Hey Hey, Trashmies! Welcome back! We’re down to the final five, and what a snooze fest this will be. In the blue corner, weighing in at 110 pounds, is a shiftless layabout who spent his entire season hiding behind a big, scary girl while getting very public handjobs and refusing to wash his hair. In the red corner, weighing in at roughly a metric ton, is four-headed ginger-beast fueled by misogyny, racism, bad English, and even worse fashion. Who will come out on top? Does anyone care? Is this terrible season over yet? Let’s see what happens… Last week, Pizza Boy proved he hadn’t been paying any attention to the game while his dick-cozy was still around, so despite a newly chaste resolve to win the fuck out of everything, he nominated the two people who posed the least amount of threat to him, and sent home Elissa, who was annoying and scary and all, but the only person who clearly wouldn’t have put him up on the block this week. The only person left that’s playing the damn game is Andy, and I can’t root for him because of his shirts, and also because of the way he clearly rehearses his obnoxious catch-phrases for the live eviction shows. I’m overcome with the urge to give you a swirlee and take your lunch money… Okay, let’s see who wins HoH this week and pretend it matters, since everyone but the outgoing HoH is in a stupid fucking alliance that mimes whipping it out and pissing all over the floor every time someone gets sent packing. At this point any smart person would take GM to the end, because she clearly has almost no friends on the jury, but they’ll probably take Judd because they all secretly think he’s a super-genius who has been playing them all the whole time, when in reality he’s just kinda dumb and never really sure of what’s going on. I have a bear and my shirt and my name on my hat. Fear my awesome mental trickery. Flashback time! I notice we’re getting roughly a half-hour of flashbacks every single Sunday, which should really say something about how hard it is to suck three interesting hours out of these lackluster caucasians every week. Let’s start by watching Ameanda go home again, but this time in black and white! Oooh! It’s like art! I’ll miss you most of all, scarecrow After the elimination Elissa cornered McCrae and asked him if he flipped on his lady. He swears he didn’t, but then Andy comes in and plays his scared, confused, “I don’t know what’s going on” face so well that Elissa and McCrae BOTH look like they believe him. Then we see McCrae win the bone digging contest and form a huddle to choose his insta-noms. Andy stays pretty stubborn about accusing Elissa, but McCrae interviews that he can tell Andy’s lying but he wants to survive the next week by, “Making as few waves as possible.” […]
Hey Hey, Trashmies! Welcome back! We’re down to the final five, and what a snooze fest this will be. In the blue corner, weighing in at 110 pounds, is a shiftless layabout who spent his entire season hiding behind a big, scary girl while getting very public handjobs and refusing to wash his hair. In the red corner, weighing in at roughly a metric ton, is four-headed ginger-beast fueled by misogyny, racism, bad English, and even worse fashion. Who will come out on top? Does anyone care? Is this terrible season over yet? Let’s see what happens… Last week, Pizza Boy proved he hadn’t been paying any attention to the game while his dick-cozy was still around, so despite a newly chaste resolve to win the fuck out of everything, he nominated the two people who posed the least amount of threat to him, and sent home Elissa, who was annoying and scary and all, but the only person who clearly wouldn’t have put him up on the block this week. The only person left that’s playing the damn game is Andy, and I can’t root for him because of his shirts, and also because of the way he clearly rehearses his obnoxious catch-phrases for the live eviction shows. I’m overcome with the urge to give you a swirlee and take your lunch money… Okay, let’s see who wins HoH this week and pretend it matters, since everyone but the outgoing HoH is in a stupid fucking alliance that mimes whipping it out and pissing all over the floor every time someone gets sent packing. At this point any smart person would take GM to the end, because she clearly has almost no friends on the jury, but they’ll probably take Judd because they all secretly think he’s a super-genius who has been playing them all the whole time, when in reality he’s just kinda dumb and never really sure of what’s going on. I have a bear and my shirt and my name on my hat. Fear my awesome mental trickery. Flashback time! I notice we’re getting roughly a half-hour of flashbacks every single Sunday, which should really say something about how hard it is to suck three interesting hours out of these lackluster caucasians every week. Let’s start by watching Ameanda go home again, but this time in black and white! Oooh! It’s like art! I’ll miss you most of all, scarecrow After the elimination Elissa cornered McCrae and asked him if he flipped on his lady. He swears he didn’t, but then Andy comes in and plays his scared, confused, “I don’t know what’s going on” face so well that Elissa and McCrae BOTH look like they believe him. Then we see McCrae win the bone digging contest and form a huddle to choose his insta-noms. Andy stays pretty stubborn about accusing Elissa, but McCrae interviews that he can tell Andy’s lying but he wants to survive the next week by, “Making as few waves as possible.” […]