Previously on Survivor…
One night while playing Othello and drinking heavily, MB had an idea…A new twist that would rock the Survivors’ very foundation, or just piss them off. The result was two new randomly formed tribes. A great idea in theory, but in practice, not so much. Pappy got himself a harem and Rob and Sean were sentenced to 20 years at Rotu’s Labor Camp for Wayward Boys. Vecepia continued to pray for Rob’s and Sean’s souls while keeping a lower profile than Salman Rushdie. Kathy thought the “new Rotu” would tank the IC, but since her group had a harder time with their weave puzzle than Bill and Ted had in history class, it wouldn’t have mattered if they had. So Sarah and her Funbags were sent a-packin’.

**Note: In case any of you were playing the Maryland lottery last night, the Pick 3 was 269, the Pick 4 was 3864, and the “Cash in Hand” was 03, 06, 07, 11, 16, 26, 31**

I know this because it blocked out half the damn screen. Fortunately, it was during the credits or else you can be sure I would’ve called that station and given ‘em what fer.

As our story opens, it’s morning at the Rotu Labor Camp and it’s business as usual for the worker bees. Tammy’s doing push-ups (like she does every morning when there isn’t a camera around), and Zoe’s washing her shoes (probably she slept a little too close to Gabe last night). Robfaddah and Zoe are offered some of the “special milk” and we find out that while Robfaddah is a spitter, Zoe thinks it’s the “Nectar of the Gods”.

Robfaddah’s Lament:
I was the Mayor of Simpleton in Maraamu. I had it all laid out in front of me, and then that bastard Burnett had to spoil my party. They’ve got five and we’ve got three, and well, I did the math last night, and it turns out that five is more than three. So basically I’m f*cked. The only thing I have going for me is this lazy bum over here…

<cue obligatory shot of Sean laying around>

He doesn’t do anything anymore. He doesn’t help, he’s not trying to get to know anyone here. As a matter of fact, I’m due to go check his pulse to make sure he’s still alive. Nah, screw it, I’m gonna go work some of the ol’ Robfaddah charm…

So the prepubescent Don opens the debate on who’s “more Rotu”.
Robfaddah: So, do you consider us Rotu?
Gabe: Totally, like fer shur. You guys are rad!
Robfaddah: Yeah, but are we as Rotu as you?
Voodoo Bob: Rotu, tofu, gufu, Ragu, it’s all the same to me.

Gabe: We were a happy little camping group until these guys came with their “Game”, and now it’s all “Game this” and “Game that”. I just wanna make sandcastles and play hackysack.

Enter our anti-hero Prince John. PJ was a noble, tribe-building, communitarian until “The Game” got a hold of him. Soon he will aspire to the throne vacated by his much older and wiser brother, King Dicque. This is a tragic saga of his rise to power filled with paranoia, body fluid offers, and F-ing mother oaths. Listen, and learn…

So Tammy, Voodoo Bob, Gabriel and PJ gather to talk about this “Game”. Apparently, “The Game” will make you lie. (**Gasp**) “The Game” will turn ordinary people into blood-thirsty pirates. (The horror!) “The Game” will even pit brother against brother, comrade against comrade, until only one person remains to tell the sad tale of…”The Game”. (How can CBS allow such a damaging message to be shown in Prime Time? Where’s Walker, Texas Ranger when you need him most?)

Gabe: What are the ethics of this “Game”?
PJ: Tell the truth. (Oh, PJ thou were so noble once…)
Gabe: Maybe.
PJ: Are you saying you would <cue ominous organ music> LIE?
Gabe: *I* am not playing this “Game”.
PJ: But I thought we were all here to play.
Gabe: Not me. I just wanna hang out with all you guys. Hey! Wanna race cars?

A D V E R T I S E M E N T

A D V E R T I S E M E N T

It was then that PJ felt the twinge. It was a feeling he’d never felt before. At first he thought it was from some bad taro root. Then he realized that it was not the nasty taro, but rather it was Gabe. Something had to be done to stop Gabe and his evil communist plot.

