Thursday, February 16, 2012
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."
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.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Troy Robertson is a 50 year old Swimsuit Photographer from Miami, Florida who has adopted and raised 12 marmoset monkeys before sticking them all in swimsuits and forcing them to pose with a cutback stare. Poor monkeys.
Troy looks to Mohammed Ali for inspiration and detests women with man hands. I'm sure if we polled the female man hand community, they probably have a united hatred for men with mullets. So there you go, a balanced universe!
Speaking of the universe and all that crap, Troy thinks that being on Survivor is his destiny. He refuses to compare himself to any former players because he insists that he is one of a kind. Well, let's see if he's right...
I'm on the fence with this one. There's an eccentricity that I think I might enjoy, but anyone who says, "I'm funny. I'm a funny guy." is 9 times out of 10 not funny. Don't get me wrong, I'd love for him to break out into a tribal dance. In fact, I think it should be a nightly thing. I'd like a nice thick uncomfortable veil of awkwardness to coat the camp in side glances and raised eyebrows. While Troy and his girly hands dance wildly among the sparking embers, the others can elbow each other in the ribs and giggle under the cloak of darkness. Now that's funny. I'm predicting this one will stick around for a while. His personality is big enough to kick the lemmings off early and take some of the younger men under his wing. And with his experience guiding bikini babes, he could do very well with the women.
And that's it for the cast. I'll be back here Thursday afternoon with my first recap of Survivor: One World. See you then!
Sabrina Thompson is a 33 year old High School Teacher from Brooklyn, New York. She looks to her brother for inspiration and can't stand it when people put leashes on their children. Oh puh-lease. If you've ever been in a Target on a Saturday innocently trying to buy a birthday card for that bitch you hate and some screaming little rugrat with sticky jelly fingers and a snot-smeared face grabs onto the pant leg of your brand new $150 jeans, you'll be handing out leashes at the door of every preschool in the country. Trust me.
Sabrina also dislikes people who adjust their genitals. Oh come on! She takes the fun out of everything!
Heh. A germaphobe on Survivor. People ask me all the time why I don't go on Survivor and here's the answer - DIRTY FILTHY PEOPLE! Having said that, I think it's hilarious that Sabrina actually went for it and took the plunge. Unfortunately, the germ thing is what is going to make her extremely annoying. She's nice enough. Spunky, blunt, motivated. The problem is that the second she bitches about a piece of sand in her rice, she'll lose the tribe instantly which brings us back to why I won't do the show - NO MASCARA. There are certain things a bitch needs in her everyday life - mascara, a good lip balm, Wen Haircare, and a DVR. And until the powers that be install a fully functional bathroom with toilet paper and a working shower with hot water, Survivor and I will continue to remain but distant lovers.
Nina Acosta is a 51 year old retired LAPD Officer from Clovis, California and she scares me. Not only could she throw me over the roof of a car and read me my rights, but she was also the only woman among 19 men to compete for the S.W.A.T. team. Naturally, this is what I assume that experience was like:
Whatever you do, don't call her a "girl". She doesn't like that one bit. Not even a "Hey girl, what's up!" She'll cut your tits off. *shivers*
I'll tell you what, the ladies this time around are nothing to sneeze at and I'm totally digging it. The divisions will happen early and I'm thinking the bad ass babes will separate quickly from the meeker of the bunch and just pick, pick, pick the delicate girls off. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. The big question is: Will the BAB (Bad Ass Babes) stay a tribe of fearless goddesses howling at the moon or will they join forces with a few choice men only to castrate them later? I'm not sure, but I have no doubt it'll be a blast to watch.
Monica Culpepper is a 41 year old Ex-NFL Player's Wife from Tampa, Florida. I had no idea "Ex-NFL Player's Wife" was an occupation, but according to CBS.com, it is. If I didn't know any better I'd say "Ex-NFL Player's Wife" is a cult - it's all "My husband this", "My husband that", "My husband won an award", "My husband is so smart", "Are the sister wives ready for dinner?".
Since Monica gave up a career in medicine to follow her husband around with a bowed head, she's now ready to step out on her own and play some Survivor. Sure, when she gets back, a special cup of Kool-Aid will be waiting for her, but that's the price you pay. Hare Krishna. To the video!
You know what? I like her. There's a fire in her eye and determination in her heart. It's ok that she has 127 children with 13 sister wives. So what! I'm looking for the craftiness of Kristina Kell with a little more shelf life. These older broads know what's what. They've lived. They've toiled. They've persevered and that makes them excellent bitch people to join my bitch village. She's right - with experience comes wisdom... and a family compound in Mexico with armed guards. If she mentors the younger girls without coming across as bossy, this one could easily last past the Merge and that's why I'm calling her my dark horse.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Michael Jefferson is a 30 year old Banker from Seattle, Washington. His pet peeves include people who grunt while working out, bad breath, and anyone who "needs" a cigarette. But what if you get attacked by tiny ninjas who pierce your skin with a sword the size of a cigarette? In a case like that, you really do need a cigarette! You know, to plug the hole. Don't be so close-minded Michael!
