***Survivor: Palau, Episode 1 Official Summary***
Putting the “E” in “EPMB”

Well, well. We’re back for a 10th season. I’m officially out of the Survivor Death Pool, as I called 7 seasons right after Thailand. Goes to show what I know…

We begin as we usually do, with Jeffrey Probst aboard some sea vessel praising the local habitat, pointing out wildlife that will not appear again in any episode, and reminding us what we’re watching; that is some number of attention whores, greater than or equal to 16 and divisible by 2, selling their souls (and, quite often, the souls of their parents and/or progeny) in front of millions of people for the opportunity to win a million bucks, or to pimp themselves for a future in disposable razor ads or Playboy spreads while appearing to give a damn about this “game”. As time has gone on, Jeffrey’s felt the need to pilot his vehicles. He’s gone from motorcycle to Sea-Doo to helicopter, and now? You can add 40-foot yacht to the list.

This time we have 20 DAWs, an unprecedented number. At the moment, they’re all wedged tightly in a rowboat. 20, eh? Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive, Marky? I mean last season we had 18, and I’ll be damned if I can remember 10 of them. At this rate, the opening credits sequence will take us all the way to the Tribal Council portion of the show. (Having heard about this increase in cast size, The Donald has ordered 24 candidates for the latest, as yet unfilmed, season of his Big. Steaming. Pile. of a show. But we’re not here to talk about that Frankenstein’s Monster.)

Anyway, these 20 have been set adrift with only the clothes on their backs. This marks the second time they’ve done this. The first time had very unfortunate consequences for the audience, primarily, though I suppose it did give a certain Survivor Quitter, whose name starts with “O” and ends with a long whining sound, some problems when he decided four strips of beef jerky were more important than warmth. Fortunately for this crew, I don’t think they will have the opportunity to make the same poor decision. Which is fortunate, because apparently none of them remember this twist from exactly 3 seasons ago.

They all seem to be dressed as if Jeff told them they were going to Olive Garden for lunch. And while I agree that Dockers technology has improved in recent years, 39 days on a beach was not a prime concern for the R&D staff at Levi’s. So, for all you future applicants to MB’s weekly sociology experiment, here’s a little tip: The minute your plane touches down in the general area of where you’re going to be filming, I suggest you wear nothing but layers of swimwear, cargopants, and t-shirts. I don’t care if Probst tells you the Palauan royal family has invited you over for tea.

Eventually, rowboat meets yacht, out at sea, and our boy Jeffrey greets the new guinea pigs. He tells them their beach is about a mile that-a-way, that there are 2 immunity necklaces awaiting the first woman and first man who can claim them, and, finally, that they can get there by rowing in, swimming in, or a combination of both, but they better make a decision because the game is on. Enter , a gay hairdresser from Texas. Perhaps not wanting the awkward “are you gay?” line of questioning, the Cob-ster has opted for a bleached Mohawk and a pink shirt and shorts outfit. I’m sure he’s here to combat gay stereotypes…or reinforce them…or attract a flamingo. At any rate, he stands up, as if to jump in and swim to shore. The other 19 look at him similarly to the way the rest of America looked at Jessica Simpson when she asked if “Chicken of the Sea” was chicken or tuna. Realizing he has just announced to the world that he’s a flaming mo-ron, he sits back down.

Enter , a steelworker currently residing in Alabama, but born, bred, and spit out of every holler from the Smokies to the Ozarks. He’s a man who is trying waaaayyyy too hard to be a redneck. Apparently, he wants a career as Jeff Foxworthy’s poster child when this is all said and done.

James (confessional): Jeff’s a sumbitch. Hay-ell, we din’t even get a chaynce to eat our daily scrapple afore he’s loadin’ us on this-a-here boat. I-uh knew he’us goana pull some shee-it lahk thayt.

Pinky (confessional): Everyone was wondering who was gonna be stupid enough to jump in first. I mean, I almost did, but really it was a fake-out, a con, y’know, I was just pulling their legs. Yeah, that’s it. I’m really not that stupid. Honest.

No sooner do they leave the company of Jeffrey, than middle-aged maniac , a school teacher whose children are thrilled beyond all comprehension that they’re torturous English teacher went on a 39-day sabbatical, and who seems to think that she’s starring in “Survivor: The Musical”, breaks out in song. (Though when I say “song”, I’m using the loosest definition of the word. Really, it’s just the melody to “Heart and Soul” with some crappy, home-made lyrics attached.)