Meanwhile at Maraamu’s Self Esteem Camp, the group gathered in prayer…

Gina: Dear God, we are soooo tired of losing. Please, please, please let us win. Just once. That’s all this poor wretched bunch asks. Just one time, O Lord. Is that so much to ask?

After praying, it was crabbin’ time! Yes, it seems that Sarah did not take all of her belongings with her to TC last night. She left behind enough crabs to feed all the men she slept with to get on the show (and that’s no small feast).

Feeling full and with high hopes, the gang left for the Reward Challenge…

This time the RC featured a bunch of stumps with faces (no not Sean and Robfaddah, they sat this one out) strewn about the area. 3 from each team would be blindfolded and 1 would act as their eyes by calling out and telling them where to go. (I’ve been calling out and telling these idiots where to go for 3+ seasons, and it hasn’t done a lick of good.) The object being to retrieve all the stumps (minus Sean and Robfaddah) and then stack them to create cute, little mini-tikis.

CBS production meeting…
Exec. 1: OK, these Maraamu losers are killing us. Everyone’s sick of seeing them lose and the happy Rotus and their cozy little commune win. How can we break up their merry band?

Exec. 2: I have an idea. We could have a challenge where the winner gets to loot the losers camp. Then we rig the challenge so Maraamu can’t possibly lose it. Then they get to steal all the things that Rotu won fair and square.

Exec. 3: Yeah! And then we’ll bring out that lame-ass S.O.S. IC which serves the double duty of being subjective as hell, as well as being nearly impossible for Rotu to win without any supplies.

MB: I like it, but it’s not quite evil enough…

Exec. 1: And we could make it a rule that those who participate in the RC can’t participate in the IC. You know that Rotu will certainly sit out knuckleheads Sean and Rob in the RC while using their strongest members. It will be foolproof!

MB: Excellent.

So the dastardly production team hid one of Rotu’s stumps causing them to lose their predictable lead while Gabe ran around like a penguin on crack trying to locate it. Once Maraamu caught up, the stump “magically” appeared, but it was too late. Yes, even noble network executives are not immune from the evils of “The Game”.

The next morning, the Maraamu 4 arrived at Rotu Labor Camp beach to loot and pillage. They were given 2 minutes to do their worst, and they surely did. Blankets, lanterns, limes, peppers, knives, they even took the Rotu table. Now that’s just low. And all the while, the poor, helpless Rotu’s could only stand and watch their idyllic kibbutz be destroyed by…”The Game”.

Back at Maraamu Self Esteem Camp, the cheaters—I mean the victors rejoiced.

Gina: I haven’t won anything since the Watermelon Pageant. I’m so happy I could spit!
Kathy: It feels so good to win. I don’t even care if it was fixed.
Paschal: We’re good enough, we’re smart enough, and gosh darn it MB likes us.

At Rotu Labor Camp, things have taken a turn for the worse…
Gabe, distraught by his camp’s demolition, reminds us all what happens when white people try to rap. The unpleasantness was almost more than his bear could bear. Poor Jimmy, to be trapped in the crook of Gabe’s arm while his master desperately tried to rock a rhyme. Let me not think on it.

Gabe: The new guys are sooo bitchin’. They listen to my mad rhymes and don’t tell me I suck. Pappy and Kathy used to always say “Gabe we know old school, and you are not old school.” I love my new tribe mates. I think I’ll regale them in another fine rap…

For the love of God, Gabe stop the madness. God, why couldn’t I have been born deaf?

Now the dreaded anti-hero, PJ, returns to cast his gloom over the tribe…

PJ: Gabe’s funky-fresh beats and ability to mingle with the new kids frighten me. I need to talk to him to make sure he’s down with the right peeps.

So PJ and Gabe talk more about “The Game”. The paranoia in PJ is growing faster than my urge to hurl after listening to Gabey-Gabe and the Funky Bunch.

PJ: You’re freaking me out with your weird hippie ways. Are you with us or against us?
Gabe: Neither. I told you, I’m not playing “The Game”.
PJ: Oh yes you are.
Gabe: Oh no I’m not.
PJ: Are too.
Gabe: Am not.

Finally Tammy saves us all from the inevitable “I’m rubber and you’re glue” argument.

