Last week's show was a recap via mostly previously unseen scenes, so recall that when we last had a new episode, Shambles' plot to depose the Viper Queen had triumphed, thanks to the second-ballot flip-vote of Rocket Scientist John, done to avoid going to a random draw that might send any of them home except the vote-getters. This episode began with the return to camp, with Shambles gleeful and joyous.
Meanwhile, Not-Laura, whose alias is "Monica," wanted to send Rocket Scientist John to the jury, for betraying the Queen of Vipers. I wanted to give him a medal, and Not-Laura is stupid, because:
1. If John hadn't flipped, Not-Laura could have drawn the Death Rock and gone home herself, and
2. The Viper Queen is evil. She is a religious, female Dick Cheney, the worst of both worlds.
And John did the Viper Queen a favor. Now she can go to one of her idol, Sarah Palin's, book signings, and for a mere $16, even get her picture taken with the Moose Slayer. So it's wins all around.
Reward Challenge: It's time for the Survivor Auction.
Shambles was delighted. "I am literally starving," she said, demonstrating that she's never seen what a genuinely starving person actually looks like. Shambles, literally starving people look like walking skeletons with a tight, thin skin sprayed on. If you want a gander at actually starving people, visit Uganda (though visit discreetly -- being gay is a death penalty offense there... not that you're gay or anything), watch Schindler's List, or visit a Beverly Hills Sorority house. Starving oneself is very "90210."
It's a pretty straight-forward auction. Each player is given $500 to bid on items, mostly, but not solely, food, some of which will be mysteries. No sharing of money or food. And they can't just notbid and keep the money. It's Survivor money, like Monopoly money, except you can't buy Boardwalk with it either.
The first item was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Yuck. Not being seven years old, and not being able to abide peanut butter, I would have passed on it altogether, but not Natalie. She instantly bid $200. Natalie needs Eric Idol's tradesman character from Monty Python's Life of Brian to teach her the rudiments of bidding and bartering. She could have bid $20. I'd have paid $20 not to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If no one bid against her (and there didn't seem to be any third graders present), she'd have gotten her inedible sandwich, and still have had $480 left to bid when something worth eating came up. Sellers on eBay must love Natalie! Natalie has worse taste than a 1970s John Waters movie.
The next item was bid on blind. Shambles paid $240 for what turned out to be a plate of "Sea noodles and slug guts," with a sprinkling of Parmesan cheese. Well, now the P, B, and J sandwich looked more palatable.
Shambles: "Does it have like nutritional starch value?"
Jeff Probst: "I don't kn... Let's say it does."
If only they'd then said:
Shambles: "Is it fit for human consumption? It's not poisonous, is it?"
Jeff Probst: "I don't kn... Let's say it's safe to eat."
Anyway, Shambles took a nauseating bite, and gave a "thumbs up." Best slug guts she'd ever eaten (by the way, just how does one gut a slug anyway?).
The next item was also bid on blind. Danger Dave and Jaison gambled that they wouldn't put up two vomit-bait foods in a row, and placed high bids. Russell was sure it was something that would make slug guts seem like caviar, and wouldn't bid. When Not-Laura won it for $340, I found myself hoping Russell was right, and it would be a bowl of squid puke (pre-digested Calimari?).
"I hope this is good, Jeff," said Not-Laura.
"So do I," lied Jeff.
The laugh was on Russell. It was a roast chicken. A whole chicken, and she wasn't allowed to share, not that she had any leftovers.
The next item wasn't food. It was a mystery "Significant Advantage" at the next immunity challenge. Any serious Survivor player should have been bidding their brains out for it. Jaison explained to us, one-on-one, why it was important to him to win it, although, since he was almost naked in the shot as he talked, I was too distracted to hear a word he was saying. Jaison bid his entire $500 for the advantage. Serious player. Meanwhile, serious player Russell never even put in a bid on it.
The next item, which Jaison had nothing to bid on with, was a cheeseburger, fries, and a mug of beer. I tried bidding on it, but I was fresh out of Survivor dollars. MickMoron's opening bid was $500. He probably figured nothing else would show up in the auction he'd want anyway. Jaison is a serious player. MickMoron is a serious eater. But the laugh was on all of them. Shambles got the slug guts, and with money to spare. Jaison's buyer's remorse was an awesome sight. Jaison, just remember how many cheeseburgers you can buy with a million dollars.
