Before we start this off, we need to speak to Kat for a second. Girl, get it together. You bawl at Tribal Council like that one time Robbie Morris told his dad the dirty joke that we had told him at indoor recess earlier that day, and we were sent to bed without TV and ice cream (the joke, if you must know, is entitled “Seymour Upmore.” We’ll let you fill in the blanks). Kat, you need to toughen up. That was just your second of – if you’re exceptionally lucky – many Tribal Councils. But don’t take it from us, take it from Jimmy Dugan.
Got it? Good.
Unfortunately, once the ladies are able to dry their eyes, they’re doused with what was either ten minutes of drizzle or seven days of apocalyptic downpour. Either way, those bitches be WET (of course, one has question Chelsea’s decision to try to wait out the storm in the ocean. Then again, four feet of water probably offers more protection than their shelter. You know, cause chicks can’t build shit (jk, jk!)). But, defying their earlier histrionics, the women remain resolute, refusing to run to the big strong men and their big strong tarp (and the palms fronds the women themselves had woven. It’s kinda like a Gift of the Magi where one person gets totally fucked). Also, they somehow rejected Colton’s offer to cuddle. Now that’s will power. Girls, we had you all wrong.
Jumped The Snark 