'm inclined to agree. Cosby is quirky. He's hippy dippy, he's flighty, he's excitable. One thing he's not is malicious whereas Matt sits in a corner and makes lists of the tokens he'll steal from his victims. Serial killers always keep tokens you know. Little things like locks of hair or bracelets or giant man boobs.

With the misfit men debating over Matt and Cosby, Jay sidles up out of nowhere and wants to know what everyone is chatting about. Tarzan tells him point blank that the four of them (plus the racist) are an alliance that they're willing to expand to six if Jay is looking to join in. Jay pauses to consider the offer as Matt approaches the group and demands to know what's going on. "We're talking strategy", says Tarzan who then hands him the Misfit Guidebook to Days 8-39. Dude, shut up! Stop being so forthright. It was cute back when you dealt with the women hogging your fire, but come on! Matt is the enemy. Don't hand him your playbook.


Now knowing that he's in the minority alliance, Matt pulls Troyzan aside for a little tete a tete about roosters and their cocks. Something about chickens in the hen house and the cocks crowing on the fence post. The flapping of wings and muscles banding together. Matt is the rooster and the rest are chickens. Maybe Troyzan and Jay are roosters too. The chickens can't break up the roosters, but Matt wants to be the only rooster surrounded by chickens because who the hell are chickens anyways? They're just chickens whereas a rooster is a rooster. Cock a doodle doo. Huh?

And now we arrive at Tribal Council where we begin with a discussion about alliances. Apparently, Mike thinks that there are too many alliances to keep track of. *scratches head* Really? I'm watching from home and I can keep track of them just fine. It goes something like this: One. Two. There, I'm done. There are TWO alliances.

Dimples turns to Fancy Pants and asks him to affirm that 5 is a bigger number than 4. Fancy Pants replies, "Well I'm not going home because I have the Idol." That's not what Dimples asked you! Fancy Pants is one of those people that hears what he wants and then acts according to whatever fantasy he's playing out in his head. It's creepy and it probably requires some medication to get a real handle on. Like, "Fancy Pants, how are you doing today?" "Twelve! I've got twelve designer handbags." Umm ok.

But let's get back to this Idol thing. So Fancy Pants has told everyone he's holding and, let's face it, it was just to brag because he had no reason spilling the beans just now. Furthermore, he tells us that he's going to use it tonight. Hearing all of this sends Matt into nothing short of a face eating frenzy. Did you see him? It was spectacular. Nom nom nom went his lips. Chomp chomp chomp went his chin. He's only eyeballs and leaky brain matter now. Awesome.

Mike, on the other hand, is feeling a little betrayed that Fancy Pants has the Idol. He tells Dimples that Fancy Pants is always spending time with the women to which Dimples replies, "WTF?!?" Have you noticed how mean Dimples is this season? He usually delivers a few zingers now and again, but he's been downright angry since the premiere. Annoyed almost. Preoccupied. Like he'd rather be somewhere else. Is it just me?

So anyhow Dimples is yelling at Fancy Pants for hanging out with some bitches who aren't even on his tribe and Fancy Pants is all like, "But I'm gay. Giggle giggle." Cosby jumps in and says that Fancy Pants judged the men before they judged him and Fancy Pants was all, "Do you have a nail file because my acrylics are coming loose?" Then Tarzan raised his hand and asked permission to stick his tongue up Fancy Pants' ass. Then Fancy Pants bent over and was all, "My favorite is the red one with the snakeskin trim." And then Matt asked, "Who's 'we' Tarzan?" to which Tarzan replied, "We're trying to recruit your friend Jay. It's page 11 of the playbook." Then Cosby jumped up on the bench and cried, "This is emotion right here man! This is like for real, yo! I'm so excited to be here right now. We're in it bro! This is intense!"

*stares blankly*


Before I read the votes, would anyone like to play the Immunity Idol? Fancy Pants whispers to Tarzan, "They're leather. Real Texan leather." Soooo, no. No one wants to play the Idol. By a vote of 85 to 6 divided by 18, Matt is the third person voted out of Survivor One World.

So, what did you guys think of last night's episode? Should the women loan the men their Vagina? Are you happy Matt went home? Will Fancy Pants and Tarzan end up in a fisticuffian power struggle? Comment it out bitches and have a great day! My apologies if this seemed rushed today. I had to crank this one out kinda fast. Blurgh.

