Thursday, November 29, 2012
That thin filmy veil that coats our existence. That wooly spiderweb that lets us talk to spirit and dance with the fairies. You can't see it. You can't touch it. But it's there. Flossy and tangly. Stretching across the vast expanse. Weaving through the jungle thick. Darting over asphalt mazes. A whisper in the breeze... magic (or magick if you regularly attend Renaissance Faires and dance skyclad under the full moon). Not the kind of magic with sequins in the city of sin. The kind that wraps us in its heartbeat. The kind that nestles us in the pulsating rhythms of time and seasons. All it asks of us is faith. Faith and the spirit of a survivor. Née, a warrior. Perhaps a warrior in a coconut bra and a feather bustle. A warrior who samba'd her way out of the hands of the Portuguese and into the arms of a dimpled innkeeper. A warrior who knew when to hold 'em and knew when to fold 'em. Magic. You can do magic. You can have anything that you desire. Magic, and you know. You're the one who can put out the fire. Let's recap, shall we?
Where to begin? Where to start? I take one week off and the fit hits the shan. The pecky pecking of peckers. The fingers pointing. The insults hurled. Screeching voices in the night sky. Oh, shut it. Can it, you jungle fops. We're here to fight for a million dollars ($4.63 if you're Jeff Kent) and fight we shall. No more hand holding and nursery rhymes. No more of your kumbaya farts. To the death, I say. To the death!
After a harrowing night dodging insults and jeers, Shakira (Abi-Maria) wakes with the sun and Melty (Michael). She did it. She survived. She can still look out onto that water and find it RC-free. She can glance to her left at the empty log where Pete used to sit. If she squints and focuses, she might be able to see the faint lingering of a prickly scowl. And, to the right, no more parrots. No more swashbuckling. Just a peg leg in the sand. Bye bye Blackbeard. Only their ghosts remain. Their ghosts and this strange balding guy covered in bandages and pudding.
Melty asks Shakira if she is OK. How is she doing on this "day after"? Do the darts and thorns still sting her skin? Heavens to betsy knows that sometimes his phantom fingers still ache. Looking down at his popsicle stick hands, he remembers and shudders. He never wants to go through that again. So yeah Shakira, how you doing babe? You holding up OK? Shakira's eyes hold steady as the night before comes tumbling back. The things they said, the things he said. Dimples. The things they all said. And like Melty with his popsicle sticks, she shakes off the shudders and replies, "It wasn't cute."
Hiding in a tree, the good doctor overhears the two talking. Denise then rolls her eyes and promptly plops to the ground. Brushing the sand off her body, she mumbles to herself about how that Shakira is so negative. An electron in this world of protons. That little spice packet is going to need a miraculous win if she plans on staying in this game. And if somehow a miracle happens, if that magic is tapped into, then they'll get rid of Scurvy (Jonathan). Someone has to go and that someone isn't going to be her.
After a morning of awkward silences and sweeping up the prickly prickers around camp, Golden Boy (Malcolm) and Shakira make their way to Tree Mail. Inside sits a stack of envelopes. "Letters!," Shakira thinks to herself. Letters of love and encouragement. Letters of hope and promise. Letters of... weeping and crying and, oh Golden Boy, hold me. Overwhelmed with emotion, Shakira nestles herself into Golden Boy's chest inhaling his manly musky scent. Golden Boy knows Shakira is difficult, but he's not heartless. They destroyed her last night. Plus, it's a free ass grab! *squish squish*
The two take the envelopes back to camp and discover that they're not letters at all. They're money! 500 smackaroos. Time for a food auction! Shakira looks down at the money in her hand. Crisp and new. Crinkly and crunchy. She'll save it. She'll save it and only use it to bid on something that could help her. Balling the money up in her fists she whispers to herself, "I'm a Survivor." And then, giving one last look to the sea, she raised her arms and did the Shaki Shake. She's ready now. Vamanos!
