|
The Box
presents:
(In association
with sAm "Big Italy" Larson, and Jeff Probst's dimples)
Survivor:
Crapper
The
Director's Cut
RECAP (Tribes
before merge):
Tribe Brodea
-Donnacha Kelly
[Editor's note - I told sAm that Donnacha's last name was Kenny, but he
insisted on Kelly. He said something about "creative license".
Whatever.]
-sAm Larson
-Noga Westerlund
-Rob Lumley
-Steven Kilpatrick
Tribe Dantellion
-Rob McDole
-girlwholurks
-Tom Blackett
-Adam Appel
When we last
left you, the two tribes had finally merged (Brodea and Dantellion merged
into tribe Vulgaro), yet there were instant clashes of egos and fluids.
The war over
which camp to settle into was a long one. The end came only when Noga
recited some free-form poetry.
Donnacha Kelly:
While Noga rambled on about fish and flowing garments, Tom calmly whispered
to me that losing your voice was common with the weather their camp got.
I guess word spread pretty quickly, because aside from Noga, who was still
reciting verse, Tribe Brodea had completely packed up.
Tom Blackett:
I think they saw the obvious advantage of shutting Noga up for a prolonged
period of time. I'm bloody British! I don't need to hear about
how Noga couldn't get a "mocha frap" with whipped cream at Starbucks!
Noga Westerlund:
I wanted to finish my poem with an entry pulled right out of my slam book,
called "Toll Booth Mamma Jamma", but everyone started to head out. I'm
glad my poem soothed their anger, though. I think that with my help,
we can do great as a tribe.
Upon arriving,
tribe Vulgaro discovered a massive feast had been laid out for them
consisting of alcohol, punch, steak, and nachos. Taking up a Rolling
Rock, Adam toasted the brand new tribe:
"I'd like to
congratulate everyone who has made it this far into the game. And I'd
like to give special FABULICIOUS props to God almighty who allowed this slab
of man-flesh Donnacha to make it long enough to be in the same tribe as I
am."
Donnacha Kelly:
This Adam fellow may quite possibly be a homosexual. I don't blame him
for coming on to me, though. I mean c'mon. I'm D-nach to the
mother-diddling Killy Kill, mate.
sAm Larson:
When Adam made the public pass at Donnacha, the crab dip on the table in
front of Mr. Kelly suddenly tipped over. All Donnacha did was turn
around quickly and say, "Hehe, funny how that should happen just now.
Well, not really funny. It was actually quite common. Nothing
out of the ordinary about it. Hey, what about that last challenge,
huh? What a doozy, eh?" It was like jesus, man. It's
obvious you got a hard-on from Adam's speech, pretending you didn't pop one
isn't going to change how blatant it was.
Rob Lumley:
Two words, Donnacha. Penis Pump.
The Crab Dip
incident was soon overshadowed by a voice hissing from the woods:
"Weee wannttss
it. My preeciousss."
Steven
Kilpatrick was the first to react.
Steven
Kilpatrick:
Hearing the voice, I instantly knew I had to defend myself, so obviously I
searched our camp for a large object to use for protection.
Rob McDole:
Seconds after we heard the voice, Steven took off into the opposite
direction, screaming "Josh!!!!! Heather!!!!! They're going to
make me face a wall too!!!!" It was really fucking pathetic,
especially since all of us from tribe Dantellion knew where the voice was
coming from.
girlwholurks:
Oh well. I'm an alcoholic. Big deal.
Tom Blackett:
So Steven wets his knickers and runs away, but my luxury item was a machine
gun, so I pulled that bad boy out. As I start to take aim, i am
stopped by that McDole guy. I tell him to quit gripping my barrel
because I was about to shoot, and before I can get harassed by those fucks
sAm and Donnacha, this bleeding three-hole drops from a tree and grabs one
of the bottles of wine. I was more shocked than when I won the Crapper
Halloween contest, let me tell you.
girlwholurks:
All I wanted was some wine. Is it a crime for a gal to get her drink
on? I think not. Sorry if I scared one of the new tribe members,
but my luxury item was a portable DVD player with Lord of the Rings in it.
Guess I got a tad too feral for Steven. What really offended me was
Tom calling me a Bleeding Three-hole. That's wrong on so many levels.
sAm Larson:
girlwholurks explained to us (in a slurred and ultimately awkward manner,
mind you) that it was in her nature to lurk about the camp, surfacing only
to point out others faults... or to drink. She kept going on, but I
zoned out as I found myself lost in her cleava... beauty. I'm sure it
was all fascinating stuff, though.
The next day,
the tribe woke to the sound of rain falling on their shelter.
Noga Westerlund:
I opted to go pick up our mail, and was pleased to find that Adam had
offered to accompany me. I wrote a poem about it.
"ADAM MOUNTAIN"
Sea.
Man.
Happy.
Climb the Adam Mountain.
Climb.
Climb.
~fin~
Rob Lumley:
The night of the feast, some stupid fuck mentioned that the first winner of
Survivor was not only gay, but went nude on several occasions. The
next day, Adam was more naked than a newborn.
Adam Appel:
They all just wanna tag it. They know it, I know it, and now America
knows it.
The mail they
received gave the tribe their clue to the next competition.
"To the center
you will go. You will follow the glow of the light off the snow.