Anyhow, Michael is doing Survivor because it's his mom's favorite show. Aww precious. My mom's favorite show is My Big Fat Redneck Wedding, but you don't see me marrying Harlon down at the tractor pull, do you?
Wait, isn't Carson Daly hosting The Voice or some shit like that?
The way he talks *inhale* with *gasp* bated breath is so bodice tearing, corset ripping. Actually no, it's not like that at all. It's like he's swallowing air in preparation to rip a mega shart. I don't know, I think I would have preferred his mom.
Note: If my mother ever bothers to read any of my blogs one day, she'd kill me if she knew I said her favorite show was My Big Fat Redneck Wedding. It's not. It's I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant.
33 year old Matt Quinlan is an attorney from San Francisco, California. In case you ever forget that fact, he runs the Law Offices of Matt J. Quinlan, otherwise known as MJQLAW which I'll bet you $1000 is also his license plate. Here's how his cbs.com bio reads:
"I'm very proud to make a difference in my clients lives at the Law Offices of Matt J. Quinlan. Matt J. Quinlan, attorney at law, is someone you can count on. Adventure turns me on as does this handy dandy MJQLAW coffee mug available on my website MyNameIsMattAndI'mALawyer.com for the low low price of $29.95. I bring a lot to the table as far as Survivor is concerned. These" Law Offices of Matt J. Quinlan" mousepads double nicely as head pillows."
Let's see if I'm right...
*burp* I shouldn't have been playing that drinking game where you take a shot every time someone says the words "law", "lawyer", or "attorney". Not only am I three sheets to the wind, but I seem to have lost my pants between here and YouTube. It's chilly out and all I've got is this MJQLAW bumper sticker to keep me warm. Couldn't you have at least made a blanket Matt J. Quinlan, Attorney At Law?
And this brings us to Leif Manson. Little lovable Leif. Leif is a nugget of cuteness from San Diego, California. He says he's a Phlebotomist which I can only assume is someone who sneaks through doggie doors to steal from the rich and give to the poor. I assume this because if I was a little person, this is the job I'd assign myself. I'd also hide in orange traffic cones and scare the construction workers when they showed up to work in the morning, but enough about me. Let's get to know Leif.
Leif can smoke a turkey like nobody's business and says his daughter is his inspiration in life. He enjoys paintballing and weightlifting and refers to himself as a "handy man". I wonder if he means reaching up ladies skirts for a tickle or doing odd jobs around the house? Nevertheless! Let's check out this wilderness savvy adventure seeker for ourselves...
Not only does he steal iPads and jewelry, but he steals blood!
I'm a little dismayed he shops as the Russell Hantz Douche Warehouse, but I'm willing to overlook that and let Leif leap into my arms for a little cuddle anyways. It'll be fascinating to see the tribe dynamic mutate and take shape around this guy and I hope the other contestants are as open-minded and tickled pink as I am to have this little ball of lusciousness taking up very little room in the shelter. You know that wall climbing challenge they do every season? Just hurl him over. Foot in palms, then flick. That's how you resolve that problem. Little doesn't mean bad. Little means opportunity.
Kourtney Moon is another 29 year old from Texas, but this chick isn't peddling gowns to bridezillas. Nope. She's tuning up your carburetor, lubing your gaskets, and tightening your pistons. Miss Kourtney just happens to be in Motorcycle Repair and as far as I'm concerned that makes her a member of the Sons Of Anarchy. Immediately I'm envisioning her weaving in and out of gang crossfire, engaging in one night stands smelling of whiskey, and heading late night drug runs to Tupelo. She greets each day with a grease smeared face, some guy's phone number written across her breast, and a wrench in her back pocket.
But if we read further, we discover that Ms. Moon is a knitter who can't stand it when people enjoy the smell of their own farts. She also doesn't like narcissists, cheaters, people with low moral codes, and sociopaths. Let me guess... A two-timing arrogant prick screwed you over and rode off into the sunset? Happens to the best of us, darlin'. At least you're not bitter. Heh.
I want to like her, but I'm bothered that she wants to play with integrity. If history has taught us anything it's that people who go into the game wanting to be "nice" either lose or bore us to tears. She's super cute and likable, but I'm getting a meek mousey vibe from her. I'm not expecting much as far as entertainment and scandal with this one. There's a tiny waft of insecurity there and I predict that that will be her downfall. Nice girl, but can she slice some throats along the way? The magic eight ball says: NOT BLOODY LIKELY.