Quit Being Such A Dumb Broad

Once upon a time there was a candy factory run by a man with a low sperm count and a woman who spent her formative years inhaling glue. All that these two sweet-makers wanted in the whole wide world was a child. A lovely freckle-faced child to run up and down the candy aisles in flouncy dresses and pigtails in her hair. But as I said before, depleted swimmers and ovaries like raisins have made this dream all but impossible. Then one day the man had an idea. He looked around his warehouse of marshmallows, red vines, gummy bears, and lollipops and thought to himself, "Daggumit! I'll make me a daughter!" And so he toiled. Day and night for two whole weeks he stuck Gobstoppers to fondant, welded Raisinettes to Twix Bars, and stuffed caramel into hollowed out Tootsie Pops. His decades of candy making skills were challenged beyond anything he'd ever known, but in the end all of the hard work was worth it and the Kit Kat was born (Kat for short). Oh sure, her legs occasionally get stuck to the furniture and in the summer her brains (marshmallow and cotton candy) liquify and leak out of her Lifesaver ears, but she is a joy to be around and that's all that really matters, isn't it? Joy! Happiness and light, a smile you can count on. People who can read and add are a dime a dozen. The same cannot be said for a girl who poops M&M's. Let's recap, shall we?


We continue our Polynesian tale in the thick of night. The downtrodden girls with glum faces shuffle through the sand back to camp while the men, in capes and armor, stand watching over the fair maidens fire. "Just so you know, I totally watched your fire for you," says Michael. Kat's fruit roll-up face crinkles in objection, "But I'm the firestarter! Twisted firestarter!" And then her chocolate covered legs started to melt from standing too close to the fire that she didn't start or maintain so instead she pretended a bee was after her and ran away. With Kat off rolling around in coconut shavings, the women update the men on how Kourtney's ashes have been sprinkled into the ocean and how the Salami (Salani) tribe remains intact. Well, almost intact. There is still that little kerfluffle between Jugs (Alicia) and ChaCha (Christina) that needs clearing up. So through fake smiles and secret plots to drown one another, the two tentatively shake hands and vow to work together in a union of woman-ness and harmony. Meanwhile, far far away in a Parisian cemetery, through cobblestone streets and flickering streetlamps, Simone De Beauvoir's crackly old bones spun something fierce and blew stale dust as far as the eye could see. At that exact precise moment, Gloria Steinem felt a chill run through her body. She shook it off thinking nothing of it, but just you wait Gloria, just you wait...


Onto a new day. The sun is up, the air is crisp, and the ladies know that a good old fashioned sewing circle never hurt anyone. Well, except for Kat who has been sewing her fingers together for the past half hour. Anyhow, this crackerjack group of bluebirds needs a leader. Someone to guide them. Someone to say, "Kat, stop eating your toes!" That someone turns out to be Sabrina. They didn't actually vote and there was no election to speak of. Someone (perhaps the ghost of Kourtney) whispered the name Sabrina and that was that. With a long exasperated sigh Sabrina adjusts her shawl and headband and says, "A'ight. Fine. I guess I'm the leader then." It's not exactly Alice Paul leading the charge for women's suffrage, but it'll have to do for now.

The first order of business is to make a chore wheel. Monica will take care of the camp's water supply while Jugs and Kat will go foraging for food. Troop leader Sabrina advises Kat to observe the land first. Y'know, get to know her surroundings. Maybe place some markers around or at the least leave a trail of rice so she can find her way back home. Through pudding eyes Kat objects, "But I don't want to observe the land! I just want to get stuff!" She may have a point. I mean, the girl is all sugar and aspartame so the chances of her coming back to camp covered in juicy insects filled with protein is almost a certainty.


And so, after a quick workshop on the importance of turquoise jewelry, the troop disperses and begins to tackle their chore list. Monica dutifully brings bucket after bucket of water back to camp while Kim wields her axe with force preparing both lumber and firewood. Kat, however, grabs an inflatable pool raft and mutters, "I'm going to the jungle to get bananas. Laters!" With Jugs in tow, the two girls bob up and down in the water giggling over what naughty ninnies they are. Later they'll freeze ChaCha's bra and put Nina's hand in a warm bowl of water while she sleeps. Good times!


And this brings us to an incredibly awkward and half-assed Reward Challenge. Both Salami and Menudo (Manono) find large crates in their tree mail with instructions to carry the crates to a neutral location. Once there we discover that this is a "Do-It-Yourself" challenge where tribes have to untie a series of knots. Exsqueeze me? I realize Dimples' (Jeff Probst) days are busy picking out nature colored shirts and smuggling masseuses into his tent after hours, but what if there's a tie or something? What if someone gets tangled in the ropes and snaps off an ankle? What if Jugs uses this challenge as her opportunity to "accidentally" place a noose over ChaCha's neck? Too many "what if's" if you ask me. Dimples has like 2 things to do an episode. He should have been there. If not to delight us with a smart ass comment or two, then to take the mic away from comedic genius Bill who thinks the ye olde British town crier bit will kill. "Hear ye! Hear ye!", he begins. Through a menagerie of accents that took us everywhere from Jamaica to Robot World, we discover that the winner of this DIY challenge will win a tarp. According to the Oracle, rain is on it's way so this tarp is a big deal I guess.


With one extra person, the men sit out Michael and I suppose it's "Survivor's ready, go." I mean, who the hell knows? Without Dimples there I'm completely lost. All I see is a dandy in a dirndl striking a pose. I don't know whether to start voguing or throwing shade. I'm so confused!