Survivors, I’m a gonna sing-y
Survivors, whilst we’re in this dinghy…

Enter , a 57-year old attorney who thought it might be a nice change of pace to play this game as a broke postal worker, because everyone is trusting of a postal employee with his back against a wall and everything to lose, and has gotten into character immediately by wishing death by repeated oar beating on Wacky Wanda.

Finally , a pharmaceutical rep from Philly-ish, who’s been diving into the sample happy pills, gets too antsy (and too full of Wanda’s “stylings”) to stay on board. She tells , a cardboard cut-out from Dallas that she’s diving in. The boat is still at least a half-mile from shore. This, my friends, is the earliest we’ve seen such sheer, unadulterated senselessness on this show. She dives in. Cut-out boy follows. Surprise, they are both immediately passed by the boat.

Stephenie (confessional): Well, that was dumb. It didn’t feel like we were moving, and I’m a pretty good swimmer, y’know, so I figured I could beat it to shore. (We’re not even 5 minutes in, and I’ve already given up hope on Stephenie’s ability to gage anything more complex than left foot/left shoe, right foot/right shoe. Umm, Steph? Michael Phelps couldn’t have beaten that boat to shore if it was chock-full of folks bearing Michael Moore’s physique and the last known case of Bud Light was waiting on the beach.)

Enter , ad executive, from Merced, California, and resident snark…

Katie (confessional): Way to go, geniuses. Targets are in this year. Wear them with pride.

Once the whiz kids are distant blips on the horizon (and the boat still about 1/8 of a mile out), they all decide to dive in. What followed was a montage full of pasty legs and arms thrashing about in the surf, until, ultimately , a 7-foot 9 dolphin trainer from Florida, emerges from the crashing tide yards ahead of the pack. (Who saw that coming?) He strolls leisurely up the beach (while the rest of them gurgle, thrash, and roll around in the foam, gasping for air) and takes the first Immunity Necklace.

Shortly thereafter (though probably about 10 minutes in real time), , an Urbazon warrior princess from Houston, and , a meek nanny from LA-ish, make the beach and begin to sprint for the second Immunity Necklace. Jolanda soars past Jennifer to claim it, taking Jennifer, Ian, and the tribal flag out in the process. Jennifer would’ve commented, but the doctor told her that she should keep sounds to a minimum, lest he need to come back out and reset her jaw again.

Jolanda (confessional): I wasn’t gonna let no little girl beat me. I sprinkle waifs like that on my morning granola.

James (confessional): Ian’s a fast li’l booger. (You must pardon James. He comes from a place where folks are around smelters a lot, the obvious is often lost on them.)

Once all 20, minus the floating idjits, have made landfall, they greet each other, half-naked and sopping wet. This is not nearly as sexy as it sounds.

Then? Paranoia sets in.

Willard (confessional): There’s a flag, but it only says “Survivor: Palau”. We may or may not have been divided into tribes. I should consult with James…

Enter , a smarmy, self-important business “consultant” (whatever the hell that means), who is a much more important person than you’ll ever be, and who, he is quick to remind, played high school sports. I bet he sniffs his own armpits.

Gregg (confessional): I’m paranoid. Seriously. I mean, we’re 20 now, but will we be 20 5 minutes from now? How about tomorrow? What about next Tuesday? It’s all a bit much to swallow at one time if you ask me. I mean, how are we supposed to cope, we’re only human for Christ’s sake! **Dissolves into tears**

It could be worse, Gregg. You could be terminally stupid, like Jonathan and Stephenie, who, as we fade to black (or as the sun sets, I couldn’t really tell), are still paddling in to shore.

Should We Build a Camp?

Formalities dispensed with and not really knowing what else to do, they all decide they should get started finding the water and building a shelter. , an attorney from Ohio, who wants you all to call her “Mommy”, takes charge the way only Mommies can. She calls for volunteers to do each.

Caryn: We need 5 people to get water and the rest should build the shelter. (Five people to find the water source, Caryn? Even if you had large containers to carry it, which you don’t, or a means to boil it, which you don’t, it would still probably be a two-person job. But I see you workin’ that shirkin’ angle.)

Predictably, all the strong ones get stuck with shelter duty, while the old folk and the two freaks (Pinky and , a heavily tattooed, and translucent, bartender from New Orleans) go on WaterQuest 2005.

Pinky (confessional): Considering everything we just went through, we really rallied as a group and got down to work. Well, the others got down to work. I got to steppin’ off to find a little drinky-poo with the other invalids.