The next item was a clue to the location of "the next Hidden Immunity Idol." Unless it said, "Laura was an evil beyotch. Look for the idol in Russell's crotch," it was worthless, because Russell already had that idol in his pants. You'd think that they'd all figure that out just by the fact that Russell wasn't bidding on it, and that he was Russell; of course he had it already. Haven't they been paying attention? But spirited bidding broke out. Russell hadn't bid on anything. Did he think he got to keep the money? Rocket Scientist John got it for $200.
The next item was a shower. Natalie bid all she had left after paying for her peanut butter orgy. I suspected that the men would have been willing to bid on her behalf if they'd been allowed to, as she had to take the shower right there, right then, where there were too many witnesses for Psycho Russell to be able to dress up as his mother and stab her.
"No one wants to see Old John take a shower," said Rocket Scientist John, apparently forgetting that I was watching at home. Little Dougie is typing this for me. My fingers are free, at least on the hand not holding my martini (and "Old John" is 25. My God, he's ancient! At 112, I'm far younger).
"Enjoy your shower," said Jeff, some how managing to resist adding, "Because we all will."
As soon as Natalie stepped into the stall and began shedding her rags, we heard Shambles sigh, "Oh yeeesss!" Now, I have no reason whatever to assume that Shambles is a skirt-lifter, just because she's tremendously butch, is in her mid-40s yet never been married, is a warlike ex-Marine, normally weighs 70 pounds more than she's weighs on the show, routinely rides a Harley, wears a man-repelling mullet, and, on her Survivor application, listed her vibrator as her "next-of-kin," but she was ready to take home movies of Natalie showering, and was certainly the one with no interest in seeing Old John take a shower. As the auction continued, it was all they could do to get Shambles's attention back on the items up for bid. I think she was throwing her remaining money at Natalie, as "tips." Can one take a "lap shower?" "Here baby, soap that again for Mama." Okay, she didn't say that, but she did say: "Oh my goodness!" I was waiting for "Oh my stars and garters!"
The next item was a slab of apple pie the size of the Smithsonian Institute. I tried to phone in a bid myself, but the lines were closed. Sometimes living on the West Coast has its disadvantages. Old John won it for $300. Old John, if you just let me watch you shower, I'll let you eat my apple pie for free. Do a good job, and I may pay you $300!
Jaison, who'd shot his entire financial wad already on the challenge advantage (sometimes even young men can't recharge quickly enough) groused, "Why's it gonna be apple pie, my favorite? Can't it be something else?" He doesn't covet Shambles's slug guts? Anyway, Jaison my darling, that same watch-you-shower-for-apple pie offer I made to Old John above applies to you too, only more so. Call me. I'll have it heating in the oven while you drive over.
But Jeff Probst had a Devil's Offer up his sleeve. John could eat the massive piece of pie, or he could not eat it, and instead, give equally huge slices of apple pie to four other people of his choice. Jaison at that point, would have gay married him for a piece of that pie. Which would Old John choose: gluttony and a batch of bitter foes, or self-sacrifice, and making possible friends?
"Is anyone really stoked on pie?" asked Old John. Jaison was so "stoked," it looked like his designs on the pie were more akin to Jason Biggs's in American Pie. A few of them were saying, "It's your call, dude," but they were all lying. What they really wanted was some tasty slug guts pie.
Old John chose to eat his own pie. He said, "I'm confident that no one's going to vote me off because they didn't get a piece of apple pie." Meanwhile, Jaison was already writing "Old John" on a piece of parchment, to save for Tribal Council.
Russell was tattooing a target on Old John. "If it was me, I would a gave it [sic] to my tribe, and to [Shambles]." I'm sure Shambles would have turned it down, as she was just stuffed full of slug guts. "No, no, I couldn't possibly eat another bite, even if it was wafer thin." Besides, Shambles was too distracted by Natalie's ongoing shower to notice anyone else's pie at all.
Russell also said, "It just shows how stingy he was." Of course, if Russell had been less stingy himself, it could have been his pie. He didn't even bid on it. And that was the last item up for bid. Russell still had his whole, now worthless, $500, and no pie, no shower (which he looked to need more than Natalie), not even any slug guts. Who's stingy now?
