Survivor: Tocantins. "Aarf," Said Sandy.

Survivor, the game show version of LOST, is back, with Survivor: Tocantins. Tocantins, it turns out, does not mean the cans ground Toucans are sold in. (Mmmm. Toucan. Good eatin', but a big bill.) Rather, it's a remote region of Brazil. As far as I'm concerned, any region of Brazil, even Rio, is remote!

I know all about Tocantins, as I saw a movie with Wallace Beery (All man), Lewis Stone (About 50% man) and Bessie Love (0% man) that was set there, called The Lost World. It's hot, has plateaus, and is infested with living dinosaurs, neanderthal men, and overacting.

This season the audition shows and Hollywood Week were all cut, so we just opened with the Top 16 contestants, already divided into teams by some mysterious, not-shown, selection process, being driven in enforced silence out into the bush. Frankly, Tocantins is a good place for the ex-President to reside. I just hope he doesn't "privatize" the rain forest.

We listened to them make horrifically stereotyped snap judgements about each other on the basis of nothing. Tyson Professional Cyclist of Timbira (the black team, very in this year) henceforth forever to be known as "The Nude Mormon," decided, without even speaking to her, that Erinn Hairstylist (such unusual last names) was "The Bitch". Meanwhile, on the other side of the transport, Stephen Corporate Consultant (In other words, unemployed) of Jalapeno (They misspell it as Jalapao. Not me. The red tribe, commies!), instantly declared Sandy Bus Driver to be "The strung-out old lady." Speaking as a strung-out old lady myself, thanks darling. Sandy Bus Driver, whom we were shortly to learn is insane, said of Stephen, "I think he's like a geek." Perhaps he'd been biting the heads off of chickens before the cameras rolled, which is rare in a New York City corporate consultant. During this drive we also met Sierra Model, who was whining about her strep throat ("I'm siiiiiick."), and Coach Soccer Coach (Like Jean Valjean!), a full-of-himself soccer coach and symphony orchestra conductor. I can just imagine him with his orchestra. "YOU WILL PLAY THAT BACH FUGUE FASTER, MAGGOT! WHAT IS YOUR MAJOR MALFUNCTION, OBOE? I CAN'T HEAR YOU, TRIANGLE! DROP AND GIVE ME 16 BARS!"

The first challenge was surprisingly urban for a show taking place 20 miles west of nowhere. The two teams were instructed to rob and strip, before the fuzz arrived, a truck apparently abandoned by Indiana Jones en route to the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls. Jalapeno right off stamped themselves with the Loser Idiot Team tattoo by not stealing any of the water or food. Yes, what would you need with water when it's a balmy 110 in the shade? (Which is a lovely musical show I'd much rather have been watching.) Jalapeno tribesboy Spencer Student, who is 19, in his aged wisdom said, "We'll be all right." Does Spencer know that Mommy's kitchen won't be out in the bush?

Then Jeff Probst announced an instant elimination vote. Each tribe would vote someone out before they've even learned each other's names. It was voting from sheer ignorance and blind prejudice, like an election in Florida. Ballots were marked with such enlightened identifications as "Grammy," "Guy with glasses in peachy orange shirt," "The Old Lady," "Gray and black T-Shirt," "Zebra-striped top," (They were voting off clothes. Now we're getting somewhere!), "Purple tank with the ruffles," "Blonde girl with jeans," etc. In the end, Sandy Bus Driver was voted off of Jalapeno, and Sierra Strep Throat was voted off of Timbira. Sherlock Probst said they looked upset. To the amazement of Mankind, they were both pissed about being voted out five minutes in, especially since, as Sierra whined some more, she was sick. She had a note from home. Her dog ate her health.

Ah but, the Ye Olde Survivor Twist was at work. The tribes were now going to have to carry all the grub they'd looted off the truck on a four-hour Death March (Actually Timbira made the trek in a considerably longer time) in triple-digit heat, to their camps. I shuddered in the comfort of my living room, sipping an icy vodka, remembering why I've never been stupid enough to try out for this show.

Second twist: Sandy and Sierra were only voted off the trek. They would travel to camp by helicopter, while nursing grudges against everyone who wrote their insulting descriptions on the ballots. Oh, this game is on.

Sandy showed what a master gameswoman she was by whooping with delight, and basically doing an In your faces, fools! happy dance in front of the tribesmates who would be hauling all that weight through the torrid heat for hours, and, one day soon, (tomorrow) be sitting beside her at a tribal council. "Thank you, God," Sandy said to Jeff Probst, who is cool, but not actually a god, let alone God. Jeff had to point out to the idiot woman that the vote showed that her tribe already hated her; maybe making them hate her more wasn't the best strategy at this point.

Along the Death March, Jalapeno consulted a map and a compass, and Carolina Bartender (whom Probst annoyingly pronounced "Caroleena") helpfully piped up in her ear-splitting nasal voice "Remember, the compass always faces north." I'm sure she meant points north, but the dialogue was cribbed from the season premiere of LOST, when Richard Alpert answered Locke's question "What does the compass do?" with "It points north, John." If a smoke monster appears, someone is going to get sued.