The tribes unpack their giant macramed snaketopuses and get to work. With nimbly fingers, the men untie their way to the center in order to release the ring. However, on the women's side, Jugs is sneakily measuring ChaCha's neck and Kat is dancing around the Maypole re-knotting the untied knots. *sigh* Naturally, the men win the tarp.



Back at Menudo the men get busy doing manly things. Troyzan (Troy) measures the tarp, Jay sharpens several dozen spears, Jonas lugs some crates around, Bill and Tarzan (Greg) prepare scaffolding, Leif cracks coconuts, Michael tightens the roof, and Fancy Pants (Colton) sits on a swing with his petticoats blowing in the breeze. He's a forlorn Keira Knightley wrapping himself around and around in sadness. The ropes of the swing in symbiosis with his heart. He wasn't meant for this tribe of testicles and ball sweat. People who never leave the house without a hand painted fan in their hands aren't cut out for manual labor. Fancy Pants should be soaking in a tub of lavender and sipping mint tea with Harper Lee. In fact, it is to Harper Lee to whom I turn to help me describe Fancy Pants' place in Menudo... “[he] bathed before noon, after [his] three o’clock nap, and by nightfall was like soft tea-cake with frosting of sweat and sweet talcum.” At best he's a macaroon, not a Menudo.

Having had all he can take of dirt and bugs and sweat, Fancy Pants prances over to Salami in hopes of finding a quilting bee or a spa party. Instead he stumbles upon the women weaving a new roof. Weaving may not be quilting, but it's close! Without so much as an invitation, Fancy Pants grabs some giant leaves and gets to work. With a coo and a giggle he bemoans his own tribe and begs Sabrina to let him stay with the girls. Where last week there was love for the pastel princess, this week there is nothing but annoyance. In no uncertain terms, Sabrina tells Fancy Pants to go back to his own tribe work on building relationships over there. Way over there. Far far away. Yonder. Plus, the girls want to have a fake women's meeting where they can talk about him behind his back. Fancy Pants stares blankly into the wind for about 15 minutes hoping to blend into nature or something until Sabrina finally grabs him by his bustle and pushes him out.



Apparently it takes a lot more than a gentle shove to get rid of the poor lass as Fancy Pants pretty much just walks around in a big circle and then sneaks back into the girls camp on the opposite side from where he left. Upon seeing him, the girls shift uncomfortably and look to Sabrina get rid of him again. Before Sabrina can so much as lift him up by his garter belts, Fancy Pants calls a troop meeting. (Say what?) With a lace hanky in one hand and a parasol in the other, Fancy Pants collapses into a jumble of tears and begs for shelter. "Please y'all just let me stay." Kim turns to him and tells him point blank that he is a member of Menudo. If he stays with Salami, he could tell Menudo everything that's going on. It would be "a dumb move" for the girls to take in a member of the opposing tribe. Fancy Pants stares unflinching. Silent. It is only with a dramatic spin on his heel that he sashays off to get a drink of water. Does that mean he got the message? *shrugs shoulders* I have no idea. Your guess is as good as mine.

Night falls and fortunately for the girls, Fancy Pants has retreated to his own tribe. Since his effort to become a girl scout failed, he is now going to attempt to buy himself some new friends with his Hidden Immunity Idol. With a poke and a stroke, Fancy Pants rouses Jonas, Troyzan, Leif, and Tarzan from their slumbers. Groggy eyed and confused the men stare at the fop in the full dressing gown and wonder what's going on. "I... have... the... immunity... idol and I'm not going home," Fancy Pants declares. Can I just say that he could perhaps work on his conversational skills a little bit? A salutation here and there or a simple "Hi, you may not know me, but I'm Fancy Pants." could work wonders when trying to make new friends. To just dive in and hurl an Idol at the men's faces is a little abrupt. Even for a maiden fair. Long story short, the men are intrigued and it looks like we have a new alliance of 5. Their targets are "the muscle" which translates to Michael or Matt. I'm no Mattematician, but I think 5 equals more than 4 doesn't it Matthew? You still sittin' pretty, buddy?

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. For today's challenge, both tribes will line up side by side on a narrow balance beam over water. One tribe member at a time must move across the balance beam and around the other tribe members. If you fall off, you go back to the start. If you touch two people at once, you go back to the start. When one tribe member reaches the finish platform then the next tribe member goes. First tribe to get all their tribe members on the platform wins Immunity. Survivors ready, go!

The men sit out Tarzan and we're off. Kat is up first for the women with Leif up first for the men. Leif nimbly and quickly weaves in and out of several of the men's legs, but makes a mistake when he inadvertently touches two men at once. He jumps in the water and goes back to the start.