This is crucial to know, to remain on the show."
Assuming that
this must be a blindfold competition, each tribe member walked around set
obstacles with some cloth obstructing their view for the next 8 rainy hours.
After Adam and Steven Kilpatrick mastered Patty-Cake, they all knew they
were ready.
***COMPETITION***
Confident, tribe Vulgaro marches up to the competition area where a static
Darkfather awaits to give them their instructions.
Tom Blackett:
When Darkfather told us that we had to stand on a 6 inch in diameter log
without falling, I vowed to never trust that fucking tree mail ever again.
Donnacha Kelly:
I was very upset when I learned that we weren't going to be blindfolded, or
gagged, or anything. Oh well, the battle for immunity is bigger than
one man's hopes, and I must remember this, as I am sexy man from sexy
country.
They all took
their places on their logs, as Darkfather started the clock. The first
to drop was girlwholurks.
girlwholurks:
It is a cruel joke Darkfather is playing. Giving us booze, and then
giving us a balance challenge for immunity the next day. Evil, man.
Evil.
Adam Appel:
I was seriously hung over, so seeing lurker bite it so early didn't make
things any easier for me. I fell seconds later.
Five minutes
into the competition, Darkfather came out with some Porn and Barbeque,
offering free usage of both items if only they stepped down at that moment.
Not surprisingly, the Porn and Barbeque offer was found to be too good to
pass up, as Rob Lumley, Rob McDole and Tom Blackett all stepped down from
their log of hope.
Tom Blackett:
I figured I'd liven the game up a click, so I asked Noga to recite a poem or
four, and Noga was more than happy to oblige.
Steven
Kilpatrick:
I wasn't going to trip about the poetry at first, but come on! One of
Noga's lines was actually "The breastplate of society is mangled like a
cripple who likes her morning tea." Total crap. So I leapt off
my log and knocked that ass down. To my surprise and utter amusement,
I took out sAm as well.
sAm Larson:
I personally couldn't care less if I won or lost. Noga deserved every
bit of it. I just wish I didn't have to lose to Donnacha.
Donnacha:
This just proves to me that I can be somebody without having people in heels
trample on me for sexual pleasure, love. D-cha in tha mutha fuckin
hizzy.
A victorious
Donnacha leads the way back to camp Vulgaro, as a bruised and battered Adam
makes something known to his fellow tribe members.
sAm Larson:
This mother fucker Adam says that his luxury item was his prized
anti-depressants that make his column so damned funny to read. We made
a deal.
Adam Appel:
So sAm just starts shaking me, yelling at me for the pills. It was
then when Steven came up with the idea that if I shared them I'd have a new
form of immunity at Tribal Counsel.
Steven
Kilpatrick:
sAm never played Patty-Cake with Adam, man. He doesn't know him like I
do.
sAm Larson:
That trip to Tribal Counsel was filled with joy and laughter.
Anti-Depressants kick ass when you're on Survivor.
This was all
made crystal clear at Tribal counsel that night, from sAm talking about how
much Lurker looks like she could "Throw a mean fuck", to Donnacha saying he
now knows his immunity idol in a totally improper way. A wise
Darkfather moves on, and orders the vote.
Reading the
votes out loud, one by one, reveals that there is a tie between Noga and Rob
McDole with one vote left unread.
girlwholurks:
Even in my haze of alcohol and pharmaceuticals, I knew my vote had not been
read aloud yet. I voted for Noga because I forgot everyone else's
names for a while. I'm glad I did too, as it turned out to be the vote
that sent Poetry Pat on the road to Loserville.
Tom Blackett:
Here's a poem for you, Noga. Roses are red. Violets are blue.
You just got booted for being an annoying human. And you smell.
Adam Appel:
Noga was a kindred spirit. I will always wonder what would have
happened had Noga been the one in possession of anti-depressants...
Donnacha Kelly:
Keep up the poetry, doll. You're going to be a star. I gots five
on it, yo. Whuddup?
***Next Week***
More hijinx from Tribe Vulgaro on Survivor: Crapper (oh ee ohhhh ee ohh ee
ohh ee ohh ee ay ah ohh ee ohh ee ah)
BONUS
FOOTAGE!
 An Ode to sAm
by Noga Westerlund
Oh
whAt A sAd, sAd soul is sAm
Strutting Around yelling, “sAm I Am!”
A
comment on his ridiculous deed:
ReAlly sAm a mocha frap?
I’d rAther swallow
Muddy crAp
Or little beAst soup. Little sAm soup!
The
other dAy
I borrowed A vertebrAe
from little sAm’s bAck
And All he could do was whine
“Where is my spine?
Where is my spine?”
WhAt
A frightening feeling
Chills fill my heArt
As I heAr him cry out,
“I Am stout! I Am stout!”
“ReAlly you Are?!”
Oh the wee little dwArf.
It is so sAd, how such A smAll creAture
CAn muck about.
And
All he could sAy wAs
“Oh sAm I Am! Oh sAm I Am!
I’ll shout from the rooftops! sAm I AM!!!”
Lonely MountAin sAm
Does he ever leAve his mountAin reAlm?
To find thAt mAd fools who speAk
through others’ mouths
soon loose their teeth?
So I
rAise my glass
to sAm the Ass!
Preciousss, preciousss sAm,
He sleeps with the fishesss… |
