LAST EDITED ON 12-08-16 AT 09:18 PM (EST)
OK, fess up. Who sprayed graffiti on my coconut palm palace? This is a holy place people, this is where the super spoilers that millions of my fans depend on in order to provide some happiness for their otherwise drab and dreary lives. This is not a place to besmirch with ďHey fish head, go take a running leap off a short palm frond!Ē, or ďGo eff yourself, you old goatĒ (That one was especially hurtful, Iím not that old). And they canít even spell out fuck? What kind of wimps am I dealing with here? I might have to resort to water balloon bombs if things escalate. And I can nail a moving land crab from 5 stories up.
Anyway, I canít let that distract me, I have a job to do and by gumbo Iím going to do it. And that job is to erase a lot of dam graffiti. Dam juveniles! I also have to tend to my other duties, for I am Alfonzo Goldfish the Pornstache Detective First class (you killed my father, and now Iím going to kill you!) to deliver the latest and most reliable spoilers so that you will be the most informed people on the planet. In the solar system! Heck in the known and unknown universe and all associated dimensions!! And everywhere else too!!!!
As usual I have my merry band of swarthy slithery subtle sylphs to help, all handpicked (and there is a literal and personal aspect to the hand picking - did I mention that this is just the best job ever?) graduates of the Really Really Really Raunchy Girls Finishing School of Moped Chopping and Senior Retirement Community Hurrahing. Even though they left me to do the graffiti removal by myself saying they didnít sign on for lowly house work, they do do a glorious job of honey pot sexing of the Survivors (dirty disgusting work, but they love it) and the island production teams in order to elicit the innermost top secret information, information that no other spoiler (Jim Early, looking at you!) could even dream of providing.
So, since the information has been downloaded by the E-Messenger service (my homing Tortoises) I shall waste no time in giving them to you, my faithful readers whose subscriptions are paid up to date. For those whose payment are delinquent, tough noggies for you. Stop reading now.
Dang Graffiti Spoiler #1: So, Jay thinks heís the black plague. You know Jay, you could take a shower once in a while, most of that Ďblackí plague might just wash away.
Dang Graffiti Spoiler #2: The dilemma is down to this (paraphrasing Jeffy); If you make moves to build a resume for final TC, your tribemates notice this, become paranoid that you might get an advantage over them, so they bounce you. But if you donít make moves, you wonít have a resume at final TC, and you donít win.
It might help if you didnít announce to your tribe that you are trying to build a resume for final TC (looking at our recent idiot bouncee, Will).
Dang Graffiti Spoiler #3: Another suggestion, this one for Probst. Get a white board for TC to help spell out the inner linkings of the tribe. A timeline/org cross might work here. Because, at least for me, itís a mess and ten minutes after he lays it out, Iím confused again. Who hates who, who loves who, who is a dam liar, who is so distrustful that he spoils everybodyís secrets, who owes who, who knows whoís secrets, who is boinking who, who is a top, who is a bottom, who has shared the secrets that they promised to never tell, who has flipped, and who has never flipped but is just waiting for their chance to flip.
Dang Graffiti Spoiler #4: Sunday goes out. Low hanging fruit, kinda sad. According to Hannah Sundayís a threat because sheís the perfect goat. After the game we can tell Hannah what kind of threat a goat is in Survivor.
Dang Graffiti Spoiler #5: Finally, competing ĎMy Momís(Grandmother/son/etc) has cancer' cards get played. This ploy has become so popular that it is seldom taken seriously, and this season both Adam and Jay are playing it.
(Yawn) The only way that these claims could be taken seriously is if they dropped out to be with their dying relative. Otherwise, cry me a river, boo hoo, stop pissing on my leg.
Bouncing along on a country road, I got stung by this Sig-Bee.