During the commercial break, for some reason I sent Little Dougie to the kitchen to pop a slice of pie in the microwave for a minute, then slather it with Cool-Whip (I keep all my whips, scourges, and riding crops in the fridge), and then bring it out to me. None for him. He's working.
As I stuffed hot pie in my mouth (Pumpkin. I had no apple pie in the house.), I watched Old John gloating about the clue to the immunity idol he'd won. I was wondering if it would say:
"An immunity idol,
Would be really cool.
Too bad Russell has it,
You pie-hogging fool."
The clue took Old John right to the spot where Russell had found it two episodes back.
Don't they give people intelligence tests before they are accepted into the Marines? If they do, and Shambles passed it, it must be a really easy test. The chickens, who were too stupid to bother departing by the open door Russell had left them, had not been producing any eggs, and everyone had salivated watching Not-Laura wolf down her roast chicken, probably bones and all, so the chickens became designated dinner. Shambles went off to talk to them. This scene was almost enough to put me off my pie. Almost.
Shambles to the chickens: "We're gonna have to have you guys for lunch today, and I just wanted to let you know. Okay?" The chickens, not being the bird brain she is, did not reply: "Thanks. We'll cancel that clucking and squawking we had pencilled in on our blackberry." Also, if the chickens were "guys," no wonder they weren't laying eggs. Or does Shambles regularly call females "guys," the way Little Dougie and his gay friends all call each other "Girl Friend" and "Mary"?
But Shambles wasn't done ruining the chickens' day, or my snack, "Well, I'll talk to you in Heaven when I go to Heaven, okay?"
1. What sort of adult in their mid-40s actually believes in Heaven (hint: bird brains)?
2. If there actually was such a mythical place as Heaven, would chickens and -- ah -- Harley-riding butch women go to the same one?
3. What if these were bad chickens, doomed to spend eternity in Chicken Hell?
4. Would a place where you spent eternity with Shambles be Heaven, or the competition?
5. Again, assuming there even is a Heaven, which, not being an intellectual toddler, I can not, why would Shambles just assume she'd end up there? Presumptuous, isn't she? I asked the Mormon missionary I'm holding prisoner in my basement-dungeon about it (the damned kid rang my doorbell and woke me up from a sound stupor, to try and recruit me into their homophobic cult. I had to take steps.), and he was certain that, unless Shambles has a Hidden Celestial Immunity Idol, the Heavenly Host will be voting her off the cloud, and she'll be residing in a warmer eternal resort.
Shambles, having bored the doomed chickens long enough, told us, "The chickens were probably my single source of happiness the last twenty-nine days." What the hell has she been doing with those birds? Don't they have an S.P.C.A. in Samoa?
She had more idiocy to share with us. "We'd have conversations ..." She wouldn't talk to her tribemates, but she'd chat with chickens? Well, I guess she had more in common with the fowl. "... and I'd tell 'em, 'I really need you guys to lay me some eggs ..." Shambles, "guys" don't lay eggs. "... because all these people want to kill you.' And they'd go 'Baaawwk, bok, bok bok bok,' like they understood, they knew exactly what I was saying." Or like they were chickens, you bird brain! They lack the intellectual capacity to understand human speech. Just because you can't either, doesn't mean the chickens understand what you're saying, and are talking back to you. Hard as it is for even me to believe, the chickens are even stupider than you are.
Oh, and Shambles, the bloodthirsty warriortrix and deadly ex-Marine, wussed out on killing them herself. People she can kill, but not chickens. Shambles shambled on, "I think they brought me as much peace as I brought them." Yeah? Well, it was Russell (no surprise there) who brought those chickens Eternal Peace. Their last squawk before Russ lopped their heads off undoubtedly meant, "Tell Shambles, when she gets to Chicken Heaven, don't call us; we'll call her."
"Tell me when the chickens stop screaming," hollered Shambles over The Silence of the Chickens. Shambles, chickens don't scream. They cluck and squawk, and do neither when their heads have been removed. Are you haunted by voices you heard as you -- ah -- "defended America" from people designated as "America's Enemies" when you were in the service, two decades back? What have you done, woman?
