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January 29th, 2001
The waiting is over. An ever increasing energy that has been building around misinformer headquarters all winter has finally come to a head on this Super Bowl Sunday. Of course you don't think for a second I'm actually talking about the Super Bowl itself. You know that the misinformants are all chicks and art fags who could tell you where to find breakaway pants before we could describe what a buttonhook play is. Although the official end of the football season will bring a welcome Sunday afternoon silence from the direction of our screaming asshole jock neighbor, the real countdown has been towards rekindling our love for Survivor, the only show on CBS that our demographic has watched since Letterman was funny. This week we're gonna be giving you our personal low-down on the 16 new future-Hollywood Squares celebrities. We'll post three new members each day, and on Friday, as if for some reason you should care what we think, we'll give you our exclusive pick as to who will take home the million dollars and the butt-ugly SUV.
By Marcus
(Editor's note 05-07-01 - When you're done reading this, check out our Survivor II recap.)
I think we can pretty much sum up Debb in two words: "Ha haaaaa!"
Debb was the first loser to get thrown out of the Outback, cutting her 15 minutes of fame down to a single fading blip on the radar screen of celebrity oblivion. Remember Sonja from the first Survivor? You know, the old lady who got voted off in the first episode, before you started watching? If you remember her at all, all you've got is a vision of blue, veiny arms strumming a ukulele while Richard's fat gut bobbed up and down in billowy rhythm nearby.
Debb, you have left us with nothing so memorable, or thankfully, so disgusting. You will be forever not-remembered as the poor woman who really did everything right for your situation, but were voted off for the simple crime of not being as bonable as the other women in your tribe. Men are pigs. We salute you. Loser.
Since names are so hard for us to remember, for the next few months, Michael will probably be known amongst us only as "The guy who looks like a less Cro-Magnon version of the bald guy from ER."
After sitting here for a half hour trying to scrape together something funny to say about Michael, I've officially decided that he is the most boring castaway ever. His captivating biography includes such white-knuckle thrills as "enjoys watching ESPN Sportscenter" and "his favorite movie is Meet Joe Black." Come on, Michael. You're not even trying.
Couldn't you have told them that you once killed a man with your bare hands, or that you lost your hair in a South American bar brawl? Anything to make yourself not just sound like a totally boring pud? Sure the whole ESPN thing almost made you look like a rough and tumble, all American alpha male, but then you go and say that your favorite movie is some wussy Brad Pitt chick flick? What's the matter with you?
Why didn't you just tell CBS to write "Michael cried during Fried Green Tomatoes, and he someday hopes to be able to truly express himself as an interpretive poet, BUT HE LIKES FOOTBALL, SO DON'T GO THINKIN' HE'S A TINKERBELL!"
If one thing is for certain already at this early stage in the game, it's this: WE HATE KIMMI!
Kimmi, as you avoid banishment in this inaugural episode of the second series, I'm not sure if you should feel luckier that you're pretty, or that poor Debb was such a manly looking troll. The qualities that Kimmi adds to the team include whining and big boobies.
She describes herself as "a vegetarian who does not eat land dwelling animals, only seafood." Hey, I just got a newsflash Kimmi. Yeah, a bunch of scientists got together and did some tests, and it turns out FISH are ANIMALS, FUCKWIT! In those circles there's a special name for a vegetarian who only eats fish. It's called "Dumb girl who thinks not eating meat is trendy."
Her biography also says that her perfect day would include, and I swear to God I'm not making this up, "horseback riding, having sex, and watching the sunset." Uh huh. You and every Playmate since 1977. I would wonder who she thinks she's fooling, but apparently the answer is "the horny producers of Survivor 2."
We hope that next week will send Kimmi, her 50 cent hooker name, and her big pretty head full of air back to Long Island, where she can return to her job as a bartender, and continue to pretend to be Coyote Ugly.
Keith is... um...
Okay, he's the one that...
Was this guy even on this show? If so, our initial reaction to Keith is that he's the most forgettable of the new cast. I mean, honestly, I don't think I've ever seen this guy's face before in my life...
Oh yeah! No, wait, he's the chef guy! He was the dude who said that he was excited about making paellas in the Outback. Alright, I admit I don't know what the hell a paella is, but it sure does sound French and buttery. Either Keith has absolutely no idea what he's gotten himself into, or I'm totally wrong, and paella means "dirt with some poisonous bugs and crap mixed into it."
I would write off the disregardable gourmet as a surefire impossibility for the million dollars, but I remember a scrappy young chef by the name of Jack Tripper who once managed to move in with two sexy young women entirely because of his ability to make a decent omelet.
Alicia has abs of steel. You know that grainy old stock footage of the fat guy with the mustache that gets shot in the stomach with a cannon? If they tried that to Alicia, the cannonball would atomize when it hit her rock hard midsection. Damn, if I were in her tribe, I would have built a shelter out of her abdomen.