Bridal Shop Owner Kim Spradlin hails from the great state of Texas and is up for all sorts of adventures. Not only did she live in an orphanage in Thailand (como what?), but she can tell you within minutes of meeting you which animal you were meant to be. Naturally, this begs the question, which animal would I be? Well, I'll tell you. The one who rips the face off of girls who tell me which animal I'm most like within in 5 minutes of meeting me. That one.
Cruising further down Kim's CBS.com bio we discover that this 29 year old is a fan of Elisabeth Hasselbeck and thinks she'll win the game by earning everyone's respect. And I quote, "Why would you vote off someone who respects you?" Because they like Elisabeth Hasselbeck, that's why!
To the video!
And here's why it's not always wise to judge someone based on their "Elisabeth Hasselbeckness". I mean, she seems OK. No weird facial tics, no awkward pauses. Although if she tells Alicia "Jugs" Rosa that her breasts look like udders, we could have a problem. Awesome.
This whole animal parlor trick got me curious so I went to a research institute (Google) to find my own inner spirit animal. The results are in!
You are a Spider!
Powers: Artistic genius, ability to see patterns and sense trouble from a distance
As a Spider, you're artistic, intuitive, and independent—maybe even a little eccentric. You can become so absorbed in your endeavors that you lose track of the outside world and the people in it. But what you give in return is magic, pure and simple.
Best matches: Cougars, Hawks, Owls
Watch out for: Wolves, Otters, Bears
And there you have it. What's your animal spirit? Take the quiz HERE.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
22 year old Kat Edorsson is a Timeshare Rep from Orlando, Florida and her biggest inspiration in life is Xena, The Warrior Princess. I. Shit. You. Not. She admires Xena's fortitude in the face of adversity, her ability to triumph in challenges, and her good natured kickassedness. Makes perfect sense to me. Yo Kat, I've got some mint in box Xena dolls. If you win Survivor, they are my gift to you. Except the Roman one. Momma didn't no raise no fool. The dress on that one is gorge.
Besides her love for Xena, Kat is a fan of the one and only Mascaroni (Andrea) - especially the way she turned on Pretty Pony (Matt) in order to advance herself in the game. Kat is counting on her skills to socialize and manipulate to take her all the way to the winner's circle and she's not scared to break a few hearts in the process. So far I'm liking what I'm seeing. Please don't suck, Kat. Please don't suck...
She talks. In very short. Sentences. Kind of like. A BB gun. Of words. I'm not totally feeling her yet, but there's a twinkle. That little spark that lurks deep in the eyes that tells me, "I'll stab you in the throat if you get in my way!" I sense it, but will she use it? Only time will tell. I'm putting this one on my "wait and see" list. What do you guys think?
Utah resident Jonas Otsuji is a 37 year old Sushi Chef. Like the brisk staccato chops of a knife wielding Sushi Chef, Jonas' CBS.com bio is also brief and concise. He likes to cook, loves his family, and knows how to build a shelter. I'm not getting a real read on this guy from his stock answers so let's check out how he comes across on camera...
*snore* Is there tryptophan in Spicy Tuna Roll? Holy Ahi, this guy is a snoozefest. What's the house specialty, a little Uni dipped in liquified Ambien and dusted with chamomile flowers? Unagi glazed with Propofol coming right up! Sonata Blossom. Trazadone Tempura. Hamachi Halcion. Buy 2, get 1 in heaven because you just overdosed.
I've sat up late at night and prayed. I've done the self punishment whipping thing that the creepy monk did in The Da Vinci Code, but nothing, I tell you, nothing will keep away the Christians. They're everywhere! Invading our political races and, most importantly, our reality TV shows. Blurgh.
This brings us to 25 year old model Jay Byars. He's traveled the globe convincing perfectly happy indigenous peoples to believe in a God they've never heard of. He fancies that Bear Grylls because, hey, he's a Christian! He thinks he's most like Rupert and hates you if you have bad breath. A true Christian would keep a tin of Altoids in his pocket and hand them out selflessly to those afflicted with halitosis, but nooooo. Jay hates you fishmouth. And don't you dare try to text him more than necessary because he'll tell God on you and then sit smugly with a Bible in his lap. Roll that beautiful bean footage...
Shhh. Don't speak, precious. We don't need words. We also don't need those shorts. Here, let me take those for you. I said, "SHUT UP!" Seriously, until I get Dr. Greg to do a vocal chord rejuvenation on you and shake loose all these chipmunks following us around, mum's the word. Silence is next to godliness you know.