Stephen Corporate Consultant was wearing assless pants. Good fashion choice, but not with those orange flowered boxers under them. Stephen said, "You know, that's going to be nice for the ladies." What ladies, Steve? Blind ones? Stephen apparently suffers from the delusion that he's attractive. Continuing the stereotyping, Stevie also instantly decided that JT Cattle Rancher, a cowboy from Alabama, was a KKK Good old boy who wouldn't like "the anxious New York Jew," based solely on JT's accent. Maybe JT won't like the instant-stereotyping of his southern accent. JT just seemed to be trying to help everyone survive the Death March.

Over on Timbira's Death March, we met Jerry Army Sergeant, just back from a 12 month tour of Afghanistan. I'd get another travel agent if I was him. But the blistering Brazilian heat must have felt like the arctic to him after Afghanistan.

Full-of-himself Coach told us "I consider myself a Renaissance man adventurer." and made the rookie mistake of taking charge and giving orders. Jerry, the army sergeant used to leading a hundred men into real battles, had brains enough to keep his mouth shut. Not Coach, who was painting a large target on his own back. Coach made the weird comment "I wanna change this game. It's survival of the weakest; it's survival of the people that can't survive in the wild. You and I can change this game by making the strong survive." Huh? It's survival of the people who can't survive? I can't wait to see the look on his face when he gets blindsided at Tribal Council. I hope it's soon. And if he keeps running his mouth like this, it will be.

But Coach wasn't done with his peculiar philosophy. He told Brendan Entrepreneur: "If we look back at our ancestors, whether it be American Indian, whether it be the Norse Vikings, whether it be the Samurai warrior..." (Unusual ethnic mix, but he hasn't hit my ancestors yet, the Iowa Moreheads) "... they prayed for an opponent that was worthy enough to defeat them, and died with honor and glory in the battle." May his prayers be answered soon. Brendan was busy making sure he could spell Coach's name correctly on the ballot. I doubt Jerry had been praying for a "Worthy Talibanian" to kill him. What a fatuous fool, especially next to Jerry, a real warrior.

Sandy arrived at the Jalapeno camp and said, "Maybe I am the older woman..." (Maybe?) "But I'm older and I'm wiser, and this game is mine." She showed her wisdom by sobbing and carrying on like a 4 year-old. She was given the choice to spend the tribe's time away either working on building them a camp (the materials were all there), or following clues to a hidden immunity idol. She chose to search for the idol, reasoning (and I use the term loosely) that if she built them a camp, "they probably wouldn't like [it] anyway because a woman made it."

However, her hopeless stupidity made her idol hunt a fruitless task. When, on the second day (It took her an entire day to find the stick in the sand and dig out the clue a foot down in the sand), she found a clue telling her to walk ten paces towards the only palm tree, she hilariously wandered about aimlessly, asking the sky stuff like "I wonder what a 'pace' is. Pace gods, give me a clue. What are 'paces'?" For a woman with two actual "clues," she truly had no clue. The Pace gods apparently save their divine interventions for people who know what paces are, as they didn't even draw her attention to the lone palm tree, so she was rambling around in all directions. Boy, is she stupid.

But she made one wise choice. She hid the clue in her breasts, where no one will ever find it. Meanwhile, the tribe arrived annoyed that, while they were trekking through the heat, she'd sat on her butt amidst the building supplies, and done nothing to prepare the camp for them. Sandy has world-class stupidity. She could compete for America in The Stupid Olympics.

Sierra, faced with the same choice, chose to build a camp, despite her strep throat. When her tribe arrived, well after dark, she became their new BFF. Brendan was so impressed, he immediately hugged the contagious girl. Coach touched all our hearts when he said, "I think that Sierra, even though she's awesome, she's got to go."

When it comes to Survivor, I'm all about the manflesh, hot men in hot climates, no shirts, wet pants. I'm still deeply in love with last year's dreamboat James Gravedigger, who was on two consecutive Survivors, looking dreamy, and getting himself blindsided whenever his chronic overconfidence kicked in. As yet, no one has stepped up with to-die-for pecs. Over on Jalapeno, so far only Joe Real Estate Sales has shown anything worth looking at, a pair of mildly-defined, over-manscaped pecs, still recovering from what must have been a nasty waxing a couple months before, and a slightly flabby belly. Hopefully, deprived of razors and wax, his rain forest will grow back over the course of the series, and no flabby belly ever survives a month starving on Survivor. Spencer Student is a skinny hairless boy who may, I suppose, appeal to fans of David Archuletta and the Jonas Brothers. JT is kind of pudgy, but that will melt over the weeks too. And then there's Stephen. Stephen took his shirt off for the immunity challenge. Keep the shirt on, Stephen. Please.

