Thursday, October 11, 2012

A Perfect Creature

Creatures big, creatures small. Creatures wide, creatures tall. Formed by God on a pottery wheel and ceremoniously tapped on the shoulder with a wand, creatures of all shapes and sizes roam the earth for no good reason at all. Some crawl, others teeter, and the scary ones, well, they slither. As perfect as some of them might think themselves to be, alas, they are not. Not! Even that hairy knuckled mealy mouthed foot stomping pot smasher isn't so perfect. My perfect creature would have the feet of a lemur and the grace of a springbok. It would be soft like a chinchilla and cuddly like a koala. It would have the prowess of a panther and the patience of a tortoise. Sometimes it might coo like a dove and other times it may hiss like a snake. Perfection is never just one note. Perfection is a complicated tapestry of strengths. Perfection is the head of one creature placed upon the body of another. The eyes of this plucked out and placed onto the head of that. Bits from here, bits from there. Stick them all together with a hot glue gun amongst the bubbling beakers and chemicals in your basement laboratory and maybe, just maybe, you'll toil long enough to make yourself some perfection. Or... you could just put up a poster of shirtless Malcolm with his hair down and call it a day. Either or. Let's recap, shall we?

Today our saturated tale begins with the dawn. The torturous dawn. Sitting in a tiny rickety shelter with prunes for toes and goosey pimples for flesh, we find what is left of the Messing (Matsing) tribe. Crinkly and sad-faced, our mud people Messings sit and shiver in the persistent rain. Rain with gumption, if you will. Rain that just won't give up. Their teeth go clickety-clack as their blinking eyes go squish squish. No one speaks. All we hear is the rain and the awkward *dribble squish clack click click* of body parts.

In an effort to get warm, Denise slides her toes over to Malcolm's. Playing footsie has always warmed Denise up in the past so maybe it will work now. *sigh* It doesn't. Nothing works. The three sit sodden. Waterlogged and miserable. On the beach, the waves crash ashore and continue to mock the three drowned rats. It's like the waves are saying "Haha... Haha..." Oh, cruel nature! *waves fist angrily in the air*

All one can do when their skin has become slimy and reptilian is sit and wonder. Sit and ponder. Muse. How did we get here? How did we go from six to three? How did the dream go so wrong? Deep thought after deep thought. Unanswered questions. Silence. Then... "Let's mount the greatest comeback ever," a voice screeches. Highfalutin high pitched platitudes eek out of that sad sack we call Dreads. He was willing to die for this game, you know. To die. *thunder claps in the distance* Hear that, Dreads? He's coming for you. God may have missed His chance once before, but He won't miss again. *creepy organ music fills the scene*

Leaving those depressed Messings to their cold rice and even colder dispositions, we flit on over to Fandango (Tandang) to see what's doing. The scene is lazy with everyone lolling about staring at the rain. Melty (Michael) looks up to the leaking roof and says, "Someone should fix this." And then he rolled over onto a loose piece of sharpened bamboo and bled out onto the mud. Artis swirls his big toe in the bloody mud filling the shelter as RC wonders if maybe they should make a fire (You know, to burn the body - Melty's body) Prickly Pete sneers and spits, "It's raining!" And in the corner, a quiet and observant Blair (Lisa) sits and takes it all in. She looks at her drenched tribe, at the lifeless body of her once friend, and wonders to herself if the rain is too much for them. Is the rain the one thing that can beat them?

Prickly Pete, however, doesn't mind the rain. Oh sure, he sneered at it earlier, but that's just part of his evil plan. He summoned the rain and now he'll summon up a little chaos fun. While Shakira (Abi-Maria) rises to fetch herself a mojito to quench her thirst, she knocks over RC's pocketbook where out tumbles a flimsy piece of tea-stained yellowing paper. She points at it and asks, "What's that?!" Prickly Pete replies, "It's the clue!" The corners of RC's mouth instantly fall downwards as her breath gets stuck in her throat. Blair then kicks RC in the shins and demands that she reads it aloud. Through a haze of confusion and stutters, RC reads the clue for everyone to hear and mumbles, "I wonder what 'under your nose' m-m-m-means."

