Author's note: You know, I tried. I really tried. I had planned to interweave the fascinating details of this week's
"Survivor" with tales of real humans -- none substantially different from you, me or anyone we know -- bravely fighting against stereotypes. Of those that saved other people, often explaining (should they have lived to tell their stories) that they simply had to do it because
"it was right." From the intellectualism of a Boaz, a Menchu or a Niemoeller to the actions of a Benedicta a Cruce, Talbert, Parks, Kolbe, Sugihara or Wallenberg, I wanted to both amuse and educate. Perhaps you have heard of some of these individuals, perhaps you know their stories but through them might recall how
"all men are like all other men, some other men, no other men," of how sometimes Nietzsche's debate over
"great" persons might not matter in someone's sudden, significant choice to fundamentally alter the course of the history and culture of the anomie, pain and degradation of the human experience, to better the world because
"it was right." Well, fuck that noise, because none of those people should be associated with this utter and abject crap. Read a damn book, honkies. And never, never watch this revolting show again. -CB.
"Previously on 'Survivor'...": Black people "made" fire -- with tools, mind you, not by super blackie powers like hoodoo or anything -- and jumped around because of it; some lazy white guy got pissy because some pointless decision didn't follow his exact request; some other not-as-white guy explained his team threw a challenge to get rid of some greasy wetback; there was a fatty-on-skank love connection; and a Chinese used trigonometry (**really!) to find the immunity idol.
Night 6 at Aitu finds the leftovers discussing eliminated Billy's shocking and insane declaration of eternal love for a white girl -- a love that simply cannot be given our divided world. J.P. -- labeled a
"volleyball pro," not the gay bar brokeback that he is -- summed up the genius of this crowd and set the intellectual level of this season best:
"If it's true, it's true.... But it's not true." Oh, J.P., does that explain why
"your" phone number, passed to me behind the dumpster that night, is the same as Crisis Services? You told me you loved me!
(Please note that Aitu is apparently the Hispanic tribe. I have no idea when
"Hispanic" got around to meaning "not white," but it must have come along with New Math and those gosh durn skaterboiz sometime in the
'90's, so whatever.... Also, this first conversation is significantly filmed in night vision, which essentially keeps the light side dark and the dark side light. Think about it.)
Day 7 is fascinating all the way around. Brad (by whose very name you can tell deeply, deeply self-identifies with his ethnicity) is mad at something called
"Cao Boi," but is "coming to Jesus with" him. Either Cao Boi, Jesus Christ or both
"never shuts up." The "coming to Jesus" hinted at a murder/suicide, but no such luck: Brad is just a babbling moron. This Cao Boi of whom he speaks, though, spins tales of a personal and political nature, suggesting parallels between experiences of the indigenous Southeast Asians in the 1960s and
'70s and the American political climate of today. He also works in a nail salon. Naturally, he is abhorred by his tribemates, who are surely thinking that the ancestor gods are unhappy with such outspokenness. I think they bound his feet as punishment, but to be truthful I wasn't paying a lot of attention.
I can understand why Cao Boi spent last week's episode punching people in the head and explaining it would make them feel better. Works for me, babe.
That damn JeffyMail comes along and Raro (the
"whiter white meat"?) reads from it words such as "thinking" and "observation," so you know this is all going to end badly.
The tribes gather together and Yul ("The Ainu with the Mongol Name"™) returns from what must be blessed alone time on Exile Island. Anyhow, since the racial divisiveness clearly proved too searing (well, that and the problem with the black people continuously rioting and burning down their own huts), it's time to merge! Oh yay! It's like the Johnson administration all over again! (I honestly do suspect some cuttin'
'n' pastin'-type editing, perhaps due to pressure over the absolute horror of "segregation" on this season. Has
"Survivor" ever merged tribes within a week? Or has it always been this shitty and I've just blocked it out?)