Mind you, although she wouldn't kill them herself, she was warm to cook them herself. She said, "I'll take care of the cooking, because I might not know a lot about a lot of things..." Might not? "... but when it comes to cooking ... it's time to say 'shut up' if you're me." I am so glad I am not her. And it was time for her to shut up back in Episode One. But what was she about to say that she suddenly realized she ought not to? Whose screams had preceded her cooking somewhere else? Did she garnish with Fava Beans and a nice Chianti? Does the taste of chicken bring back dark memories?
Danger Dave took issue with Shambles boiling the chickens for two hours. (Was this an English recipe? Boil until gray?) Shambles was having none of it. Those chickens were her friends, and she was going to ruin them, I mean cook them, herself.
Danger Dave: "Um, that's a hard boil."
Shambles: "Yeah, Uh, we're not having a conversation about the soup this time everybody, because I'm in no mood, so just trust me. We'll just call it a bad case of PMS, but I'm in no mood to talk about soup today."
Danger Dave: "I won those chickens, [Shambles], so I think I should be able to say something."
Shambles: "Go right ahead, because I'm not listening." Then how can you be responding to what he's saying? Ha! I've run rings round you logically!
Danger Dave: "You boil a chicken for two hours, it's going to be ruined." Well in fairness, from the chickens' point of view, they were ruined when Russell lopped their heads off, but you can ruin most anything by boiling it for two hours, even water.
Shambles: "You have no idea what the f*** you're talking about right now ..." Shambles! Language! There are underage dead chickens present! "... and you got to just respect that on some level."
Danger Dave, noticing that Shambles is furiously chopping up what were undoubtedly Fava Beans, with a large butcher knife, still stained with Janet Leigh's blood, said: "Okay, cool." Shambles was numbed with grief for her chicken buddies, annoyed at having her incompetence pointed out yet again, self-confessedly suffering a PMS rage, and wielding a huge, deadly knife. Danger Dave remembered that his name, "Danger Dave," was just a silly nickname he'd given himself, and backed off.
Shambles to us: "He really snapped my head off my body." If only he had. She probably tastes of chicken, and she'd provide a lot more servings than her feathered chat-coop pals had.
There is no God, and Shambles is Her Prophet: But Doctor Hannibal Shambles had still deeper levels of insanity to reveal to us. As we watched disturbing night vision views of her twitching in her sleep, she spun off this lunatic, delusional monologue: "God made me really special..." Is that "Special," as in "The Special Olympics"? If there is a God, Shambles, you are not Her best work. "... They're literally clairvoyant dreams ... I've probably had, I don't know, thirty of them in my lifetime, and I think that's God's intervention at work..." Oh dear, dear, dear. We're now meeting The Prophet Shambles. We'll have to have a new Testament, The Book of Shambles, tacked on right after Revelations. Oh, and Shambles needs to learn what the word think means, and how to do it, because, to paraphrase The Prophet Mae West, "Dearie, thinking had nothing to do with it."
"And I had a dream last night, we voted Dave off." Shambles, I have a dream that they vote you off. Thus spake the Prophetess Tallulah! Except I know the difference between Wishful Thinking and Divine Revelation. After all, darling Divine died 22 years ago. How I miss him.
And did it ever cross whatever fragile sentience that passes for the Prophet Shambles's mind that a God with the whole of Creation to run, might not give a ram's bladder who the hell gets voted off of, and who wins on Survivor? If I believed in a god, I would still have a hard time believing She cares who wins this show. I'm a screen goddess myself, and I don't care who wins. I mean I'd like Jaison to win, because then, when we wed, he'll be able to support me in the manner to which I am long-accustomed, but I'll still love him even if he loses. He wouldn't be the first loser I've married.
Come morning, the Prophet Shambles delivered her revelation to Russell. Did God tell her to enlist Satan? Talk about playing both sides! Russell, knowing that Shambles is insane, and easily manipulated by emotions, and knowing that, strategically, (a concept way beyond Shambles's weak-minded grasp), voting off Danger Dave would further consolidate the Zsa Zsa dominance over the remnants of Galu, happily encouraged her religious delusions, giggling as he told us about it. In the words of Sherlock Holmes, "There is more evil around us here, than I have ever encountered before." (I'm talking Conan Doyle's original, acetic, intellectual Sherlock Holmes; not the short, shirtless, action-hunk currently romping about with delectable Jude Law in those ghastly-looking TV ads, and that horrible trailer.)