Naturally, Shakira is furious. She knew it! She knew that RC would betray her. Her former BFF must have gone out and dug up the clue with plans to look for the Idol later all by herself. La Tortura! Chalupa Tortura! Ohhh that RC gets under Shakira's skin and makes her blood boil. The embers, she brings to life the embers. And if I know anything about this existence I'm stuck in, it's that you steer clear of a smoldering Shakira. She'll hip shake your noggin off the top of your head and then where will you be? Headless, that's where!

But hark, it wasn't RC who dug up the clue with clandestine plans to go searching for the Idol later. It was Pete! Prickly Pete. All thorny and needly, Pete has a penchant for chaos making. Ripped straight out of the Lucifer Guide For How To Not Win Survivor (For those new to this blog, Lucifer = Russell Hantz), Pete wants to keep everyone off kilter so no one is comfortable and confident in their own game. They'll merely be victims to his game of Chaos Management.

So while chaos and war is breaking out over at Fandango, peace and sunshine is breaking out at KrabKlaw (Kalabaw). The rains have taken their leave and now a beautiful yellow sun has taken its place. Scruvy (Jonathan) marvels at the beauty around him and quickly gets to work on his camp chores. Dawson, however, stares at a two foot high crackling flame and wonders aloud, "Is that a fire?" Yes Dawson, that is a fire. If you stick your fingers in and out comes a gelatinous sticky goo, then you have made fire. Go ahead and test it. Jeff Kent sits back and watches as Dawson sticks all sorts of things into the fire to see if they burn. Dried leaves? Sizzle. Twigs? Crackle, crackle. Jell-O Pop's (Carter) velvet beret? Smolder, snap, melt. Jeff Kent snorts to himself and wonders how the hell these young'uns get by in life. Only Scurvy seems to be capable of recognizing an honest to goodness fire when he sees one. That Scurvy is an adult!

The more Jeff Kent looks around himself, the more he thinks it might not be a bad idea to work with Scurvy after all. I mean, for crying out loud, Dawson is now throwing babies and gasoline on the fire to see if they'll burn. He can't work with her! So while out on a boys clamming trip with Jell-O Pop, Jeff Kent approaches Scurvy and pitches (Get it? Pitches. I'll be here all week, folks.) a plan where the two of them will use each other for their strengths. Scurvy will bring his veteran status to the table while Jeff Kent will bring his ability to control dumb ass girls like puppets. Happy and satisfied with themselves, the men smile, shake with eight fingers, and stare at the water when over their shoulders they hear a long slow exhale followed by the scent of a fancy Russian cigarette. It's lanky spiky dandy Jell-O Pop and he wants to play with the big boys too. Fingering his shell necklace with one hand and puffing languidly on his red cigarette with the other, the men wade over to Jell-O Pop and offer to make their duo a threesome. Jell-O Pop sighs and plops a giant ash into the crystalline blue water in front of him. That's his signal for "Yes. Affirmative. I will join you." And there you have it, we have a crackerjack new alliance of manly men.

(If you don't want to watch the whole clip, skip to 2:03) 

There is a problem with the Manly Men Alliance though. That problem is the lady people onshore. They saw the exchange of fingers and the casual ashing into the water. They saw it all and now they're damn mad. They're Joan Crawford damn mad! Riot Grrrl Pixie (Dana) says KrabKlaw is no longer a democracy. It's a Cheer-ocracy! No, it's a Cheer-tatorship. Whatever it is, it's girly and bad ass and probably has a spirit stick. Pixie tells the women they don't need no stinkin' men. She can make fire. She can kill a chicken. Who needs men?! They'll just stick together until the Merge when they'll recruit more vagina people to their cause. *burns bra and plays some 7 Year Bitch* Free Pussy Riot!