His head swimming with bad music and hippie logic, PJ decides he can no longer trust Gabe and must get rid of him, Flavah and all.

A D V E R T I S E M E N T

A D V E R T I S E M E N T

So in true Pretender-to-the-Throne fashion, PJ “stealthily” goes door to door selling his soul in small pieces for support. First he approaches Voodoo Bob, whom he promises to never vote for. Then he approaches Zoe, whom he promises a villa in Boca and some nice footwear. Then he approaches Tammy and offers to bleed all over her (sorry PJ, been there, done that) and when that doesn’t work puts up his F-ing mother’s future in the afterlife up as collateral. (An extension of the Lex school of pimping your children’s souls to total strangers. Why don’t these people ever pony up their own rapture? Dude, leave your F-ing mother out of this nasty business.)

Now comes the S.O.S. Immunity “Challenge”, and since Rotu has nothing but a few coconut husks and Sean’s DaGlo orange shorts (not to mention his creative talents), they are officially screwed. Gabe, PJ, Tammy, and Voodoo Bob stand and watch in abject horror as Robfaddah, Sean, Zoe, and Vee-on-the-Down-Lo construct a distress signal that’s primary component is a BLACK RAFT. Then they take this dark structure and lean it up against the dark back-drop of the tree line, yards and yards from the shore.

PJ, showing his confidence and support, approaches Sean while they’re in the middle of the challenge to discuss voting strategy. He continues his “stealth campaign” by trying to recruit Sean.

PJ: I just wanna say you guys are doing a bang-up job here. However, in the event that we lose, I just want you to know that we’d rather keep your worthless, divisive, curmudgeon ass and vote for strong, peppy, uniting-force Gabe the Golden Child.
Sean: Whatever.

So Sean immediately goes to tell Robfaddah the news…

(Can we talk for a second about the socks on these two? Are Sean and Robfaddah being privately sponsored by Harry Mendelsohn, age 71, of Hackensack, NJ? What’s with the Grampawear guys?)

Robfaddah and Sean, being veteran “Game” players, try to recruit Grand-Master Gabe to the dark-er side of the “Game” while Vee-on-the-Down-Lo hides in the bushes.

But wait! The boat’s here! The boat’s here! Quick, wave your ineffective poles and blow that lame whistle!

Aboard the French vessel Kaamumuallafalla with Jeffy is local grocer—I mean “Captain” Laurent. It will be the “Captain’s” decision on which signal is the best and therefore who gets immunity. “Captain” Laurent doesn’t like the Rotu signal. (OK, it did suck worse than “Pearl Harbor”, but even if they had a flare gun, I’m sure the “Captain” would have found something wrong about it.)

The Maraamu 4 must have stolen Gabe’s stash in the raid, because they’re all decked out head to toe in Styrofoam. Pappy looks like the tin man from a grade school production of “The Wizard of Oz”. But “Captain” Laurent, being a fan of avant-garde theatre, loves the use of the Styrofoam and the care-free waving of the American flag.

Jeff: So you say this one is the better signal?
“Captain”: Well, I…
Jeff: <nudging him> I said, you like this one better right?
“Captain”: Ohhhh. Yes, yes. This one is better.
Jeff: Maraamu wins immunity. <slips $20 into the “Captain’s” pocket>

Back at the Labor Camp, Robfaddah makes the Golden Boy an offer he can’t refuse. Vote with us against PJ, or sleep with the fishes.

PJ, whose “secret plan” now includes everyone on the island except Gabe, is worried that he may have divulged too much. (D’ya think, PJ? Jeez, you banged on more doors for this than Neleh did on her Mission.) Undaunted, he continues to overvalue himself by proclaiming this the master move of “The Game”.

At TC, PJ mounts his big ol’ melon on the chopping block by crowning himself leader of the pack (while Sean rolls his eyes in the background. When will these fools realize that I’m the Alpha male here?)

Alas, young Gabe stays true to his flaky, outdated world view and is summarily dismissed. (I think even Jimmy the Bear voted for him.) Farewell Gabe, my rhymin’ friend. You did it your way…and got your ass smote.