<Cue , a “waiter”—we all know by now what that’s code for—from Alabama who has pectorals that probably impair his vision, and who, quite likely, has negative body fat, as he swats down entire branches with single strokes of the machete.>

Off in the woods somewhere, Wanda continues to sing all of her dialogue…

Survivors, oh look I found a stump
Survivors, where we can take our dumps…

Meanwhile, , an NYC firefighter, laughs about the current state:

Tom (confessional): They’re all running around like chickens with their heads cut off. They even tried to get me—a firefighter of all people—to work on the fire. Talk about your loser jobs. **uncontrollable laughter**

<Cue James and , another “waiter” with a look emptier than the annual Debb Eaton fan club convention (he sure does have a purty mouth, though) assuming the traditional Survivor Episode 1 pose: Poised, hopeful, around a couple sticks wrapped with a weed they plucked from the ground.> Hasn’t worked yet, didn’t work this time either. Thankfully, we didn’t spend a good ten minutes watching them fail, like we usually do.

Meanwhile, in another part of the forest, Jolanda has co-opted , a hairless, muscle-bound “personal trainer”, which is code for “guy who lives in his mom’s basement with his ample collection of free weights and Heidi Klum posters”, into cutting the heels off of her poor choice of stiletto footwear. This effectively reduces Jolanda’s height 6 inches—to 6’ 11”.

Elsewhere, the Fellowship of the Water have navigated their way, through the dangers of the Palauan wild, to find the fresh water source. Also waiting for them at the well is a big army duffel bag. “Oooh, stuff!” Caryn shrieks like a little girl. “Guys, hurry. There’s a bag! A bag, do you hear?!” She is even more delighted when, upon opening the bag, they discover…wait for it…COMFY SHOES! Woo-Hoo! Par-ty, they’re gonna par-ty. Good thing there were 4 of them, otherwise they’d have to, y’know, take the shoes in shifts.

On the way back, our freaks bond:

Coby : I was so totally happy to see your Anne Rice-wannabe ass on that boat. I was afraid people would think I was the weird one.

Angie: Yeah, now we each have a sleeping partner. I mean, there’s no way those shaved chimps would be caught dead next to either of us.

Angie (confessional): Coby and I totally bonded. We are so allied. I can tell. I don’t even need him to pinky swear.

Coby (confessional): Girlfriend needs to step. We’re freaks and all, and I’m down with that, but if the Dockers crew sees me with her, I’ll be ghetto-ized faster than Bobby Jon can ask what “ghetto-ized” means.

Back at camp, where folks are actually breaking a sweat, Tom is taking charge and , a Vegas showgirl who is about as thin as Eliza was on Day 33 (which makes me scared as hell of what she’ll look like if she lasts that long), but don't you dare say "eating disorder", is scaling trees, although it’s entirely possible that the wind just carried her up there like a kite.

Tom and Steph watch Janu defy gravity. Tom tries to secure an alliance with Steph. Steph, on the other hand, just wants to slap that skinny b!tch for making her feel fat.

Coby, Gregg, and Caryn start to discuss who they want to vote for. Coby plants seeds about Jonathan, should he ever make it to the beach, that is. I am completely shocked that it took the gay man on the show exactly 20 minutes to start conniving.

Coby (confessional): I’m here, I’m queer, I scheme. Get used to it.

Oooh! Pick me! Pick me!
Jeffrey arrives early in the morning and has the guinea pigs gather. This makes the already paranoid group go into tinfoil hat mode. He then tells the immune peeps to go stand on the other side of him. Then he asks what can only be the stupidest question imaginable to Jolanda: “How does immunity feel?” Umm, “Good”, perhaps? Maybe, “It doesn’t suck too bad”? How about, “Why don’t you ask those losers how it feels to be them?”?

Anyway, Jeffrey tells her that it ought to feel good, considering it’s the only thing guaranteeing these 2 behemoths will stay in the game for the next 10 minutes. The same luxury is not afforded the others. He then informs the crew that they will be dividing into two tribes of nine. He reminds Bobby Jon, who is counting feverishly on his toes, that’s 18, and there are 20 of them. That means 2 of them won’t make it any farther in the game, and will be escorted off the island on the S.S. Sue Hawk.

They will pick their tribes, beginning with Ian, since he was the fastest booger. After Ian and Jolanda make their picks, those picks make the next picks, and so on, and so on. Oh, and they have to pick someone of the opposite sex. I think I once played this game at a party. It involved 5 minutes and a closet, but that was another time.

Ian starts us out by picking…Katie? Now, don’t get me wrong, I love a snark more than most, but dood you have pick of the litter, use it wisely.

Jolanda picks Booby Jon. He drags his knuckles ‘cross the sand to her side.

