Tonight is the night. Survivor returns (again) to the airwaves. Tonight, once again, we get to begin the 16-week process of watching a bunch of strangers tortured in the midst of natural beauty.

Let’s hope it’s different than Africa. Those were a bunch of miserable people. They hated each other. They hated Africa and they were afraid of being eaten by a lion. Odds are it wouldn’t have happened, but imagine the ratings!

This time it’s different! The castaways don’t get food! Or water! Or fire! Or any modeling contracts! No Mountain Dew! How horrible! They may actually have to use survival skills! I’ll bet, though, they’ll still get Reeboks.

One thing I’ve never understood is how poorly these people do in the wilderness. If you auditioned for Survivor, and had a reasonable expectation as to your destination, wouldn’t you study a) survival skills, such as, oh, I don’t know, lighting a fire without matches and finding potable water and b) edible native plants?

Huh. Maybe it’s just me. Or maybe the people they send out are just morons. You decide.

I may be misrepresenting myself here. I love Survivor. I enjoy watching it. I like rooting for people. I like hoping that certain members of the tribe will fall off a cliff. I like knowing that as these people try to win $1 million, and are starving, there’s a cameraman standing two feet away eating a Snickers. Poetic justice, if you ask me.

If I were a cameraman, I would pin meat to my shirt every day. I’d eat hamburgers and drink beer right in front of the contestants. And when I didn’t want to finish the food, I’d feed it to the local wildlife. Just to torture all 16 egomaniacs who think they are interesting enough to watch on TV.

Of course . . . I do watch. Yep.

So, let’s take a look at our contestants this time out.

Gabriel Twenty-three-year-old bartender. Blonde Ethan clone. His personal item was his childhood teddy bear. Clearly he’s on the show to pick up chicks. Or he’s a Plushie.

John Thirty-six-year-old RN. Luxury item, massage oils. He once performed as a liturgical clown. Huh? A liturgical clown? I don’t know . . . Bozo proselytizing to me? That may be a little much. And the massage oils? Eh . . . I don’t know. It’s hard to say whom he wants to use them on.

Kathy Sadly, her last name is O’Brien. It appears to be by marriage, however. So, I’ve escaped blood relations by one simple ceremony. Whew. She’s a forty-seven-year-old real estate agent with a horrible penchant for animal prints. Of the survivors mentioned thus far, she scares the crap out of me. Not because I think she could kick my butt, but because I’m afraid she’d drink too many rum and Cokes and start coming on to me. Even through the TV. “Ever shinsh my divorshe I have been sho lonely. I love you. I love everyone.” She looks like she may have a liking of the sauce. Her luxury item? Canvas and paints. Great item to choose, since it’s hard enough keeping your underwear dry out there.

Neleh A twenty-one-year-old student who was rejected from The Lion King. Neleh? What the hell kind of name is that? Her luxury item is “Scriptures.” No indication if she brought the whole bible or just her favorite passages. She is going to be a cosmetologist. Hopefully she knows that means “make-up artist” and not someone who studies comets. She’s the goody-goody on the list. Her bio reads like an application for the National Honors Society. “Then I helped special needs kids, then I was a lifeguard, then I was a volunteer for Alzheimer’s patients, then I liberated a Central American country . . . “


Paschal When I first read his name, I assumed he was from Peru. Nope, Alabama. Born and raised. This dude is a judge and brought an American flag as his luxury item. He’s the official “old guy”.

Robert Thirty-eight-year-old limo driver. Resident tattoo guy. Looks like Lex’s legacy lives on. He used to work for the postal service. I’d hate to be trapped on an island with this guy. Think I’m making a rash judgment? His luxury item is a voodoo doll. I’d vote him off first, out of fear. He’s like Paul Lazarro in Slaughterhouse Five. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll have you killed. Or put a curse on you.

Tammy Twenty-nine-year-old crime reporter. Her luxury item is a picture of her fiancé and her dog. Nice to know the dog ranks with her soon to be hubby. But if she talks about that damn dog on the air . . .


Zoe Thirty-five-year-old fishing boat captain. Hang on to your hats guys! She’s single! Go figure. A woman who smells like mackerel is single. I hope she’s not like Quint in Jaws . . . I wonder if she’ll say “yargh” a lot and curse like a sailor. Here’s hoping! Her luxury item is a necklace. Yeah, that’ll help her get through those lonely nights. Oy.

Gina Twenty-eight-year-old nature guide. Her luxury item is an adventure bag. If she sucks at survival, she’ll probably lose her job. Looks to be the cutie of the bunch. And she’s single guys! Sadly, she’s also a champion seed-spitter. I believe the Beer Equation states clearly that a person’s attractiveness is inversely proportionate to their spitting ability.

Hunter Thirty-three-year-old Fed Ex pilot. Man I want to make a Tom Hanks/Castaway joke here, but it seems too obvious. If this guy dances and yells, “I have made fire” I’m tuning out. Looks to be the male hottie of the group. His luxury item is his Grandfather’s Navy wings. Can’t fault him for the sentimental choice. He’s training on the F18. Unless he turns out to be a total jerk, I think he’ll go far.

Patricia Forty-nine-year-old truck assembler built like a house. She’s one tough woman, it looks like. Her luxury item is “a lock from Arabian’s tail.” I really hope she’s talking about a horse.

Peter Forty-five-year-old bowling alley owner. He chose cologne as his luxury item. Though he’s married, it seems like he’s wanting to mack on his female inmates. A smarter choice would have been anti-persperant. Duh! Was going to make a joke about NBC’s Ed, but I couldn’t think of a good one.

Rob Twenty-six-year-old construction worker. Making a rash judgment based on the picture, but he may be the token gay male. His luxury item is a football. Finally, someone bringing something that will be useful in passing the time!

Sarah Twenty-four-year-old account manager. Whatever the hell that means. Her luxury item is a pillow, which will surely grow mold within the first few minutes of exposure to tropical air. In future episodes she’ll probably have fungus growing on one side of her head.

Sean Thirty-year-old teacher. Luxury item? Bible. Very little to make fun of here. Seems like a nice guy. But, I thought that of Lex last time and he turned into Kurtz from Apocalypse Now. Or William Shatner on the set of Star Trek V. Pretty much the same thing. Paranoid man drunk on power.

Vecepia Thirty-six-year-old office manager. For her luxury item she brought her own poetry. If she tries to read it to her fellow survivors at night, she’s surely the first to go. Not quite sure where the name comes from. I don’t find it as odd as “Neleh” but . . . it sounds like an STD. “Dude, I caught Vecepia from that chick I picked up the night I was doing shooters!”

There you have it. Those are your survivors. Please, contain your excitement. Who will win? Who will care? Who will run around naked? Will Jeff Probst continue to look like a skeleton? Will he get a new pair of shorts?

Eh, who gives a crap? Friends is on.