Meanwhile, Kat turns to face Monica and then never does anything else. She just stands there. Monica begins to wave her arms in an effort to shake Kat loose, but her sticky Twizzler legs aren't going anywhere. Under the glare of the sun, her sugar limbs are turning into syrup. With some frantic grabs at the air and the hollowing out of her chesticles, Monica manages to finally slide Kat off of her and onto Chelsea. While over on the men's side Leif is now finished and Fancy Pants is up next.

Feeling the pressure, Kat clicks her jellybean teeth and moves through the women with such force that she slams into Kim. ChaCha reaches out her arm to save Kim from falling and bzzzz. Kim and Kat have to jump in and Kat has to start over.


On the men's side, all we hear is "Hold me! Hold me! Hold me!" What we don't hear are splashes as the men continue to get more members of their tribe on the final mat.


The same cannot be said for the women's tribe. ChaCha keeps grabbing onto her tribemates' arms while Kat begins to spontaneously dive into the water chasing after snorks and Nemo. A frustrated Monica finally takes the helm and decides to show those bitches how it's done. The only problem is that Kat keeps poking her in the arms and giggling. Bzzzz! Back in the water Monica. Kat does a backflip off the beam while Dimples shakes his head in disbelief. Nina shouts, "Ya dumb broad!" and this is quickly becoming my most favorite challenge ever.

Monica makes her second attempt and declares, "It's ok. I do Pilates. My core is strong. Just move me." And god bless Pilates because she makes it! The only problem is that she makes it when the men are pretty much done and that's all she wrote. MEN WIN IMMUNITY!!!

The women stand saddened wondering what went wrong. KAT. Chelsea thinks that maybe it was their boobs. KAT. Nina blames a lack of teamwork. KAT. And Monica, well Monica is sad for womenkind as a whole. I'm sorry Gloria. I tried to warn you earlier.


Back at the Salami camp it's time for the women to gather around and share their innermost feelings about the challenge. Kat begins by sheepishly apologizing for her lack of communication skills. Lack of communication? Nuh uh sister. Try lack of movement, lack of thought, lack of breath, lack of any nutritional value whatsoever! Look my little gummy bear, I'm sorry to have to say this but you're a flip-flop. You're a wind chime, a tinkle on the wind. A tra-la-la. A careless whisper. You're Wham without George Michael. There's no point to you! I guess it's not your fault. I mean, you didn't put oreo cookie filling into your brain, your father did. You're just doing you and I'm sure that that's charming on a dessert table or in a goodie bag, but this is Survivor, doll baby. Sur-vi-vor! Actually, have you ever thought about trying out for Big Brother? I can personally guarantee that they'll cast you. Just tell Allison that Jordan sent you. You're as good as gold.

So now that we've talked about that pinwheel Kat, let's discuss Nina. For some reason, she's considered a target this week. I'm not sure why. Sure, she's of few words, but she hasn't screwed up and she contributes in camp. Perhaps there's something we're not privy to. I'm not sure. All I know is that Nina is OVER Kat. O-ver! Over it. Nina confides in Monica that there is no way the tribe will survive and succeed as long as Kat is still around gathering dust. Monica agrees, but the problem is that their alliance is small. It's just them and ChaCha. Nina realizes this but hammers home the idea that right now, with Kat blowing bubbles in the background, they're witless. A witless tribe which, as you know, is problematic in a game that calls for you to "outwit".



A move has to be made. Nina and Monica need to make the other alliance realize that they'll just keep losing with Kat in the camp licking the dirt. Here's the thing though, Nina has a genius way to sway everyone. Did you know that she's not only a retired cop, but was pretty much the G.I. Jane of the S.W.A.T. team? Read my little bio on her - she's Demi Moore and "suck my dick!" and all that. The problem is that, for god knows what reason, she's decided to play the game keeping her back story a secret. Maybe that was a good idea in the beginning, but desperate times call for desperate measures. When that camp was looking for a leader, you should have stepped up Nina. You should have said, "I spit in the Master Chief's face and I can do one handed push-ups. I'm more than qualified for this job."

While Nina doesn't exactly regale the girls with story of how she kicked the shit out of Viggo Mortensen, she does slyly hint to Chelsea that Kat should be going home. On the surface Chelsea seems to be on board. She confesses to Nina that she's been embarrassed ever since she arrived in that blasted camp. They're the mockery of the island as far as she's concerned. Chelsea knows Nina is right about Kat. We can see it on her face. Hell, we can hear it ourselves when she tells Kim. Kim, another tough girl. Another sensible tough girl who will see that sweets do nothing more than rot your teeth and give you a headache. Right?

And this brings us to Tribal Council. Stern Mrs. Dimples stands waiting for the girls with a crop in his hand and his hair pulled back into a tight bun. "Well, here you are again girls," he cackles. "You're here because of your complete and utter dysfunction." Ouchie. "No little girl at home wants to be you! No one is rooting you on! Now assume the position." He taps the crop against his thigh as he waits to hear reasons why the girls think they suck so bad. Kim utters the catchphrase, "It's our lack of communication." Oh shut up. Shut. Up. Look, Kat learned that phrase in Comm 101 and hasn't let go of it since. Don't let it be your guiding mantra. This is the same girl whose blood runs thick with peanut butter and pees maple syrup. Get with the program Kim! We like you, ok? We like you and we like Chelsea, but this weird bond with the sugar queen isn't doing you any favors right about now. Are you stuck to her? Has she melted into you? Help me understand.