And this brings us to a food auction of succulent delights. Come on in guys! The rules are simple. You will bid in increments of $20. There is no sharing of food or money. The auction can, and will, end without warning. Survivors ready, go!
First up is pancakes, bacon, maple syrup and orange juice. If Denny's had a Survivor Grand Slam, this would be it. Dr. Denise does a quick tally of the carbs to protein ratio divided by the caloric meatiness of the bacon multiplied by how the maple syrup will affect her blood sugar. Satisfied with her calculations, she bids $200. Then $500. Sold!
Next up is a wine and cheese platter. A Camembert, a Fontina *$500!* Perhaps a Port Salut and some Danish Blue. *$500, you knucklehead!* Some Gruyere and Gorgonzola. *starts hurling hundreds at the TV* Brie, bleu, goat... PARMESAN. *passes out in a puddle of drool* The way to my heart during the Christmas season is with one of those enormously impractical wine and cheese gift baskets. While my diet mainly consists of me slurping gin out of my bathtub through a curly straw while taking snorts of glitter off a glass coffee table, I occasionally get my nutritional needs from diving into a wheel of Parmesan while having a Cab Sav administered intravenously. Melty, however, is a strange lad. He saw some soft cheese he could spread with his popsicle fingers and shouted "$500!" before Dimples could even mumble "cheddar."
Here's the kicker... Melty doesn't even drink! I know, Dimples. I know. I hear that expression on your face loud and clear.
After a few more rounds of Golden Boy erotically licking frosting off donuts and Scurvy satanically destroying a chicken, Jell-O Pop (Carter) can no longer stand the smells. The wafts, the aromas... they tickle his nose hairs and curl into that pleasure part of his brain. Frantically sucking on one of his Sobranie's, Jell-O Pop immediately gets into a bidding war with Golden Boy over a covered item. After ashing into Golden Boy's eye with the quick finesse of a professional poet, Jell-O Pop walks away with the prize - an overstuffed baked potato complete with extra fixin's. Jell-O Pop, weak from living off of nicotine for the past 3 weeks, shakily reaches out to retrieve his potay-tuh. (That is Dimplian for "potato") Not so fast Jell-O Pop! You can either eat this potay-tuh all by your lonesome or you can take these two giant bags of rice and beans and keep your entire camp well-fed for the remainder of your stay. Jell-O Pop's tummy gurgles with what could have been as he drops his shaking gangly arms to his side. He takes the rice and beans.
After Blair (Lisa) walks away with a sandwich for $320, Dimples reveals a tea stained scroll.
"This scroll is an advant..."
"Sold to Shakira for $500!"
In the words of the great C+C Music Factory, "Everybody dance now!!!"
Even though I could get up and leave this auction right now, we have one more item to get to that will remain covered. It may be covered, but Jell-O Pop and his acute senses know what's what. He can see the puffs of meat stink floating overhead and no one, not even Blair and her Warner charm, will wrestle this one away from him. Jell-O Pop wins the covered item for $200 and he was right! It was meat. Big giant hunks of succulent veal shanks. We're talking a caveman portion. Wave a drumstick over your head while swinging through the jungle on a vine portion.
Jell-O Pop puts out his pink cigarette with the heel of his loafer and excitedly reaches out to claim his platter of flesh. Dimples yanks it back out of his hands and says, "Not so fast!" Jell-O Pop's jaw tightens as he thinks to himself, "Not again!" Yes, again. This meat isn't only for you. It is for everyone and you all have 60 seconds to eat it. And that's how it was... that's how it will go down in Survivor history. The day the meat melted. The day Golden Boy let Jell-O Pop lick his greasy fingers and groan. The day one man sucked another man's meat and no one blinked an eyelash. Progress!