Katie picks Tom. Clearly this tribe is going to be the smarty-smartypants tribe.

Booby Jon picks Steph, because stoopid is as stoopid does.

Tom picks Janu. Every tribe needs a freak who can scale a tree AND fit herself into a 3x3x3 cube.

Steph picks Jeff…and the cycle continues. Nary a brain cell in the bunch. How you feelin’ about that Booby Jon pick now, Jo?

Janu picks Gregg. Gregg reminds everyone how he once beat Poly on a last second pass. Everyone yawns.

Jeff picks , a former Miss Ohio who learned Arabic so she could turn men down in two languages.

Gregg picks Jennifer. He always wanted to get it on with a nanny.

Kim picks James, so she could learn redneck, as a third language.

Jennifer picks Coby, because he matches her pink top.

James picks , a boobalicious Mormon, who forgot to wear a bra on this excursion. Yeah, you heard me.

Coby picks…Caryn. Ouch. Angie is used to being dissed by the popular crowd, but another freak? That’s gotta sting.

Ashlee picks Ibrehem so the tribe will have another chest to stare at besides hers.

Caryn picks Willard because hell if she wants to be the oldest on her tribe. Jonathan is eliminated from the game. Shame. He had so much to offer.

And it’s down to this…Angie or Wanda. The freak or the fuh-reak. Ibrehem wastes no time in picking Angie, because picking Wanda would’ve meant enduring endless songs…and then Booby Jon’s questions about what those songs were about. Wanda is eliminated. An entire nation breathes a sigh of relief.

Jeff summons the Hawk, and Cardboard Man and the Singin’ Survivor climb aboard. The remaining Survivors begin to cry. I can only imagine these are tears of joy, because the alternative is too nauseating to contemplate. They call for Wanda to sing another song, while Jonathan commits all of their faces to memory. There will be retribution. Oh yes, there will be retribution. Wanda sings her swan song, as the Hawk heads off to the horizon:

Survivors, I wish you the best of luck,
Survivors, you <censored> <censored> <censored>

Back on the beach, Jeffrey hands out the buffs…

Jeffrey: Jolanda? Your band of dum-dums will be called “Ulong” and will wear blue. Ian? Your geezers will be called “Koror” and will wear brown. Oh, and you’re still living on the same beach.

Steph channeling Elaine Benes: Get OUT!

The newly formed enemies hug. Somewhere in America, Andrew Savage vomits.

Ulong/Koror Beach
The tribes return to the same beach. All are happy to be still in the game, except Angie, who looks like someone just shot her dog.

Angie (confessional): Well, that suuhhcked. I’m stuck with the cast of Body Shots. Ter-fucking-riffic. Thanks, Coby. You are so gonna pay for that.

Meanwhile, Koror meets and decides to abide by Colleen’s credo of “Play fair, be nice”. I expect this to last all of an afternoon.

Ian (confessional): I’m glad to be on a tribe full of old folks. They won’t try to bench press me or press me for the details of my sex life.

Seeing that Koror has met, and not wanting to appear like they missed a memo, Ulong meets, as well. They remind each other not to let them smartfolk into their collective head. Which, I might point out, wouldn’t have the power to keep a 25-watt light bulb lit.

Ibrehem (confessional): We strong. Strong good. Rrrrrr.

Immunity Challenge
No time to waste, kiddos. This train’s gotta get to the station on time, which means that the usual idle tribal chit-chat gets cut to a minimum so we can bring you a contest of strength and cunning. This season’s first challenge is all over the place. It seems like 3 underdeveloped ideas crammed into one challenge. First, the tribes have to negotiate a net labyrinth. Then, they have to climb over or through a tire/log maze. Having completed those tasks, they have to then untie a bunch of supplies, including a flint, 2 water jugs, some rice, and 4 paddles—all weighed down in heavy metal boxes. The only thing they must take are the paddles. Everything else is a bonus, but only the winning tribe can keep what they take, and they can only keep what they bring all the way to the finish mat. Confused yet? Wait, there’s more. After completing that task, they have to wade through a swamp, climb over a wall, drop their supplies on a mat, and take the paddles down to the water, where an outrigger is waiting. Then, they have to take the outrigger out a ways to a floating box with their tribe’s flag in it. They have to retrieve the flag, row the outrigger back to shore, pile out of the outrigger and get everyone on the mat. Simple.

The tribe’s were neck-and-neck, up until the supplies task. There, the knots frightened and confused Ulong, while Koror breezed through. Koror decided to take only the fire, what with being feeble and all, while Ulong decided to take everything, despite the fact that Koror had at least a 5 minute lead. Have I mentioned they’re not very bright?