While you're thinking about it, let's check in with Nina. Oh lookie, now she's telling everyone about her history taking down perps and tazing the bad guys. Nice! Now that she's put that all on the table, how about we hear about Kat's life experience. Kat, you're up.

"Well, once I lived in a gumball machine for 2 whole years!" Thank you Kat.

This is such a no brainer. Let's send Little Debbie home and get these women into shape for next week. This can go no other way than the obvious, right? Right?!? The women will do the smart thing here, yes?

You know what? I can say it as much as I want and I can hope and dream and wish on a star and all that crap, but nothing will change the travesty of last night. The 2nd person voted out of Survivor: One World is Nina. Nooooo! I didn't even get to give her a nickname or anything. It's almost enough to make me long for the days of Rhode Island (Redemption Island). Almost.

So, what did you guys think of last night's episode? Will the women ever win a challenge? What the hell were Chelsea and Kim thinking? Will Matt uncover the secret of the Idol? Are malt eyeballs really a food group? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

PLEASE DO NOT COPY AND PASTE THIS POST WITHOUT THE EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR. Thanks.

One Huge Ball Of Badassness

One world. One whirling swirling twirling marble in a deep black abyss. Perched on nothing, it spins to the gentle lullaby of time. Round and round. From far away it looks so peaceful, so tranquil. But up close, deep in the thick of it, in the hairy armpit of undiscovered jungle, it is a battlefield of pain and woe. On it live the tiny dancers dancing for money. Some are from Mars and others are from Venus. Some swing from vines while others are bountifully big bosomed. For the next 39 days these penis and vagina people will be forced to come together and squirt forth entertainment for us onlookers at home. Not all will survive. Not all will prosper. Forgotten body parts stuck in flesh eating nets of evil will turn purple and rot. Long after the last Survivor has left, there it will lie. One lonely middle finger in the sand. In it's bony extension we find our truth and we find our answers. Will the battle of the sexes ever be over? Will they ever learn to coexist peacefully? Look to the finger. It says, "Fuck no!" And aren't we all just a little bit thankful for that? Welcome back bitches. Let's recap, shall we?

Chicka, chicka, chicka... Over the horizon and through the din. Chicka, chicka, chicka... Frantic blades slice the jungle air with ferocity and promise. Weaving through the clouds and snaking through the heat, our cruise director, Dimples (Jeff Probst), clutches the inside of a helicopter while down below, on a road of pot holes and lost souls, 18 fresh-faced suckers bob up and down in a herky jerky truck of doom. They think they've got it all figured out. Blueprints of silliness sit nestled in their pockets. Grand master flash plans covered in stick figures and mantras. But who cares about all that? I want my lines. Give me my lines Dimples. Do it for me baby!

With one hand on a tumbler of gin and the other wrist deep in a bowl of blue glitter I catch my breath in my throat waiting for Dimples to land his aircraft. But what's this? He's not landing at all. He's hanging from a helicopter! This means only one thing - DIMPLES READS MY BLOG. Don't believe me? Check out what I wrote at the beginning of last season:

The music swells as the oars cut into the water. Our hearts begin to race because we know what's coming. You've been with me long enough to know. I wait for it every season. Those 3 lines. Those 3 little magical lines. I snort them up like the drug they are and let them invade my very being. Give it to me Dimples! Sparkle in your green and give me the goods. Will he deliver them hanging from a helicopter? Will he be shouting from the inside of a volcano? Will he be leaping off the side of a cliff? Gah! I'm so excited I can't stand it!


And so, on tippy toes with one hand in his pocket and the other hanging on for dear life, I get what I crave. "39 days. 18 people. ONE Survivor!" Did you see how he said the "one"?! He took his hand that was keeping him from somersaulting into the ocean and made a "1" with it. Not only that, the helicopter tilted over backwards and Dimples clung to the side like a spider monkey while it whooshed out of frame. They must have covered him in Gorilla Glue or something. Either that or his skin seeps a sticky jelly substance. Fragrant, but sticky.


The helicopter lands just as the truck o'suckers pulls up to a stop. After a joyful "Welcome to Survivor!" from Dimples, the castaways finally exhale and whoop with excitement. Wearing a panda bear on her head, Kourtney sheepishly admits that she doesn't fit in amongst the other women. Jugs (Alicia) grimaces to herself while Colton gets busy making googly eyes at Matt. In the back of the crowd, a man who looks like a walrus insists that his birth name is "TarZAN." Dimples furrows his brow with doubt while Tarzan whips out a birth certificate with a crayola slash through his last name. Over it in childish scrawl someone has written "GReG TaRZaN." Hearing this, another hirsute male shifts uncomfortably and thinks to himself, "He can't be Tarzan. I'm Troyzan!" And uh, do you have a birth certificate to prove that Troyzan? Because until you have a legal document covered in peanut butter stains and crayola letters, I'm not going to believe you.