(As I began the previous paragraph I was reminded of the song that goes
"We gather together/ to sing the Lord's praises...," but then remembered that Orientals hate the Lord and everything holy and thought up something mildly amusing and yet totally forgot it like a minute later because
I've been heavily drinking and I blame this goddamn show and havent u 2 and if not why not???!!!!111)
The girls and boys are separated and forced to delve into Probst's sad sack. Two members of each sex are designated by the marking of said sack's products as captains. Women are to choose women; men choose men -- but not from their own tribes, warns a clearly peckish Probst. First choosing is determined by scissors totally always cutting paper, and the tedious picking process begins. The men choose other men based on what we sometimes refer to as
"names" whereas the women say things like "pretty lady in dreds," "I want the cutie in the peeeenk!" and
"sister in camoflage!" or otherwise rely on colors and shapes. Wow! Maybe the gooks are right: Women really are useless!
On the women's side, the darkest-skinned black is chosen last.
As to the men, the gayest Asian ever chooses another fag, who chooses another fag and so on and so on and so on...until nothing else fabulous is left and they just pick a boring ol' pretty boy. I figure it's a physically appealing enough team, so I'm rooting for them, thanks. Cultivate your own garden, indeed!
The last man chosen is the older, intelligent and thoughtful Cao Boi.
Since there are two women's teams and two men's teams, Jeffy produces eggs (**no, like fucking seriously!) that are smashed and ejaculate colors onto the captains. Via this creepy and obscene process, teams of opposite sexes are merged. Thus, on the one hand we have a totally boring team and on the other hand have a fascinating team of pretty boys diluted by some tiresome women. Ah, well: Such is life, eh?
These two larger tribes go to the Raro and Aitu islands. Apparently the Asian Puka and Whateverthehelltheycalledtheblacks' tribal lands are lost to the mists of time and almost certainly raided by the camera crew. Draw your own conclusions.
The reconstituted Raro (they of the hot gays and tragically XX-chromosomed) gather in a circle and attempt to enunciate their individual experiences regarding being separated into tribes based solely on race/ethnicity. (Please note that this tepid and pointless exercise is certainly sanctioned by the US Department of Education.) Naturally, being composed primarily of gay men and dumb women, the conclusions are composed of
"thoughts" such as "it's like going from the ghetto to Bel Air." And this particular gem came from an African American male (aka
"GayNate"). One wonders if he will similarly get into Carlton's face or prove himself to be the freshest prince ever. A moronic white ("white" white -- not
"Hispanic white") girl screams how the merge is like going "back to America...a melting pot!" First of all,
"melting pot" implies that we're all totally mixed: all of one color, of one thought, totally homogenous. That's kind of the opposite of
"diversity." Haven't you ever melted shit together, idiot? But then she finishes with
"...and it's so great!" So I feel that no further explanation (and it involved cross-breeding and orgies!) is required.
Meanwhile, Adam -- the gay mafia's eye candy -- stands erect, alone. But more on him later. If I feel like it.
Oh God, this is so boring.
Since a bunch of different tribes are mixed together, someone approaches some broad (Cinnamon? Candace? Drizzle?) and asks if she and Billy (last week's eliminated fat, dumb, obsessed Spic) indeed communicated affection, eternal love and adoration to each other. Since the lily-white chick is a-scared of the jungle fevah, she lies and makes it seem like she didn't respond to his insane stalkerness with an
"I love you too." Her pants, by the way, are like so totally on fire!
Fire Raro Island, the dumb-as-a-box-of-hair Parvati tells the camera how she plans to flirt with the
"so obvious it's ridiculous" homos men. "It's what I do best," she says. In my town, we call that being a fag hag, and it's not really something you brag about, honey. But we're all about diversity all of a sudden, so
"evs" (and that's a word from the fascinating island nation of "Australia." Ask your local librarian to help find out more about its awful climate and retarded populace...!).
