In looking over the CBS “Survivors Strike Back” blog, it strikes us that something’s missing from the CBS definitions of “community” and “elite pool of experts.” And that would be the sage comments not of actual ex-contestants, but of people who’ve helped Survivor maintain a presence on the web. By which, of course, we mean us. Oh sure, CBS has lined up an impressive set of snarky writers, PhDs, and Ivy Leaguers. But we’ve got that covered too. Surely we have the necessary chops to at least ghostwrite for the mysterious (and as-yet-invisible) “Ralph.” True, we’ve never actually gotten around to starving on national TV for 39 days ourselves, but we’re sure we’d at least consider it, as long as CBS is willing to pony up a hefty appearance fee, right up front. Tap, tap, tap. We’re waiting, CBS!

What’s that you say? We’ve already done the recap/commentary thing on our own site, and we should just shut up and get our lazy butts back to work? Huh? That’s not what you meant by “Your recaps sucked ass, shut the hell up?” Guess we’d better get our hearing checked then. Damn those ear buds. Don’t think we won’t sue you, Apple, especially for suggesting we might enjoy your free download of She Wants Revenge.

So anyway, here you go, CBS. Consider this our application for inclusion in your little “web-based magazine.” Paid inclusion, of course. But it’s definitely money well spent. As you’ll see from this particular blog, we’re nothing if not prolific and frequent posters. And think of all the traffic we’ll draw to your site when the two or three readers of Crappy the Smart-Assed Toilet (all of whom may or may not be related to us) think about clicking over to your site, eh? As we said: money well spent, money well spent.

Okay. So… Survivor: Exile Island. No, wait, Survivor: Panama. No, wait, Survivor: Panama - Exile Island. One of those. Anyway, here’s the thing: the DVR ate our copy of the show (shortly after we hit “Delete now,” as well as the A button after it asked us “Are you sure?”). So, uh, our memory’s a bit cloudy on what happened in the first episode.

But we’re pretty sure it started off in the usual way, new contestants showing up in shiny new buffs, smiling a lot. No returning contestants this time, unless you count fighter pilot Terry Deitz, who previously appeared in Palau as “firefighter Tom Westman.” All is bland, happy, new-age feelgoodery, until Bobby “Bob Dawg” Mason objects to the younger men’s buff color, a neony-yet-pastel green. “Hey Probst,” Bob Dawg says, “Can we switch buffs with the Spice Girls over there, because this color makes me look like a pussy.” Probst says, “No way. Look, we’ve already made flags and mats that match your colors. Your tribe is green.” Bob Dawg is not convinced. “Ok fine. How about we just be the Purple tribe then? Yeah, that sounds good, I’ll be Mr. Purple.” Probst: “No! Some OTHER tribe is Mr. Purple, or more accurately, the four Mrs. Purples. YOU’RE MR. GREEN!” Cirie and Shane then start whining about being stuck with all the old farts. Exasperated, Probst says, “All right, I’ve had it with you guys!” He then explains they’ll all be back on two tribes by the next episode, so they move on to the reward challenge.

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Contrary to hopes raised by CBS ads, no shrunken heads were harmed
in the filming of this episode.

Each tribe carefully selects their fastest runner, and they run across the tiny Exile Island to smash fake skulls on rocks. It’s important to use fast people, because… well, it’s not remotely important at all, actually. As it turns out, winning and losing this one is entirely due to luck, since there are three challenge-winning amulets spread through a pile of 40 or so skulls. But it does allow Probst to declare that “fate” decided the winner. As opposed to the secret clue Probst slipped the two men’s representatives to “only smash the skulls with the red dots.”

And so… “fate” sends three of the tribes back to their respective camps with a flint for firestarting. Timber Tina the lumberjill singlehandedly deforests the older women’s island, lashes together a Mall of America using pre-cut, suspiciously non-native-looking bamboo, and builds a massive bonfire, all in the space of about five minutes. Washing down their twelve-course dinner with some freshly-distilled coconut moonshine, her three tribemates decide: “This being provided for stuff totally blows. We came here to be on Survivor, not The Real World: Panama. Let’s boot the lumberjack lady!” Meanwhile, the younger men take turns devising games with their new flint toy, such as scorching ants, blindfolding themselves, burying it in sand, then finding it again, and the ultimate favorite, seeing how far out into the ocean they can throw it before it’s too far to get it back. Eventually the camermen just light a fire for them, out of pity. The older men are not shown for the rest of the show, because CBS objected to paying for a fifth camera crew, and because guys over 35 are boring. Except for Bruce, who chops anything that’s stationary. Watch out for that guy.

That leaves the younger women, who, in addition to their highly desirable pale-blue buffs, were given some tribe name that was never used on the show itself. It was carefully painted by the production staff onto all manner of mats, flags, an island map, and other objects. Mayo… bayo… battle axe? Nah, that’s not it. Well, we’re sure their hard work did not go unnoticed, all the same.

After the young ladies lose the RC, there is a period of indecision, in which the younger women keep trying out various picking methods until they come up with one that rids them of “that bitch, Misty,” without revealing that this is what they’re doing. That accomplished, the three non-exiles set out for their island. It’s full of many more dramatic decisions, such as “how do we build our hut next to an outlet, so we can plug in our hair dryers,” to Sally weighing whether or not to sue CBS for planting a dead sea turtle on their beach, then alerting Courtney to the (former) sea turtle’s presence. “The funeral service was okay for first couple of hours,” Sally admits later, “but when the producers brought out a crate of incense, body paint and bongos for Courtney to use in hour three, it got to be a bit much.”

Meanwhile, Misty spends her time on Exile Island… sitting. On the beach, here, and… (wait for it)… over there. Clearly, having this sort of excitement to look forward to every week will undoubtedly propel CBS to ratings successes heretofore unknown in modern history. Apparently, there’s an immunity idol somewhere there as well. Probst helpfully points out that it’s on the little islet that gets connected to the main Exile Island when the tide goes out. Misty hears this, and gazes at the receding tide. But then she recalls Jeff’s second admonition: “Or, you could just pretend you have it, and fake everyone out.” Since nobody would ever accuse a former beauty pageant contestant of not being everything she appears on the surface, Misty goes for that option. And sits some more.

Eventually, an immunity challenge involved swimming, rowing, and puzzles rolls around. And flags, can’t forget the flags. As shown in TV Guide, the older women lose. Cirie renews her campaign to oust Tina the Provider, and is successful. Ho hum.

All in all, not an inauspicious start. Shane and Cirie seem amusing enough, and to a lesser extent so do Aras and Courtney. And Silent Bruce. Certainly better than the plodding tedium of the previous night’s episode of Lost, “Fire + Water = Pssssshhhh.” Then again, so were the re-runs of the House Committee on Transportation and Infrastructure’s meetings on C-SPAN. That Don Young may be a corrupt, pork-ladling, bribe-taking bureaucrat, but he’s such a crackup when he gets in front of a camera!

Finally, we still haven’t addressed the question of “Why now?” Well, as should be clear, commentary on reality TV shows is dated comedic material from the get-go. So the best plan is to get it out there when people are paying attention, such as the night of the show, or the day after. And that’s why you see it here, now, almost a full week after the show airs. This stuff never gets old! And that’s our Crappy seal of approval.