Alright, enough dilly-dallying. Women over here. Men over there. These are your tribes. Kourtney's panda hat topples forward down to her nose while a crestfallen Colton clutches his pearls in horror. This is his nightmare come to life. He speaks Venutian - fluently - for crying out loud! What could he possibly have in common with these other men? Speaking of the men, they will now be known as Menudo (Manono) and they are as follows: Tarzan (Greg), Troyzan (Troy), Jonas, Matt, Michael, Liam, Colton, and Bill. The women will henceforth be known as Salami (Salani) and they are: Kourtney, Kim, Nina, Monica, Jugs (Alicia), ChaCha (Christina), Sabrina, Kat, and Chelsea.


Before the tribes can head to their campsites, they will both have 60 seconds to strip the truck clean of supplies and sustenance. The women hurl fruit and panty hose to one side of the truck while the men pile lumber, tarps, and wrenches on the other side. Michael, who looks suspiciously like Carson Daly, tiptoes over to the women's side and swipes an axe from their pile of flowers and lotions. Clueless, Sabrina stands inches away and hollers for the ladies to grab more wrapping paper and beads while Dimples warns that it might be a good idea for the tribes to keep an eye on their stash. His warning goes unnoticed as Michael belly crawls under the lip of the truck and sneaks off with the women's scented candles and scarves. Dimples giggles to himself and begins the final countdown... 3-2-1!


The women gather around their pile of travel size shampoos while the men stand proudly in front of their mountain of Black & Decker. Michael whispers to Jonas, "I stole their stuff!" while Kim wonders where the hell her ax went. Dimples all but points to the women's pile and laughs while Jugs declares, "Someone stole our stuff! We had an axe!" Little man Liam sitting at the edge of a rainbow protests, "Whoa whoa whoa, we didn't steal anything" while Michael shifts uncomfortably with an axe down his pants and lacy underthings in his shirt pocket. The game has officially begun and it's anarchy. Looting and lawlessness rule this Polynesian island now and there's no turning back.


And so Menudo and Salami part ways and head off into the jungle to find their respective camps. Tarzan's knees buckle under the weight of some birch twigs while Liam carries a fully furnished house on his head. Over on the women's trek, Kat and Kourtney can't decide who should carry a frying pan while Jugs is in full game mode putting together an alliance of 5 - Jugs, Kim, Kat, Chelsea, and Sabrina. Kim, a bridal shop owner - brides, girls, white, pearls, lace, tulle, and satin - doesn't really care for any "Woman Power!" sort of mentality, but the second those sneaky men stole from her she burned her bra, stopped shaving her armpits, and bought herself some tickets to Lilith Fair. *waves a lighter* Do the sad animal song, Sarah!

In record time the women turn the final corner and see both the Salami and Menudo flags waving overhead. The men arrive shortly thereafter and are mildly annoyed to find the women folk puttering about on their soil. Jonas immediately grabs a basket of supplies and suggests to Colton that they hide it from the ladies. Colton replies and gestures proudly to the flags bearing this season's logo, "We're obviously together though. It says 'One World'." Jonas shakes his head and says, "It doesn't look like One World to me, bro." And Jonas is right. It is not One World. It's two worlds. Our and theirs. His and hers. Mine and yours.

Colton stops to consider this sad revelation only to be interrupted by a flock of rabid chickens. This-a-way and that-a-way the chickens zigzag through the camp. Chelsea quickly puts a flimsy deal together that the men and women should share the chickens and the race is on! Liam assumes a tackle position, Kourtney starts grabbing at the air, and Jugs tries to bash them in the head with her enormous bosoms. Meanwhile, Chelsea walks right up to chicken #1 and chicken #2 and grabs them both by the scruff of their feathery necks. Matt immediately extends an arm to receive the chicken he was promised, but Chelsea isn't so sure anymore. What if the women need something that the men have? Now you're thinking girls!

Matt huffs off with a pout and decides that now he wants a chicken as an apology. An apology! An apology for what? For you being a complete douchebag? For that shirt you're wearing? You let me know, cry baby.

With the chickens nestled safely in Jugs' jugs, camp construction gets underway while one lost soul gazes sadly at the sand. One pastel colored fancy pants. Fancy Pants... perfect! So there sits Fancy Pants with a frown on his face and some dirt on his cardigan. He can either sit and pout or he can do what he does best - be a social butterfly. Come out of your cocoon darlin' and fly. "Oh, it's so nice to meet you!", "I'm thrilled to be here.", "Love your blouse!" Through the squeals and hugs and laughter, Matt watches from a distance and says, "I know Colton is gay." Quite the Sherlock, that Matt. Tell us detective, what else have you discovered? That the sky is blue? The trees are green? Water is wet? Pray, tell us more about this world of mysteries that we find ourselves in.