Immunity Challenge: This was an endurance challenge, but unlike the ones on Big Brother, they didn't make us wait until the next episode to find out who won.
The players had to hold an off-balance heavy block of wood by a rope with knots on it, every few minutes having to move their hand another knot-length down the rope, making the angle harder to hold, until they lost the block of wood, which would then crash down, a "Knot's Landing" if you will (Oh Val dear Val, hold on. You will find your twins again!), breaking their tile, and shattering their dreams of immunity. The "advantage" Jaison had bought instead of delicious pie was the right at some point, to go a couple knot-lengths back up his rope. Would this help him win? Would Russell, with his immunity idol-stuffed pants, even bother trying? Would Danger Dave win safety from the Prophet Shambles's Divinely Decreed voting of him off? Would the Prophet Shambles's God smite her opponents and give her victory? Would you get me some more pie please, Dougie? Thank you.
"These logs weigh as much as you do," said Jeff Probst. Was the Prophet Shambles's log based on her weight when she arrived on Samoa, or her weight when she was selected to be on the show? Because she took off 70 pounds to do the series, and if her log is her acceptance weight, she hasn't got a chance.
Jeff said, "Hot day to be sitting out in the sun, holding onto a heavy log." Ignoring for now that they were all standing out in the sun, I would only note that any day I spend holding on to a big log is a hot day!
Jaison chose to use his advantage early in the challenge. I would have waited until later, but the man knows his own grip, I suppose. I'm dying to know his grip myself.
The Prophet Shambles fell first. Oh Lord, Lord, why hast thou deserted me in the wilderness of Samoa, in the sight of mine enemies? Clearly she has no experience whatever keeping a big log erect. I am so not surprised.
Russell went next, but by his smirk, I suspect he threw the challenge. After all, he has immunity in his pocket, and he is First Acolyte of the Prophet Shambles.
Now they were all, except Jaison, holding past the last knot. Just some sweat on their palms would be enough to make the ropes slip through their grasp.
Not-Laura went next, followed quickly by Old John. Well, when you get up into your mid-twenties, you just aren't as strong as a young man anymore. And I suspect he has no experience at keeping a big, heavy log up, if you follow me. After all, when you go into launching rockets for a career, you're clearly overcompensating for something!
Brett Two-Spears showed he was not Brett Two-Logs, and went next. Brett, Natalie is still in it. You're weaker than a girl! Nelson from The Simpsons needed to materialize, and give Brett his trademark point and "Ha-ha!"
MickMoron went next. Honestly, young strong men are giving out, while the Vixen of the Shower was not even showing any strain.
"That hand better be bleeding when you let go," said a surprisingly bloodthirsty Jeff Probst. Ew. Natalie lost it next, so we were down to just Jaison and Danger Dave, with Jaison's advantage providing him with a surer grip and an easier angle, and Danger Dave all unaware that God had marked him for smiting that very night.
Jaison's pie sacrifice at the auction turned out to be a solid investment, as Danger Dave, forever excommunicate, and separated for eternity from the love of the Prophet Shambles's God, at last fell. Jaison isn't joining the jury this week.
And it was a Divine Moment for Jaison as well, as he said, "When Dave's hand slipped and the plate broke, it was like Heaven." Did he mean he could hear the chickens clucking? Jaison, if you think that was like Heaven, just wait until you feel my hand slipping on your log. It will make Heaven feel like Detroit.
Thus spake the Prophet Shambles: "Dave is so gone, he doesn't even know it." Indeed, Danger Dave looked thoroughly doomed. The thing is, there's still twenty minutes left of the episode. If it was just watching the smiting of the opera expert, it would be dull viewing. There better be some twist lurking when we get back to camp, or I might just as well concentrate on this lovely pie.
Okay, here's the danger to the eliminate-Dimwit Dave-plan at this point, as I see it. It hinges on the Prophet Shambles remaining resolutely against Dave, as last time, her wrath was kindled against the Viper Queen.
