Recently saw Tits, Pyro, and HIV hunched together in a corner in the callroom and I knew, I knew that they were scheming. I wanted to pull Tits aside and pretend that I would like him to accompany me to get some firewood, but HIV and Pyro wouldn’t buy it. They’re very astute. So at lunch when Tits and HIV were away I told Pyro in a hushed tone, which was actually unnecessary because nobody else was around, “Look, Pyro. I know that you three are tight, and that if we reach the final four you, Tits, and HIV would probably vote me out immediately. But if you promise that you wouldn’t vote me out, I would take you to the final two if I win immunity in the final immunity challenge. We have to vote out HIV. We HAVE to vote him out. He would sway the judges with his eloquence.” Pyro had no idea what I was talking about.
I’ve seen so much Survivor, all 19 seasons of it so far (except the local version), that I think I could win the blasted competition without even trying—essentially I would bank on my weakling image. Image, okay, because in real life I’m a well-toned athlete. Even in the callroom I always assume that someone is always plotting to vote me out if they so much as claim that they would go out to buy lunch. In the recently concluded Samoa version, the winner is (spoilers, as if anyone still watches it) the bombshell buxom blonde Natalie whom I was rooting for. Handsome, vapid, boring, snoozefest doctor Mick was third with zero votes from the jury. That’s what med school does to you: it turns you into a vapid, boring, snoozefest doctor, and not necessarily handsome. Not necessarily handsome, more like old and fugly.
“If,” I went on with Pyro, “if I win the next immunity challenge against the three of you, you would have to vote out one of your own. I say vote out HIV. This would be your chance, he could win the final immunity challenge otherwise. The final immunity challenge could be Boggle or Mortal Kombat for all we know.”
“Anong pinagsasasabi mo,” Pyro exclaimed.
“Survivor. I’m pretending we’re in Survivor,” I had to explain, exasperated.
“Wala akong pakialam! Hindi ako nanonood ng Survivor!”
Obviously I needed a back-up plan in case Pyro maintains his wishy-washy disposition. I chanced upon Cheapo eating by herself a few days later. Cheapo is very tight with Gracielou and Cryola.
“Hey Cheapo,” I said, taking furtive glances, in case someone was eavesdropping behind the bushes/water dispenser. “If you, Gracielou, Cryola, and I are the only ones remaining in the final four, obviously you would vote me out. But here’s the deal and I want you to listen, if you don’t…”
“Syempre ikaw ivovote out namin!” Cheapo said between mouthfuls of COOP tuyo and ginisang monggo. “Ikaw. Ikaw ang ivovote out namin.”
This game ain’t over yet, Cheapo. I’ll work something out. This game ain’t over!!!
lurvivor pala title. love it. so, you'll be voted out by cheapo. funny, such power (from the boy who cried wolf, aka patient who had MI and NOT PUD!)