Back at camp, with tummies full and lips greasy, the Migrayne's (Dangrayne) are smiley and satisfied. Jell-O Pop passes around a pack of his smokes for all to enjoy as everyone plops in the sand and loosens their belts one notch. Lolling about in the lazy afternoon the Migraynes puff and smile. Puff puff. Even Blair sucks on her yellow cigarette and slowly exhales. "Just this once," she thinks to herself. "Just this once, it's OK." She'll pray about it and repent tomorrow, but today... today she dances with the devil.
Speaking of devils, Shakira has perched herself on a tree branch and through clenched teeth is directing all of her exhales to Scurvy who sits across from her. Scurvy waves the smoke out of his face and asks, "Wanna talk?" Shakira flicks her ashes onto the top of his fedora and replies, "Sure." Scurvy then traces his big toe in the sand and asks Shakira what he should say. Shakira replies, "An apology, puta. An apology for destroying me, for demoralizing me. I left there gen-winly crying." Gen-winly, she did Scurvy. And gen-winly you should apologize. Gen-winly we should all apologize for adding an extra vowel to the word gen-win. What a waste of time on all of our parts.
Meanwhile, the peanut gallery is listening and covering the giggles trying to escape from their mouths. I can't quite tell who they're laughing at though. Sure, Shakira is a funny gal, but then there's Scurvy. Kiss-assy-let's-be-nice-to-the-chick-that-just-got-an-advantage Scurvy. I mean, come on! Can you be more transparent? What sort of a power do you think she just got? The Save A Returning Player Because We Love Them So Much Power? Hell no. Hell to the no.
So after a weirdly robotic hug with Scurvy where hands and arms had no idea where to go, Shakira steals away to finally open her scroll. Personally, I hoped it was a map to a cherub hidden deep in the jungle that peed Mojitos because I think Shakira would be hysterically violent and all kinds of awesome when drunk. You know, just punching people for the sake of punching people. Twisting some nipples because they're there. Becoming all elbows and thumbs when in the presence of man parts. Herky jerky twisting and turning on the dance floor. And when the song was over she'd regain her composure and blink a couple of times. Seeing the bodies littering the ground around her, she'd wonder what happened and how they got there. And while she wondered, she'd lie under the peeing cherub with an open mouth once more only to do it all again. But it wasn't that. It wasn't the Mojito Peeing Cherub In The Jungle Power. It was a free pass to the final round of the next Immunity Challenge.
Now, while this advantage is a pretty good advantage, it is not quite enough to scare the enchiladas out of the others. Shakira needs to craft a story, a tall tale of epic proportions. Something grand and sweeping and maybe set in the Yorkshire moors amongst the biting winds... I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold gen-win Immunity Idol! And that's exactly what she did. Armed with Bronte and a conspicuous fake bulge in her bikini, Shakira set her sights on Golden Boy.
Pointing to the branch decorated with dried rice and beans sticking out of the top of her bikini, Shakira begins, "This is nothing. I was only going to say that heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels, putas if you really want to know, were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the Immunity Idol I am now clenching between my butt cheeks. Laters!" Golden Boy sat scratching his head as he watched Shakira skip up the beach. Did he buy it? Is he fooled? I'm not sure. He might be thinking, "She usually uses a lot more 'putas' when she talks."
And this brings us to the big Immunity Challenge. Come on in guys! For today's challenge you're going to do that thing when you all compete, and then 4 compete, and then 3 and then blah. (I hate these challenges!) But first, Shakira has something to read to you.
"In my hand I hold cinco secret messages, but I am only obliged to read uno. When I am done reading the gen-win message, I will rip this paper into teeny tiny unrecognizable pieces nevermore to be seen again, putas. 'You will proceed to the final leg of this challenge.'" *rip rip* Shakira then holds the teeny tiny unrecognizable pieces up to the wind to be carried out to sea. Her secret is safe now. Floating to the bottom of the ocean amongst the mermaids and the kraken, it is safe.
Again, out of my hatred for challenges like these, I'm going to cruise through this one as fast as possible.