(Whether God participated in the Viper Queen's ouster is a trickier question. The Viper Queen had been to God School, and was a "Lady's Pastor," because she worshiped a sexist God who decreed that it was not "a woman's place" to minister unto men. Why would a woman worship such a male chauvinist deity? Anyway, as she is a part-time religious professional, when not aiding conservative lobbyists in screwing up the laws of Oregon, why didn't God intervene to save her? Well, God works in mysterious ways his blunders to perform, as the religious always say when there is just no logical answer to be had to their blather.)
But the Prophet Shambles tends to want out anyone who kindles her wrath, something any tribe member could do at any moment, merely by looking at her funny, or asking some perfectly innocent question, like "What on earth possesses you to wear your hair in that hideous style?" A chance wrong remark by anyone between now and Tribal Council could send her on a mission of vengeance against someone else. Plus, when they got back to camp, she took a nap. Might not The Oracle at Samoa trouble her sleep with a new message, kindling her wrath against another target, or decreeing she should betray her Zsa Zsa adherents? Oh the suspense, when one's whole strategy lies in the hands of an utterly irrational, emotional, nincompoop.
But other forces were at work. Old John conferred with Russell. Old John really wanted to get rid of a Zsa Zsasian, as part of his deal last week with Russell, who promised to sacrifice a Zsa Zsasian in exchange for his vote against the Viper Queen. Russell suggested MickMoron. Russell did not tell Old John that the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, had decreed on tablets of stone that Danger Dave was to be sacrificed to Mighty Cthulhu, God of Mullets.
Then came Old John's biggest blunder: listening to Russell outfox himself on the subject of the Hidden Immunity Idol.
Russell: "Think you'll be able to find it?"
Old John: "You have it. I'm one hundred percent sure."
Russell: "Where'd you look? Tell me what the clue was, and I'll tell you, give you a hint."
Anyone would be an idiot to tell Russell what the clue was. Even in the off-chance that he somehow didn't have it, telling him the clue would then certainly hand it to him. Old John is a rocket scientist, not a moron like the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her.
Old John: "What do you mean?" Yeah, Russell, what the hell do you mean?
Russell: "Tell me what the clue was, and I'll tell you where the idol is."
Russell, you are not usually an idiot, but you've just told Old John that you know where the idol is, which means you have it, which means that it is that other bulge in your very tight pants. (Russell's chest hair has also grown back quite well by now, and he looks the better for it - for him that is. For one thing, it hides all the bug bites, which stand out so repulsively on his hairless back.) Old John is not stupid enough to miss this. As being cagey goes, this is an utter failure.
Of course, Russell is not idiot enough to vote out MickMoron at this point. He's too solid an ally. But Russell is now contemplating voting out Old John, as he is:
1. Not going to be a happy camper when Russell goes back on his promise to vote out a member of Zsa Zsa.
2. Smart enough to be a strategic threat.
3. Better looking than Russell. (Okay, this is probably not on Russell's list, but it needed saying.) And...
4. "I told him I had the immunity idol." And Russell laughed in chagrin at his own idiocy. At least he recognized, and even enjoyed, his own strategic goof-up.
Russell, laughing at himself: "These poor people need to close their ears when I start talking ..." Definitely good advice. "... 'cause when I tell you something, and I make a mistake, then I gotta get rid of you. It was my mistake, but sorry John, you gotta go home for it" Have Russell's blabberlips doomed Old John? How can Russell pull it off? Can he redirect the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, without directing her ire against himself? Can Old John possibly detect the change in the wind blowing at him? Can I have a third piece of pie please, Dougie. That's a lamb.
Old John: "You're not going to burn me at the next vote. I'm not going to burn you at the next vote, and we're rolling. ... So we're fine." Old John has many sides: a front side, a back side (which is his best side), a good side, a bad side, a right side, a left side, and now, a blind side.
Russell, never one to let treachery grow stale, hurried off to tell Danger Dave that he is now In-Danger Dave, the better to enlist his aide in eliminating The Rocket Scientist Who Knows Too Much.
Russell told Dave to enlist Not-Laura against Old John, something Russell doesn't even know Not-Laura is already inclined to do, as she is still irrationally angry about losing the Viper Queen, even though that was a public service for which Old John should be rewarded. Russell told Dimwit Dave that his head is on the block, but that he, Russell, wants to keep him in the game. Dave, desperate for an ally, doesn't think to ask why Russell is now his buddy-buddy. The egotistical dimwit thinks that his nearly winning the immunity challenge won Russell's respect, when of course, it just marked him as a threat to be eliminated.