Carolina was instantly annoying everyone on her tribe as she nagged them with her ghastly, nasal voice to build the camp Sandy hadn't bothered to build. She was right of course, but she was also more annoying than Sandy, and that takes some doing. Bossy and nasal: bad combination.

Over at Timbira, Tyson Cyclist, went to fetch water with Sierra Model and another girl (I think her name was "Girl Generic"), and told us, "I'm probably not the stereotypical Mormon," as he stripped naked in front of the giggling girls, and wandered about starkers, wearing only a floating blur. This would be great TV except that he's already too thin and bony, and it's only the second day. Three weeks from now, he'll be a living skeleton animated by Ray Harryhausen.

And then Tyson said this: "I want that million dollars, exotic, expensive furs on my shoulder, jewels on these pretty fingers..." (Does he have someone's severed fingers in a bag? Because his fingers are not "pretty.") "... we're talking big time. I'll wear a tiara, a man tiara. Do they make those?" This is one Mormon about whom I have no worries that he'll tithe the prize money to be used to keep Proposition 8 on the California law books. PETA will love him too. I see him, Tyson, the naked, bony, Mormon drag queen manque, wearing just a "Man Tiara" and a smile.

The main challenge for the episode was for immunity and a flint. How important is fire when it's 120 degrees? The trick in that heat is not catching fire. The challenge involved a lot of running around the beach, wading out in a river to fetch a raft, building a stairway to Paradise, playing pachinko I think, and running a peg through a slot maze. I was just reaching for the remote control to see if Tom Welling was shirtless over on tonight's Smallville repeat when I remembered I was reviewing this show and had to watch it. Actually, in 120 degree heat, tying one's shoes and walking in a slow circle is enough of a challenge.

JT raced out to the raft, way ahead of everyone else, but since they weren't allowed to move the raft until the whole team got there, it was just pointless exertion in 120 degree heat. JT, save it for when it makes a difference.

At one point, Probst announced, "Tyson taking a big, heavy load." Great. Now my neighbors will think I was watching gay porn - again. If only I was. Watching people lay down planks while a crazy old woman screams orders at them is always riveting TV viewing. Jalapeno finished their staircase with a big lead, but then Spencer and a blond girl called Sydney Model (Sierra's sister?) were so lame at the peg maze, that Timbira caught up, passed them, won immunity, celebrated, finished their 39 days in Brazil, and were off to Los Angeles for the reunion show while Spencer and Sydney were still struggling through the maze.

Probst announced, "Nothing good ever happens at Tribal Council," as though encouraging channel-surfing during the last ten minutes. You'd think his Emmy would have ended his self-esteem issues.

Now here's the thing about Survivor's last 15 minutes every week. It's always edited to make you think Person A is going to be voted out, and then it's always Person B. This week Person A was Sandy: stupid, annoying, old, shouted orders at people all through the challenge, has bonded with no one, has already been voted out once, couldn't find the hidden immunity idol even if it were stuffed in her boobs next to the clue. She was such a sitting duck, you just knew she was safe. If Sandy were going home, all the footage we'd see would be of how horribly grating Carolina Bartender was, how everyone couldn't stand hearing her voice one second longer.

We did get Carolina annoying us. Gloating faux-sympathetically over Sandy's perceived imminent ouster, she said, "With every failure there's an opportunity for growth. That's one of my number one sayings." Carolina, you can only have one "Number One Saying." How do you count your tips? Carolina then unwittingly campaigned for saving Sandy, by telling everyone what they should all be doing in the future from her great wisdom, in her grating voice, making sure that people would prefer that she be gone rather than crazy Sandy.

Taj Former Pop Star, a plump black woman who must have been very former because I've sure never heard of her, and a "Star" is someone you've heard of, was clearly ready to drown Carolina after about two minutes. Carolina was very grateful when Taj advised her to close her mouth, and talked and talked and talked about how much she agreed with Taj that she, Carolina, should shut up. She would not shut up about how much she should shut up.

Tribal Council. Sandy arrived convinced she was leaving, Probst asked Sandy what she had been doing instead of building a camp, knowing full well she couldn't say "I was looking for the hidden immunity idol," and thus forcing her to lie, when just getting out a coherent sentence is a challenge she is not up to. Then came a Moment of Truth.

Jeff Probst: "Sandy, you a little crazy?"

Sandy Bus Driver: "I'm a lot crazy."

Truer words were never babbled.

But of course, in the end, Jalapeno decided that:
Nothing could be finer,
Than to not see Carolina,
in the mo-oh-orning.

Jalapeno got two prizes at the end. Carolina's voice was gone, and they got flint. Timbira's reward prize was to get flint four hours ahead of Jalapeno, four hours that were 120 degrees. Great prize.

The preview of next week showed what looked a basketball game being played in a shallow pond during a monsoon, with all the men shirtless, so if there is some worthwhile manflesh this season, I'll finally get a gander at it then. (Okay, the girls were in skimpy tops, getting soaked, and being tugged on also, if you like that sort of thing.)

Cheers darlings.

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