Eventually, even Steph gets impatient, and begins to passive-aggressively nudge her team, when the more appropriate measure might’ve been to scream “HEY, you dipshits! We need to move. NOW!” Finally, they do get a move on, but it’s all over but the shouting at that point. However, their brilliance was not limited to knot untying. They also put on a rare display in the outrigger. It got so bad, that Jeffrey had to point out their flag to them. What he failed to realize is that they knew where their flag was, it was the details of canoe operation that had them flummoxed.

In the end, Koror won in embarrassing fashion, winning them flint to make fire and immunity from Tribal Council. AND, as an added bonus, Jeffrey presented them with yet another choice. He informed them the tribes would no longer be living on the same beach. As the winners, Koror got dibs on beach location. They could stick with what they know, or take what’s behind Door #2. Tom, in his infinite wisdom, decided that they should take the beach they don’t know. “It’ll be an adventure!” Yeah. I think “Mosquito Coast” started out that way, too.

Ooops
On their way to their “New Adventure”, the victorious tribe’s outrigger capsized, and, having studied Newton’s Law, we all know what that meant. Buh-bye flint. It sunk like the proverbial stone to the bottom. All salvage attempts were fruitless, and the once happy tribe turned sad. (Note to future supplicants applicants: See this? This is Fate. Say, “Hi, Fate!” Good. Now leave Him the hell alone. Don’t tempt Him, or He’ll leave your fire at the bottom of the stinkin’ ocean. Got it?)

My Brain Hurts
Somewhere totally else, the Tanned and the Beautiful had to decide whom to jettison. Angie, being the only person on her tribe with any observable math skills, realized that “picked last” usually means picked last for a reason. Down the beach a bit, Jolanda, Booby Jon, and Ibrehem were thinking the exact same thing.

However, another contingent wasn’t too keen on Jolanda’s insistence on gathering everything in the Immunity Challenge. Never mind that there were 8 of them and 1 of her, and had they left her there, eventually she woulda come running. Still, Jolanda is loud. And big. Really, really, really big. And intimidating. And Black. (Oops. Was that my outloud voice?) In short, the White Wimmin wuz a-scairt. They convinced oily beau-hunks Jeff and James to vote for Jolanda, under pain of revocation of night-fondling, then they approached Angie and asked her if she was down with voting out Jolanda.

Angie (confessional): Two words. Hell and Yeah.

Tribal Council
Welcome to our new Pit of Despair! It’s a quasi-authentic Japanese weapons dump, complete with active landmines!

The tribe enters, gathers flame, sits down, and Jeffrey addresses them:

Jeffrey: Stephenie, what’s the biggest surprise thus far?
Stephenie: Starving. Can’t get fire. Together. Now, not together. Me, swim. Bad. Bad. No good swim.
Jeffrey: We’ve reduced them to babbling idiots in 3 days. Sweet!

Jeffrey: James, are you happy with this tribe?
James: Hay-ell yeah. Look at these hotties. And the wimmin ain’t s’bad neither.

Jeffrey: Jeff, what the fvck was that about in the challenge today?
Jeff: We sucked.

Jeffrey: James, you didn’t even get fire.
James: Nah sir, we didn’t.
Jeffrey: Do you even know how dumb that is?
James: Dumb ass.
Jolanda: Well, it was the last thing, and we were losing, and some people wouldn’t listen to sense.

Jeffrey: Ashlee, you have big oobies <click>, but you don’t have a leader. Is that a problem?
Ashlee: Umm, duh. You saw us today.

Jeffrey: Jolanda, can this tribe make democratic decisions?
Jolanda: Oh, hell no. They need someone to whoop they ass. And I’m just the 7-foot enforcer for the job.

Jeffrey: Angie, you were picked last. Nervous?
Angie: Thanks for bringing that up, dood. No, seriously.

Jeffrey: All right. Time to vote.

Jolanda (votes Angie): You seemed happy with losing. We don’t abide losing here.

Angie (votes Jolanda): Don’t hurt me.

Jeffrey reads the votes:

Angie
Jolanda
Angie
Angie
Jolanda
Jolanda
Jolanda
And the first person voted out of Survivor: Palau is…

Jolanda

Jeffrey: Quit making excuses. Your intensity is for sh!t. Don’t make me take a switch to your behinds. Now, git!

Next week:
Rats and rain? What a great new adventure!
Kim rewards Jeff for voting the right way.
And, oh yeah, there’s still a flint on the ocean floor…

Fester