Dimwit Dave thinks he's a strategist. Remember his "Make The Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, our leader, and she'll be our ally to manipulate as we will" strategy? That worked out well for him. At the last few Tribal Councils, he's blathered smugly to Jeff about how he knew how the votes would go, and each time he was left with his jaw dropped in shock, as he was outfoxed over and over. He's a true dimwit.
If he thought about it logically, he'd see that for all of them, it makes sense to get rid of him, especially after his challenge near-win. Therefore, Russell must have some other, untold reason for helping him stay alive. Dave might even, if he were capable of thinking things out effectively, work out that Russell has the idol.
But no. Dopey old Dimwit Dave just thinks his awesomeness speaks for itself, as he said in last week's deleted scenes show, and that Russell admires his awesomeness, and wants to keep him out of admiration. What a tool. The only awesomeness Russell worships is his own.
Russell, knowing that betraying his remaining Zsa Zsasians would be a bad move, next hit on MickMoron, who was all for getting rid of Old John, who was, in MickMoron's eyes:
1. Untrustworthy. (He betrayed his own people last week.)
2. Smart. And...
3. Possibly better looking than MickMoron. (The looks thing might not be a factor in Russell's strategy, but MickMoron is another matter, though MickMoron definitely has a more attractive body than Old John, who is skinny and pecless.)
MickMoron carried the plan to my beautiful Jaison.
Jaison, nobody's fool but mine, noted that, voting out Old John would piss off the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, and she'd flip back to Galu, creating a 4-4 deadlock at the next council, which would lead to the drawing of rocks, handing all their fates to the Bitch Goddess Randomness. That was too risky for Jaison, and too many gods for me. MickMoron placed his faith in Russell's ability to sway the vote of the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her. Now we got some suspense brewing again.
Tribal Council: More gods!
Jeff: "Jaison, you bypassed all the food at the auction for one thing, an advantage in the immunity challenge, and look at you tonight."
Jaison: "Thank God."
For a moment, I expected the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, to stand in fury, her eyes rolling back in her head until we saw only whites, and thunder out, "Speak not so, blasphemer. I am the One True Prophet of the God of Survivor, and only through me may ye lesser mortals speak unto Her, and only through me shalt She speak unto thou! Harken ye, unworthy ones, to my commandments. Thou Shalt not keep Dimwit Dave. Thou shalt not slayeth my chickens. Gaze upon my beauty, great as a vintage Harley, yet terrible as an episode of 90210. Look upon me, and despaireth."
But she didn't do that.
Jeff dared ask a question of the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her: "[Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon you], after thirty days together, is it easier or more difficult to get along with people out here?" Note that, for the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, it is always more difficult.
The Oracle of Igag spake: "Today was peaceful. It wasn't about game play so much. And it was genuine." Well yes. She spent the afternoon napping, stupidly (as per usual) assuming that it was a day off all around. God had decreed that Dimwit Dave would go, so kick back and take a nap. So at peace with her visions was she, that it didn't even occur to her that Dave might struggle against his fate, and that while she napped, others who desired a million dollars, might keep on playing the game. Every week, the profound depths of her stupidity yields up new wonders to behold.
It was her Chief Disciple, or so she thought him, who tossed the first ripple of doubt across the placid pool of her idiot faith. Russell said: "To me, today was strategic only, completely strategic." To be fair, that describes every day for Russell, who never stops playing the game.
The Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her: spake thus verily: "Wow."
Jeff: "[Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon you], did you say 'wow'? That shocks you?"
The Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her: "Yeah."
Jeff: "[Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon you], How is it possible you are shocked to learn that people were scrambling to stay in the game?"
Now the true answer to this question would have been, "Because I'm unbelievably dim, and dumber than a sack of air." An answer from the heart of the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, would be, "But God hath decreed that Danger Dave shall be sacrificed upon this place and at this time. To struggle against God is pointless and blasphemous."