Back over at Miserable Messing it is still raining. It's not raining at KrabKlaw, but it's raining at Messing. This is the type of black cloud luck these suckers repeatedly get stuck with. To make matters worse, that awful Dreads is foaming at the mouth again. No one else is talking, but Dreads sure is and he has a lot to say. In between cliche catch phrases and musing about his place in the world, Dreads is becoming suspicious that no one has approached him for an alliance. He's been a horrible leader, a joke in the competitions, and an all around annoying person yet he wonders why no one wants to work with him. Oh well. No matter. He'll just try to find the Immunity Idol, but first he needs to figure out what the word "somewhere" in the clue means. 'Somewhere' is so noncommittal. It's so leading, so vague, so secretive. He looks in the shelter, under rocks, around the rice container. It must be here somewhere! Gah! There's that pesky word again. That "somewhere" word.

So while Dreads is on his hands and knees mumbling, "I know you're somewhere Idol," Denise watches from afar and shakes her head. She knows he's up to something so she runs to share her suspicions with Malcolm. The two whisper and conspire to find out if Dreads does indeed have the Idol. They search through his satchel and shell collection only to come up empty handed. Malcolm shrugs his shoulders and says they'll still vote him out anyways. Maybe Dreads will be blindsided and won't think to use the Idol.

Back over at Fandango it is lunch time. Melty is stirring the bubbling rice with his prosthetic fingers while Shakira keeps telling him to add more salt. Because she's a salty person. Because she's salty and her salt reserves are getting low. She needs those reserves to go from E to F. Add more salt now! Prickly Pete stands and watches as Shakira starts to twitch and spit not only from her salt deficiency, but from RC inching closer and closer to her. He stands satisfied that his little paper caper has only strengthened the divide between the two ladies.With his fingers steepled just so, he kicks RC in the ass and shoves her even closer to Shakira.

RC stumbles forward and even though she can see Shakira blinking a lot and shifting from side to side, she decides that maybe this is a good time to have a girl chat with the spicy tamale. RC tiptoes quietly towards Shakira and asks in a small voice, "Do you want to talk about this at all?" Shakira's eyes flash bright rojo as she begins to pace in a circle and wave her arms wildly, "I don't want to talk to you. Get over it. Move on. Seriously, move on. I'm not going to talk to you. You know what you did. You know exactly what you did." Prickly Pete, meanwhile, hunches over behind a bush and giggles to himself while RC swears up and down that she didn't do anything. I'm not sure why, but Pete really can't stand RC. All he cares about is getting her out of the game and if he has to watch a burrito explode while doing it, then so be it.

And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. But first, we'll go through a series of majestically swirling helicopter shots to get there. Islands, mountains, secret paradises like the one Tilda Swinton lorded over in The Beach. Come on in guys! For today's challenge, you will become sexy mud people. One at a time you will carry two pots of rice on a bamboo pole through a series of obstacles. Once you've collected all six pots, you will then use a wrecking ball to smash the pots. The first team to smash all of their pots wins Immunity and a gift basket of steak, veggies, spices, and utensils. The second team to finish will also win Immunity, but their gift basket will be suckier with only veggies, salt & pepper, and a pot to cook in. However, either tribe can trade their prize for a tarp if they so choose. The last place team will head to Tribal.

Since Messing has only three people left, both Fandango and KrabKlaw choose to sit out all of their womenfolk. And if you watched closely like I did, you could see Pixie making obscene finger gestures behind her back to all the men who think they're better than her. You tell 'em, Pixie!