At Aitu, The utterly ethnically-monikered
"Becky" is scheming for alliances. Becky reminds me of nothing more than Fu Manchu's
"ugly and insignificant daughter," so expect a lot of references to that. Similarly, Jonathan -- who is the only person I could ever figure of being a certain ethnicity due solely to his light blue eyes and his unfortunate Alan Alda-like speech -- is trying to get himself and
"some of the Asians" allied. To end any interest in the plotting, Yul tells Becky that he's found the immunity idol. Becky's
"so thrilled!" And father Manchu must be so disappointed.
A Quiznos commercial that details
"a lot of meat" comes on and I mistakenly thought that Parvati had stumbled into a NAMBLA meeting and was working her obvious charms on some of the elder members.
GayNate spears an octopus and screams like a little girl. The other
'mos rush into the sea to help him bag the 'pus, as it were. Adam -- the not screamingly gay pretty boy -- stands on the shore, staring and again alone, afraid to enter the deep -- oh so deep! -- yet cleansing ocean, surely wondering about the strange stirrings inside his, err, bosom. Oh, Adam, octopi have tentacles. Twisting,
Parvati, surely a Quiznos shill, tells Nate that she bets the octopus also
"has a lot of meat. You could probably eat that whole thing yourself." And she says it while forcing out her breasts and trying to look inviting -- not necessarily like the thousand year old desiccated twat she is.
Is this like
"Survivor: Repressed Emotion Island"? Did I miss that? In whatever case, Parvati is so fucking bad at reading people it's almost insane. Poor thing!
Oh, thank God! Immunity Challenge time provides us with amazing visual excitement and intellectual...-- oh, well, no.... The two teams are to start 180 degrees from each other on a vaguely circular track, get clipped together, weighted down and made to wade through
"water to your knees!" There is talk of transfers of 15 pound sacks (ugh: more sacks!) and of racing to catch the other team and tackling one of their members.
While most of the idiots are trying to process the sequence of nouns and verbs, others are inexplicably jumping and screaming in delight for no reason whatsoever. Adam seems a little
"off," though. He's staring blankly again, clearly wondering why his pants feel tight. Hmmm. Yeah. Oh, there's a
"secret note" from Jeff to be read at the conclusion of the game, but I think Adam's gotten an erection while thinking about
"tackling" people. You can tell. Really. It's almost tragic, in its way.
A tired and
disdainful Probster voices over the "strategy" involved -- how the teams have "chosen" to put
"strong men" at the beginning, middle and end of their lines, so tackling or not being tackled or something is possible. It really makes no sense as both teams are shown to have a random mix of men and women at every point along their tethered line. Obviously, the narration was added after advance audiences fell asleep or killed themselves while watching two rows of people endlessly follow each other. But there's
"water up to their knees!" Jeff reminds us over and over and over again. And such
"bold strategy moves!" whenever the girls drop out.
At some point Jonathan the Caucasoid has 45 pounds of sacks on him.
Ewww. Don't even wanna think about it!
Since all the fragile flowers are smart enough to book, each team has four men. As I've explained, one team has four hot, young men, and the other has some old foreigners or something. Who cares? Jeff intones how Aitu is slipping, and Yul, the sole not-hideously-deformed-and/or-black guy, suggests conserving energy and standing to fight when the other (hotter) team inevitably catches up with them. How'd that go for your peeps at Nanking, genius?
Anyhow, Raro reaches Aitu and some gay knocks down the elderly and over-sacked(!) Cao Boi. Probst declares Raro the winners -- immediately after which Adam
"tackles" Yul, the youngest, hottest, most muscular, hairless, moistest Aitu evah!
Seriously, it's even making me want to puke.
The secret note informs all and sundry that the winning tribe can send one of the losing tribe's members to Exile Island -- and that he or she would, naturally, not be present during the tribal council elimination ceremony. Um, Jeff, that's secret exactly how...? Such a shitty secret for such a shitty show, I guess. Candace is sent to Exile, though; and a lot of boring talk is subsequently made of
"Why Candace?". In fact, I've known people like Candace and asked the universe why there are such things, too. The universe won't tell you. There's no reason. Just get over it and leave it alone. Like a scab. Really.