And voila! Here we are in the final round with Scurvy, Jell-O Pop and Shakira ready to go. The three leap off of their mats to untie knots at the opening of little gates. With nimble fingers and that habanero will to win burning within her, Shakira pulls into the lead quickly with Jell-O Pop not far behind. As the challenges progresses, Shakira's fingers work faster and faster as my heart beats louder and louder. At home I covered my face and peered through shaking hands. The music began to swell louder as Jell-O Pop began to gain on Shakira. Scurvy, sensing he has no chance to win, starts to cheer for Jell-O Pop through the ropey maze tangled in his fedora. Oh stick a cork in it, Scurvy! Strings, harps, banjos... all of them got louder. They thumped and I buried my head once more. I can't look, I can't look! It is here that I hear Dimples shout, "Shakira is at her last gate of ropes!" So I lowered my hands, grabbed the bottom of my Shakira concert shirt (Verizon Center, Washington D.C., 2006) and I waited. I waited for Dimples to say it... SHAKIRA WINS IMMUNITY!!!! *flings off shirt and dunks boobies into two awaiting chilled bowls of glitter*
SUCK. ON. THAT. Putas. Shakira cried, I cried, we all cried. You all probably cried out of anger as you clenched your fists and punched yourself in the heads. Too bad. So sad. *giggles*
Back at camp, Golden Boy stole away into the jungle to dunk his - never mind - into some glitter of his own. You see, he may be acting all depressed and sad in front of the others, but this Shakira win is actually pretty great for him. It gives him the opportunity to get rid of a real threat like Scurvy. And this tells me that Golden Boy is the only one looking down the road to that final jury. The one where Shakira is standing next to him spitting Brazil nuts at RC's head.
So that's the plan, to vote Scurvy out. Denise, Golden Boy, Melty and Blair are all onboard. It is etched in stone. Done deal. Let us wipe our hands of everything else and kick back until we meet Dimples tonight.
"This is just so hard. I'm not good at this game," says Blair. Umm OK. Quizzically, I looked around the room wondering why any of that matters right now. "I'm not cut out for this game. This game is too big for me." Hang on, you know you're safe this week, right? They're not voting you out, Blair. You get to stay. I repeat, you're safe.
And with that, those pesky low self esteem demons started doing a number on Blair's innards. They growled and contorted and that is when the guilt set in. The weird guilt over having to vote out Scurvy. Scurvy, you remember him, the guy she asked to go to the end with her and who responded with a noncommittal "We'll see." That guy. That guy that throws your insecurities in your face and then, when he needs you, takes them all back again. Look, I like Blair, but she doesn't owe Scurvy shit. The second he gave her that "We'll see" b.s. is the second any guilt that Blair could possibly muster up evaporated into thin air. It's gone! Poof! Buh bye. You have NO loyalties to Scurvy now. He plays on your insecurities and then when you try to make a deal, he pushes you away. There is no guilt here, Blair. None!
But, as our former child star has incredibly low self esteem and an unnerving urge to keep everyone happy, she moans to Scurvy about how bad she is at this game now that she has to vote him out. And how do you suppose her best good friend Scurvy, the one she's so scared of hurting, replies? "Cut the crap!" Cut. The. Crap. It was abrupt and sharp and all kinds of icky when he said it. It was a man talking down to a lady and looking at her with hate in his eyes. We've all experienced it. That one moment where you finally figured out he doesn't give a shit about you. The problem is, the big fucking problem here, is that Blair still feels guilty and torn up inside. Even after he snapped at her! Ugh!
The two then go for a little stroll where Blair finally brings up that "We'll see". The one shining glittering moment when she made the decision for herself to finally cut ties with him. Scurvy's reaction is sort of flippant and "I can't believe this is about empty promises!" Dude, you're not a dumb guy, but when you told Blair "We'll see" you screwed up your entire game. What you should have done was just lied to her. You know how she is. You know all she wants is for people to like her. So, while spending your money getting fatter was a big mistake on your part, that "We'll see" will haunt you for the rest of your life. You might as well just get it tattooed on your forehead. Or your fedora. Whichever one people will see the most.