But unfortunately that's not how Alicia will be remembered. When she's a hundred and thirty-two years old, people will still come up to her and say "Hey, weren't you the black chick on Survivor 2?"
I think Amber was that one girl in your high school that lived in a totally blank, featureless gray void of loneliness, while the geeks and the jocks both secretly thought of her and wanked off every night. The former group being too awkward and intimidated to actually talk to her, and the latter afraid that their easy cheerleader girlfriends would find out that they had a crush on Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes Student Council President.
I can picture Amber's traumatic childhood memories. She's so smart and pretty that everybody secretly thinks she's really cool, but at the end of the day, the apex of her social interaction is having her chemistry notebook stolen by the punk girls and smothered in tampon.
But at least she's from a town called Beaver, Pennsylvania, so that'll give Letterman something to make jokes about for the next five years.
Colby is a custom car designer by trade, which officially lands him the award for having the coolest in-civilization skills that have absolutely no use while struggling for survival in the Australian Outback.
In society, I'd want to be Colby's best friend. I'd like to come over on the weekends, have some beers with him, and help him build a replica of the Batmobile or the Munster's Roadster or one of them Rat Fink cars with the giant bloodshot eyeballs and everything.
In the Outback, however, it seems like a career in Auto Customization places him just slightly above a guy who works in a frame store on the chart of "Skills Needed to Fend off Death's Bony Hands."
Conversely, in the unlikely event of a nuclear holocaust during the shooting of Survivor 2, in the dystopic, post-apocalyptic Australia that remains, where a million dollars is as useful as a membership to a tanning salon, Colby's skills will help him to raise an ornery mob of motorized, mutant road warriors who will reign over the Thunderdomes with an iron fist.
Elisabeth is not Colleen. Sure she's got the cute little pigtails and the pearly white Crest smile, but she's not the pixie-like, enchanting beauty that stole the hearts of the misinformants, and indeed, the world.
Did you hear that Colleen is going to be in a movie coming out later this year? She's going to be playing Rob Schneider's girlfriend. Well, you can't win 'em all, I guess.
And have you seen those Blistex commercials? Eee! She's such a cutie! Do you honestly think that Elisabeth is going to be hawking lip care products to me on TV after all of this is over? I doubt it. She's cute, but she's no Colleen. No sir.
We're betting that the self-made "immunity headdress" that she brought as her luxury item doesn't even see her into the final four, but will be featured prominently in her Playboy spread six months from now.
Still, when all is said and done, Elisabeth is the new castaway I'd most like to share a pair of underwear with.
Jeff is so full of shit. I wouldn't take Jeff's word on something if I was on fire and he was pointing me towards a large body of water and the cast of Third Watch.
Jeff is that asshole guy in a bar who finds some drunk, unguarded girl, and tells her imaginary things about himself that girls like to hear in an incessant metronome of date-rape bait that swings around and around her alcohol impaired head until she's horizontal.
From his bio, and I quote: "His perfect day includes a trip to the mountains with someone special for a day of hiking and nature (including a swim at a breathtaking waterfall). The day finishes with a jog, a shower, a bottle of Merlot, a ruthless game of backgammon, and great sex."
Or at least that's the line of bull that he's cobbled together from letters out of Cosmo for use on women in their early thirties. When he's outside the junior high school cruising for chicks in his Camaro, his perfect day is cut out of YM, and reads "It so kicks ass when I wake up in my rad garage apartment (Had to get away from the 'rents!), then get a ride to school from the coolest upperclassmen (The bus is for L-7 losers!), and then find out that my big biology test is cancelled because the frogs all escaped (You go, nature! Cutting up animals is like, so wrong and gross!)."
Although his smooth talking did somehow keep his smarmy ass from being thoroughly ejected in the first tribal council, it did little to impress the ladies while he spent the first three days in Australia hurling his guts out like he just drank a bottle of vodka and chased it with a 99 cent shellfish buffet.
In a perfect world, Kimmi and Jeff would give each other flaming cases of venereal disease this week, and both be banished in an unprecedented double vote-off in the second episode.
Jerri doesn't want to win a million dollars. Jerri is a fame whore.
After living in Los Angeles for six years, and claiming "Actor" as her career on her CBS biography, her most notable screen role is in "the telefilm That Champion Season."
Anybody remember that? Anybody? Anybody? Uh huh. Los Angeles is full of famous actors that nobody has ever heard of. Look at my close, personal friend Dennis Woodruff. Look at him, but don't smell him. Whooo-wheee!
Jerri realizes that if she doesn't get some celebrity posthaste, she's gonna end up like Dennis, spray painting her name in 8 foot letters across her car and selling her home videos outside of 7-11 at two in the morning. She saw the first Survivor launch Sue, a camera-unfriendly harpy with only the most rudimentary grasp of the English language, into a guest host position on Talk Soup, and she's hoping Survivor 2 can do the same thing for her.