But what she said was: "My vote is being based on me advancing in the game, number one. Number two, I do not want somebody that did not warrant getting a million dollars, that's imperative to me." And who is to judge who "warrants" getting a million dollars? Does being a deeply stupid middle-aged broad in a mullet, acting on emotional grudges, and talking to chickens as they are your only intellectual equals in the vicinity, flavored by truly awesome religious delusions, warrant anything but a straight-jacket?
Jeff asked them each if they thought whomever got voted out tonight would be surprised, given all the blindsides that have been occurring every week. MickMoron wisely steered clear of committing to that, noting only that everyone had brought luggage to council. Russell felt the evictee would be shocked. The Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, was certain that there would be no surprise, that the intended sacrificial virgin was well aware of the knife at his throat. But Dimwit Dave had the most bizarre answer: "If this vote tonight goes the way I'm expecting it to go, I will be shocked."
What? If it goes the way he thinks it will go, he'll be shocked? If he's surprised by how it goes, he won't be surprised? Does that make any sense to any of you reading this? If I'm not shocked, I'll be shocked. Does he even understand what the words he's using mean? Jeff could not have been happier to have elicited such pure insanity.
And Old John said: "I think that of the two potential names, you've asked both of them questions, and they both said they wouldn't be shocked. So I think the answer is no." Ah, Old John, if both of the potential names think there will not be a shock, then obviously someone will be shocked, especially since you think those two names are Dimwit Dave and MickMoron, when the two names are actually Dimwit Dave and you! The only vote MickMoron is likely to get is yours.
Time to vote.
We saw the vote of the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her. It was, as decreed by God, Dimwit Dave. Thus spake the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her: "Dave, thanks for the Chickens. They were great friends." You know, Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon you, you might consider making friends with humans sometime. It might help with your non-existent social skills.
Russell did not play the hidden immunity idol. His getting voted out tonight would have been a blindside's blindside. Remember just a few weeks back, when he seemed fated to be deleted? The Wheel of Survivor has turned.
I love watching the faces during a vote count when there's a big blindside. On the first vote for Old John, he nodded, accepting that there would be one, but when his head came up, he was looking smug. He knew he was safe. The first vote for Dimwit Dave left the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, looking fulfilled in her faith.
The second vote for Old John made him look puzzled. How can that be? To the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, it was nothing. God had decreed Dimwit Dave would be voted out. Had she not seen it in her visions?
The third vote for Old John caused Old John to look alarmed. Suddenly he could smell the way the wind was blowing, and he didn't like the stink it carried. That he was the Rocket Scientist Who Knew Too Much had still not registered with him. Ironically, he knew too much and too little. And that third vote for Old John left The Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, looking bewildered, as though she had been transported into an alternate universe. God had stated Dimwit Dave shalt perish this very night. God is all-powerful. God can not be thwarted.
On the fourth vote for Old John, he did his Dimwit Dave impression, his mouth falling open into a shocked "O".
Whispered Erik over in the jury box: "He's so screwed." This was the most perceptive thing anyone had yet said at this Tribal Council.
Jeff announced that Old John was now the fourth member of the jury, and the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, looked perplexed, but began to suspect that someone had betrayed her trust, violated her commandment, and blasphemed in the sight of the Lord. There was a heretic in the woodpile, and she knew what you do with heretics. Thou shalt not suffer a heretic to live.
Over in the jury box, the Viper Queen whispered smugly about The Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, "She has no idea what happened," clearly reveling in seeing her enemy thwarted, if not voted out. Interestingly, she was more pleased by the Prophet Shambles, blessings and peace be upon her, being thwarted, than she was to see Old John, whose vote-flip had sent her to the jury, ousted.
Eric was gleeful. Kelly, also on the jury, looked like she thought the colors in the campfire were pretty, pretty.
Old John's "Family Moment" featured what I assume was his brother, a plump-faced handsome young man with a Kirk Douglas cleft in his chin, saying something, but my attention was taken by the magnificently beautiful large doggie beside him, whimpering a love more pure and true than that of any human being. That was one sweet doggie.
In all, there was one vote for MickMoron: Old John's, and one vote for Dimwit Dave: the Prophet Shambles's, blessings and peace be upon her. Not-Laura and Brett Two-Spears had both voted for Old John, along with Dimwit Dave, and all of Zsa Zsa.
So, what is the moral of today's story, boys and girls?
Always share pie. (Hands off, Little Dougie! This pie is mine!)