Survivors ready, go! Malcolm, Melty, and Jell-O Pop leap out of the start and begin piling pots onto their bamboo poles. Malcolm quickly takes the lead with Melty right behind him. Jell-O Pop, however, won't put down his cigarette or his copy of the Complete Works Of William S. Burroughs so one of his pots tumbles and crashes. Naturally, Dimples has to point out that for the first time in the history of Survivor Challenges, Messing is actually in the lead. Jell-O Pop doesn't appreciate Dimples' condescending commentary and he continues to have trouble smoking, reading, and competing all at the same time.

Malcolm makes it back to the start in first place and passes off to Dreads. Melty makes it back miraculously without incident and passes off to Artis while Jell-O Pop sips a cappuccino and crawls on his belly all at the same time. With a frothy foam mustache on his upper lip, Jell-O Pop passes off to Scurvy and the game is on. All men work diligently and carefully with Dreads maintaining a sizable lead.

That little munchkin of muscle Denise heads out last for Messing and the grimace on her face tells us that those rice pots probably weigh more than she does. She never falls or quits, but she moves slow enough that the other teams begin to catch up. Fandango pulls ahead and the entire tribe begins to tackle the obstacle course and head to the rice pots where Artis will do the smashing. Malcolm does the smashing for Messing while Jeff Kent smashes for KrabKlaw.

Artis and Malcolm get to their wrecking balls first and the clay goes flying. Smash! Smash!  KrabKlaw finally makes it to the smashing station, but this is a clear blow out. Malcolm and Artis have this baby in the bag. Smash! Smash! 

With two pots left for Messing and one pot left for Fandango, Artis crushes that baby into another Fandango victory. FANDANGO WINS FIRST PLACE!!! Prickly Pete celebrates as only he knows how - with a Tyra Banks America's Next Top Model booty tooch. Tooch! Pot ledom.

We're now down to Malcolm and Jeff Kent. Jeff Kent smashes two pots at once while Malcolm smashes his second to last pot. It's down to one pot for Messing and two for KrabKlaw. Malcolm readies himself, leans back, and lets the wrecking ball free from his hands. It's all up to air, aim, and wind velocity now. That is all that stands between Malcolm and victory. Whoosh!

It's a swing and a miss! Meanwhile, that pesky Jeff Kent has just smashed another pot. Gah! *hides eyes in hands* It's down to one pot for both teams. A wind storm picks up right around Malcolm blowing off his whole trajectory. Meanwhile, Jeff Kent lets his ball go.

It merely kisses his pot.

Then it flips his pot.

Then it stops in midair, turns around, and SMASHES his pot. KrabKlaw wins second place!!!

And like that paradigm of good sportsmanship is often wont to do, Dreads smashes a rice filled pot on the ground and begins to talk to the man in the moon or something. The other tribes stand awkwardly while Dreads continues his solemn prayer, "Lord I don't know what I'm supposed to do with all this excellence, all this perfection. I don't get What's Happenin', Father. Dee, Rerun, Raj, Dwayne Wayne... I don't get it Father. I just can't take this!"

"Umm excuse me, who are you talking to Dreads? You're smashing pots and talking to I don't know who, God?"
"I'm talking to God, Lord. I mean, Dimples. For me, this isn't supposed to happen."  
"With all due respect Douchey McGee, you're not Superman. You're just a guy."  
"I was formed by God's hands on a pottery wheel. I am a perfect creature."  
"Bitch, please!"
And then Dimples gave Dreads the hand and went back to slurping his Appletini. See you at Tribal, bitches!

Back at Messing the music is mournful. Sad piano tinkles tease in the background. Malcolm is now at his lowest low. A few years ago he had a puppy that keeled over and died in his hands, but Malcolm never cried. Today, however, he almost shed some thick salty tears when he lost that Challenge. He wanted to cry. He tried to cry. He just couldn't because he was born without a soul. You didn't cry when your puppy died?! My dog died and I was inconsolable for a year. A year!

Imagine me dead, Malcolm.

Go ahead Malcom. Imagine me lifeless in your hands.