All this leads to too much camera time on the boring and pointless members of Aitu (they're the fugsters, in case you're not following...). Had I paid any attention to this or any other episode this season, I might be able to explain exactly why there are already factions between Jonathan the White, Candace and Jonathan's
"some Asians" of many, many pages before and the icky, ugly above-30 crowd. Jonathan -- this year's poor man's version of Tom the Fireman -- plots to make up
"the numbers" to secure his alliance by winning over one other tribemate.
All this stupid rigamarole is designed to keep in Becky Manchu and sacrifice an apparently invisible entity known as a
"cecelia." (I think it's like a basilisk.) Since Candace is gone, Jonathan tries -- in succession -- to secure the votes of Cao Boi and two people(?) named(?) Ozzy(?) and Flicka(?). I really am totally lost at this point, plus since this season is all about ethnicity I feel it's okay to point out that retarded people and other "ethnics" all look the same to me. Respect and recognize where I'm coming from, okay? But don't tell, though? I totally need this job.
I have no idea about Ozzy. Where did he come from? Have I ever seen this person before? Really, no idea. He looks like a watered-down version of Bobby Jon (if such a thing were possible without immediately evaporating into nothingness), but has somewhat nappy hair.
"Wooly" hair, I remember, is dominant, but if I'm recalling my genetics correctly, that has something to do with Norwegians. Is he a Negro? Honestly, I just don't know. In any case, he's so fucking stupid that it's impossible for brickbat Jonathan to get an idea to enter the fine, fine sieve of an Ozzy mind.
Flicka reminds me of a rather unfunny joke I heard from a Danish sodomite. It has something to do with little girls and motorcycle cops, I think. Anyhow, like I say, neither component was amusing at all, and neither is this Flicka girl. She has tattoos and terrible hair, which is a pity: God clearly made her hideous to start with, and now she's gone and inked herself up and done something dreadful with her hair. Sometimes
"Survivor" raises more questions than any human could possibly answer. Doesn't it? Don't you think? Anyhow, to complete the tragedy, Flicka is captioned as being a
"roller girl." Poor thing.
Cao Boi appropriately considers White Jonathan's
"numbers game" and spouts some drivel about integrity and that scheming is bad. No wonder his old tribe hated him.
Anyway, at Tribal Council Jeff asks something or other about the merge. He demands that the failures assess the choosing process, the ethnic divisions, personal and allies' strategies. Blah, blah, and more blah. You know the drill, and you know how they respond: Men talk of strategy, women want to express their feelings, the black people make no sense and Asian Yul is all, like,
"Ching chong gong fong." I refuse to rewind the show to figure it all out. How essential or interesting could it be anyhow?
Throughout it all Fah Lo Suee Sourface Becky sits immobile but with the shiftiest eyes ever. They're slanted, by the way, so that might make it seem worse than it is. You've just got to see her. She looks less like she wants to pee-pee in you Coke and much, much more like she wants to devour any- and everything that loves or is loved. She is so Dr. Manchu's little girl, alright.
Votes are cast! Numbers are read! And -- oh, you're never going to believe it! Cecilia is out, cast away by her own people, forgotten, sacrificed.... I suppose she'll crawl back into Jeff's increasingly Eva Gabor-style hair or wherever she has spent all but these five Tribal Council minutes, never having seen or heard of her myself.
Then there's a commercial for a product that attempts to ease the physical and mental symptoms of depression. Talk about placing a commercial spot well. Good for you, Cymbalta! I want it NOW!
Next week: Parvati's pissed because the gays won't have sex with anyone but themselves! And Cao Boi kills a baby!>
Archive > Television > Survivor > Season 13: Cook Islands