Matt isn't just a cracker jack detective though. He is in fact a mathematical mastermind. Quickly grabbing the "young fit guys", he has managed to put together a trailblazing alliance of 4. I say "trailblazing" because 4 won't do you bubkis in the land of Survivor. You need 5, Einstein.

Meanwhile, Fancy Pants is on his knees begging the women to give him the clues to any Hidden Immunity Idols. ChaCha sort of grits her teeth and laughs while Monica waves a chicken in his face causing him to tinkle. Could Monica be a voudoun queen? Did you see any bones trickle out of her jeans pocket? Keep an eye on that one. If she spits in anyone's face and starts crafting poppets out of palm leaves, you let me know.


So while Fancy Pants is busy assuming he's going home first, high talker Jay is busy rubbing two sticks together. With little more than a twitch and a blow, the men have fire and you can color me impressed. The smoke brazenly wafts over to the women's side and just sort of mutters, "How ya like me now, bitches!" Sabrina smells it's sweetness and wanders over to introduce herself and make an offer. Chicken for fire? Matt poo-poo's that idea instantly as he wants all of their chickens, their money, and the deeds to their houses. They owe him! Sabrina says she'll think about it while Jugs quickly dives face first into the sand and sticks her bare hand into the men's fire pit. 'A' for effort, Jugs, but fire isn't meant to be held.

Night falls and with it a restlessness. Kat wants fire to be able to see her fellow tribemates while Kim wants it for ambiance. After a brief discussion over exactly what "ambiance" means, ChaCha and Monica take it upon themselves to just go steal an ember from the men. With a giant pair of chopsticks, Monica gingerly sticks them into the fire and successfully retrieves a bright hot orange ember. It seemed like a hugely successful nighttime caper, but lo and behold, the girls failed to keep their fire lit throughout the night. Oh come on! How do you screw that up? You know it's gotta be next to impossible to sleep during your first night in Survivor. How did someone not notice the flames dying?

ChaCha is unphased though. She'll just tie her hair back in a bun and go ask the men politely for some fire. Well, it started out that way until it morphed into a weird exchange of slave labor.
"What do I need to do to get you guys to give me some fire?"
"Weave us 800 palms for our roof."
"How about 1600 and a "massage"? I'll send some girls right over."
"Deal!"
The men all pat ChaCha on the back as Jugs approaches wild-eyed and frizzy-haired wondering what the hell is going on. ChaCha puts one hand on her hip and exclaims, "Tada! I got us fire." It was a gesture that screamed like a 10 year old girl pirouetting around the kitchen table, "Look at me! Look at me!" Jugs, as is only natural, responded by wanting to punch ChaCha in the face. Hey, I get it. There's nothing more annoying than a show off and it's especially shady that she made the deal without consulting her tribe beforehand.


Sabrina, however, steals away to do some quick searching for the Hidden Immunity Idol. One hollowed out tree trunk later and boom! She finds it. Not so fast Home Skillet. The Idol she found is intended only for a member of Menudo. In the event that a Salami finds the Idol, they have until Tribal Council to hand it over to a member of Menudo. Clearly, Fancy Pants is the obvious choice - other than burning it and pretending you never found it in the first place.



And this brings us to our first Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, you will one at a time leap off of a tower and land in a net. You will then race across a balance beam and make your way over to a rope bridge. Once all of your tribe members are at the mat, you can raise your tribe flag. The first tribe to raise their flag wins Immunity. Before giving the go, Dimples then whispers into his shirt collar, "Also, be sure to jump with your hands to your chest and land on your back." Survivors ready, go!


Kat and Bill take the first leap with Bill losing a shoe on the way down. Both somersault off the net with Bill reaching the mat first. Jonas takes off next without a hitch while Sabrina falls feet first and prances gently off the net. Michael goes next with Nina on his tail. Nina lands bent at the waist and takes a knee directly to her eye. Leif makes the leap with his fedora on while Kourtney, inexplicably wearing a dress - at least it's not a panda hat, lands hard on both hands. She lands with a whimper as Dimples reminds everyone to cross their hands across their chest.


Clutching her hand to her side, Kourtney stands on the mat and mutters, "My wrist. My wrist." 3 bones are sticking out, her pinky is where her pointer finger should be, and the blood is quickly draining from her face. The rest of the tribes fall with the men maintaining a small lead. At the balance beam, Kat manages to catch up to the men while up on the scaffold Kourtney has slid down to the ground and begun the long walk into the light. Dimples takes one look at the angels hovering over Kourtney's head and halts the game immediately. "Everybody stop! Don't go into the light Carol Anne!"