So, armed with the news that he is in trouble, Scurvy makes the rounds to the troops in an effort to stay. He tells Shakira and Jell-O Pop that they're voting out Denise tonight. After last week's Tribal Council, Shakira is totally cool with that. Jell-O Pop let out a soft moan so I guess he's cool with it too. Who knows.
All Scurvy needs now is Melty. Skipping to the beat of his own drum that he often trips over, Melty. Talking to Melty is kind of like talking to a doll with a string that you pull out of its back. Only his lower jaw moves. Up and down, up and down. "Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh." You can never tell if you've gotten through to him or not. I guess we'll see.
And this brings us to Tribal Council. Dimples begins by asking Shakira if it was her intent to wait for an advantage to come up in the auction. Shakira replies, "Absolutemente! $500 best spent in my whole life, puta." We then turn to Denise for a comment on last week's attack of Shakira. Dr. Denise dons her "I'm in Doctor mode" glasses and says that last week wasn't an attack on Shakira. It was simply a group of people whose tolerance has reached its maximum. And then she wrote out prescriptions for everyone and suspiciously told Shakira to take 500mg of Xanax three times a day. But Doctor, won't that kill her? Ohhh I see what you did there. Not nice!
We turn our attention to Scurvy who is all bunged up something fierce. He is mad that Melty and Blair made a deal with Golden Boy and Denise when, in fact, Melty and Blair are, in reality, best good friends with Scurvy and trust him the most. Golden Boy interrupts Scurvy, "But you didn't trust Blair enough to cement a deal with her." Kablam! Take that! *high fives Golden Boy with boobs* Scurvy replies, "Right! She voted for me twice. We have a lot of fun playing together though." *raises eyebrow*
One thing Scurvy is right about is that this vote makes it highly likely that either Denise or Golden Boy will win the million dollars. To that I say, better than you winning it! I actually like Denise and Golden Boy. Plus, I feel they're pretty deserving. Christ, they lived with Dreads in his house of horrors for like 12 days! Anyone who can share a dwelling with Dreads and escape with the will to continue living deserves a million dollars. Hell, give 'em two!
Dimples then turns his attention to Blair. He asks her if she can compare this experience to something else in her life. It was an awkward moment that kind of made me go, "Yikes." Blair nodded and eeked out a quiet "Yes" before the tears starting to well up in her eyes. Knowing what we know now, she left her husband before playing Survivor so who knows. Maybe it was that. Or maybe she's talking about Tootie and how she wanted to vote Geri off the show. I don't know! Either way, it was clearly something she didn't want to talk about.
Alright, let's vote. Even though Scurvy shouted he was voting for Denise while at the Urn and we got the most glorious smile/chuckle out of Blackbeard, it wasn't enough to save him.
Scurvy is the 12th person voted out of Survivor Philippines. Good riddance, I say! That leaves only one more returning player to get rid of. They're dropping like flies. Make it happen, bitches. Next week, dump Melty. I want all new people in that finale.
So, what did you think of last night's episode? Did it hurt when you sliced your wrists after Shakira won Immunity? Are you happy Scurvy went home? Do you want Golden Boy to feed you his meat? Comment it out bitches and have a great day!
About next week... this time next Thursday I will be en route to Los Angeles. I hadn't planned on doing a blog because of my schedule out there, but I know how you guys get - psychotic and rabid. So here's what I'm going to do, I'm not saying no and I'm not saying yes. I'm saying definitely, maybe. Like that godawful movie with Blake Lively's husband. It occurred to me last night that I could actually write the blog on the plane. Not only will I look like I have something important that I'm tackling in front of the other passengers, but I won't incur your wrath again. Again, I'm not promising. I will try. It might be shorter and it might not be that great without being able to rewatch the episode like I normally do, but I will try.