Next year you can expect to see Jerri in briefly reoccurring roles on JAG and Nash Bridges, until her 15 minutes of fame are fully tapped.
My girlfriend thinks Kel is cute.
This must make Kel the pimp-daddiest sexpot of our generation, since the last celebrity she admitted an attraction to was Billy Zane, circa The Phantom.
Then again, she also thinks that I'm cute, so it's entirely possible that she's just all honked up.
Nick is a lawyer, and a soldier in the United States Army. You would think that at some point in all of this training, somebody somewhere would have taught him how to use a compass, or at least create the illusion that he could use a compass through pointed questioning and badgering the witness.
The Kucha tribe spent the bulk of their first day down under following Nick the wrong way across the wasteland as he starred blankly at the basic camping navigation device in his hand as if he were trying to decipher part of the Dead Sea Scrolls.
If the lessons in love that I learned from Alvin and the Chipmunks hold true, one is destined to find a partner of the opposite sex based purely on one's most prominent physical attribute, be it similar height, poor visual acuity, or chronic fattitude.
Being the only two token black people that the producers included this time around, if my calculations are correct, Nick and Alicia should be knocking the boots by week four.
Tina is the survivor I'd most like to share a cubicle with.
You can picture Tina coming into the office on Monday morning, a manila folder with Wonder Woman stickers on it under one arm, and a "World's Greatest Mom" mug brimming with mocha in the other.
"Good morning, Marcus! Did you have a good weekend? I sure did, buckaroo! My church group's bowling team placed first in the league for the fourth straight year! One more and we get a trophy and a gift certificate to Hickory Farms!"
She'd be the one who knows where to find rubber bands when you don't have any. She'd be the one who always has candy in her desk drawer for you. She'd be the one who not only knows the janitor's name, but bakes for him on his birthday, and never assumes that he doesn't speak English just because he doesn't.
Considering that the luxury item that she brought along was a Backgammon game, and that the Tribal Council takes place at the top of a breathtaking waterfall, all Tina needs is a bottle of Merlot and she could rock Jeff's world.
Proud to have lived his whole life in the same town that his parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents before him had lived their whole lives, and bringing a Bible along as his luxury item, Rodger is your basic, standard issue, generic old guy.
Under normal circumstances I'd have nothing against Rodger. He seems like a good enough guy. I do, however, harbor a certain bitterness for the oldster, as his frail, knee wobbling ways will cause him to be one of the first kicked out of the tribe, thus postponing the expulsion of the despicable Jeff or Kimmi for another week.
The whole time I've been writing this stupid thing, I've been thinking to myself, "Man, when I'm on Survivor 3, my bio isn't going to read like all this "Bachelor #2 enjoys tennis and moonlit walks" bullshit. I'd write a really funny one that might actually make people like me.
Well it looks like our pal Mitchell tried to do that, but some humorless copy editor at CBS took his raw, untamed wackiness and rubbed it and polished it until it was so round, smooth, and vanilla that you could pass it through your digestive system without the slightest discomfort.
"He prefers pop music, insisting that Britney Spears has a crush on him, although he concedes that it may be the other way around."
Can you feel the joke in there, like a tiny rubber dinosaur surrounded by layer after layer of clear glycerin soap? This isn't Mitchell's "A material" or anything, but it loses any and all comedic punch that it might have carried as soon as you pay this much attention to it.
You can picture Mitchell at his interview casually mentioning in passing that Britney is in love with him, then some pressed-plastic PR puppet of a woman, with big green eyes and red lipstick, cackling to herself with a beaming smile and saying "He he! Oh you! I think that's the other way around, isn't it? Riiiight?" to which Mitchell replies "Whatever, bitch."
I could be wrong. Maybe Mitchell isn't funny at all. I might be thinking of the guy who played Stu in Scream.
Maralyn kicks so much ass that she has to wear special orthopedic shoes to keep from damaging her toes on the buttocks that they destroy.
Maralyn is hard core. In a film clip from the web page, she mentions that she's using this show as a way to help her quit smoking. Says Maralyn, "I needed the magnitude of an experience like this to keep me from smoking. Either this or a padded cell. As long as cigarettes were accessible, I was gonna smoke. They're not accessible in the Outback."
Yeah! Fuck you pussys with your patches and your lollipops, Maralyn needs to go to the other side of the Earth and separate herself from humanity to quit smoking. That's how bad ass she is.
The misinformants officially predict that our gal Maralyn is going to leave Australia a million dollars richer. Although ultimately a lot of the voting strategy comes down to a popularity contest, there's also something to be said for the fact that it's not hard to picture Maralyn sitting under a tree with a full belly, picking her teeth with one of Elisabeth's ribs.
Deep down inside, every Survivor knows that 51 year old "Mad dog" Maralyn can and will kick their lily asses, and that's a force that you don't wanna mess with.
All content © 1999-2007 misinformer.com. Images stolen from CBS.com. Ha ha!
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