Ramona the Medic arrives to a jumble of bones one might find in Monica's fanny pack. "Can you move your thumb?" she asks. Kourtney twitches her left leg and replies, "Yup." "Can you make a fist?" asks Ramona. Kourtney wiggles her toes, "Absolutely." Ramona looks up to Dimples and discreetly shakes her head back and forth. Euthanasia. The only solution. Dimples nods silently in reply, "Ok folks, Kourtney has to go see the Coroner... I mean, Doctor, and as soon as she comes back (in an urn) we'll decide how to continue."

Since the game technically has to have 9 people start and 9 people finish, the game is now over because the women have forfeited. Unless, of course, the men want to be complete dumb asses and finish the challenge. Naturally, the men take Immunity and for some reason the women are mad about this. Troyzan makes a valid point and says that if the situation were reversed, no way the women would choose to keep playing. I wholeheartedly agree. Giving up Immunity is something only Lil Hantz would do and look around yourselves. He's safely back at home tattooing "GEEZIS IS MY FREND" to his calf.


Back at camp, the mood is somber and a freakish ghoul has taken over the body of poor Nina. With teeth missing, lips swollen, and blackened eyes this Walking Dead character is a hilarious addition to the tribe. Nina is a tough lady (don't you dare call her "girl"!) though so she takes it all in stride and laughs at the bloody pools where the whites of her eyes used to be. Kim, on the other hand, isn't so accepting of her fate. She grew up in Texas where men are chivalrous and wouldn't dare cop out of a game against women. Chivalrous doesn't mean stupid though, does it?



Off in the trees, Sabrina is trying to shake loose that pesky Immunity Idol she's not allowed to keep. Ideally, she wants Fancy Pants to use it to take out one of the stronger men. Fancy Pants doesn't seem to be absorbing the words of wisdom and instead tries to insist to Sabrina that he's not disposable when what he should be doing is thanking his lucky stars Kourtney ended up with a wrist growing out of her nose. I love ya Fancy Pants, but the dainty limp wrist walk off of that net didn't do you any favors. You are, sadly, very disposable. So, the transaction is complete and Sabrina leaves Fancy Pants with one final word of advice, "Don't let him (Matt) punk you out. Alright?" Fancy Pants blinks twice and mumbles, "I love you." And with a kiss and a swish and a trail of Britney's Curious wafting behind him, Fancy Pants trots off into the distance.

The girls gather to discuss Tribal Council and let's get real here: there's nothing to discuss! Kourtney's bones were wiggedy whack and there's no way she's coming back. Jugs, however, is planning for a miracle. She wants ChaCha gone pronto and will raise whatever hell she needs to at Tribal Council to make that happen. Sweet!



And this brings us to our first Tribal Council. With Dimples in his evening wear sans chapeau we are ready to begin. Dimples pats the urn on the table next to him and says, "We'll discuss Kourtney's condition in a few minutes. So what's up with the girls?! The chicas!" Jugs is cool with the all girls school she's now enrolled in and Kat is very proud to be the firekeeper (Ah, that explains why it went out.) Speaking of fire, how did you guys get it?

ChaCha raises her hand, "Oh oh pick me! Pick me! I got this." She explains how she brokered a deal where a trade was fairly made. Jugs shouts, "Oh hell no! She told them we'd weave for them." ChaCha rolls her eyes and insists the deal was a fair one. They were desperate for fire. A move had to made. Tada!

I'm not sure how (Jugs), but all hell breaks loose and hands begin flying. "Oh no you di-in't!", "Talk to the hand!", "I can't hear you!" Chelsea shrinks in the back and shakes her head with embarrassment while Sabrina bites her lower lip in shame. It's ChaCha's and Jugs' fight, but somehow Kat is in the middle and it's basically just a bunch of hens pecking each others eyes out. It's chaos and it's awesome.

Dimples, however, is speechless. He still doesn't know what the fight is over and, quite frankly, neither do I. All I know is I love it. I love it, I love it, I love it! Hot messes. All y'all! This deserves a booby dip. *dips one breast in purple glitter for Jugs and the other in red glitter for ChaCha* I don't think I've ever dunked on the first day before, have I?

After a lot of hands thrown in the air and exasperated sighs, the girls still don't get that they'll need to come together and work in harmony in order to succeed. Dimples tries to sternly warn them, but is met with only giggles and shoulder shrugs.

In the end, Kourtney is no longer with us and I think I'm OK with that. She seemed like a nice enough girl, but a little too meek and clutzy for this crew. These ladies are the type who take their earrings off before a conversation. Kourtney seems much happier with a pair of knitting needles rather than a pair of nunchucks. We bid you adieu Kourtney and I hope your wrist is OK. So what did you guys think of last night's episode? Are you Team Men or Team Women? Any standouts? Any bad asses? Will Sabrina ever tell the other girls how she found the Idol? Does Leif have a word allowance like Rancher Rick did? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

All Survivor photos in this post were shamelessly stolen from the Survivor Seasons Facebook group.