What kind of empty vessel are you Malcolm? Actually, this one looks like kind of like a spaz. I probably wouldn't cry over this one either.

So, Malcolm has no soul and the music continues to fill the background. It's sweeping, it's gothic, it's a Bronte novel. Flutes and toots and horns and strings. Is this Masterpiece Classic or Survivor? Nevertheless! Dreads is also sad. He is filled with perfect excellent disbelief and sadness. That is, until Malcolm approaches him in the water and tells him to vote out Denise. Of course you and I know that Denise is Malcolm's best good footsie friend and they'll never vote each other out. Malcolm just wants to make sure that Dreads feels comfortable enough going into Tribal Council so he doesn't use the Idol if he has it.

Denise, too, wants Dreads to feel comfortable so she grabs her yellow legal pad and her reading glasses and heads on over to Dreads for some quality time. And, wouldn't you know it? Dreads is more than willing to talk and spill all of his innermost secrets to Dr. Denise. He begins by saying that he never goes into anything expecting less than the best. Dr. Denise takes some notes and nods, "Mm hmm. And have you always been this way?" Dreads lies back on the leather couch and tells a heartbreaking tale. *rolls eyes* "Two kids jumped me when I was around 8 and I got beat up. It wasn't like I got beat up, beat up. I got 8 year old beat up. You know, titty twisters, wet willies, wedgies. That's sort of thing. Anyhow, for a long time after that I began to plot my revenge on the pipsqueaks who tweaked my nipples. Long story short, I clocked little Billy right in the face and made him cry. But, you know, I don't condone violence. So yeah, I always strive for excellence." *scratches head* Dr. Denise looks up from her filled notepad. "OK Dreads, thank you for sharing that with me. I'm going to prescribe 2mg of alprazolam and some ECT twice a week for the rest of your life. That'll be $250. See you next week. By the way, let's vote out Malcolm." Damn, she's good. I wonder if I can weasel a scrip for Percocet out of her.

Dreads rises and the soundtrack immediately changes. It's plucky now. It's jaunty. It's vaudevillian. Gone are the sad notes. Now it's xylophones and triangle dings. Not only does Dreads feel better after his session with Dr. Denise, but he has a pivotal role now. He's the swing vote! It's all up to him. Everything everywhere is all up to him. You see, when you strive for excellence, you get it!

And this brings us to Tribal Council. Dimples in a leprechaun green blouse sips on his mint julep and  turns to Denise. Snickering in between sips he says to her, "Crazy, right?"  Denise nods vehemently, "Crazy!" and then she motioned over to Dreads and did that "cuckoo cuckoo" finger swirling motion on the other side of her head so he wouldn't see. Dimples then turns to Malcolm and asks him what the atmosphere back at camp was like. Malcolm squishes a puppy skull in between his fingers and says, "There's no telling what will happen." Denise chimes in and says everyone packed their bags tonight. The feeling hanging over each of them is hopeless.

Speaking of hopeless, Dreads is going to talk now. Dimples asks him about his weirdo perfect creature thing he said back at the Challenge and Dreads clarifies that it's more of a "state of mind" than anything else. He's much clearer on it all now since he talked to Dr. Denise. And, of course, the alprazolam is working beautifully. Being the shit stirrer that Dimples is, he wants to know how made Malcolm the "go to guy" in the Challenge. Malcolm raises a bloodied finger and points it down on himself, "I did, Dimples. It's all on me."

Look, we know how this is going to go. Plus, I gotta locomote. Let's vote! By a vote of 8 million (every Survivor viewer) to 1, Dreads is the 4th person voted out of Survivor Philippines.

So, what did you guys think of last night's episode? Was it a lucky wind that helped Jeff Kent and sabotaged Malcolm? Will the tribes get reshuffled? Is Prickly Pete someone to keep an eye on? Will Pixie recruit more vaginas at the Merge? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!

Super bitchy thanks to Rob Beasley for my beautiful Survivor pics!