Friday Shit Talk: I'd So Eat Shit On Survivor

An End Days epiphany

Hi!

How’s hell having you this week? We’re circling the bowl quickly and furiously, my friends. I can only hope to catch a glimpse of you next to me, clinging onto the rim as the flush tries to thrust us into the abyss!

Part of the wisdom you gain from circling the block a bunch is understanding how your weaknesses and limitations affect your outcomes. How you navigate things weighs upon whether or not you can or want to accept, embrace, challenge, or work within those limitations. Having some sort of choice about how, when, and where we test our mettle is the definition of privilege, pure and simple.

The other night, my kid queued up Survivor: David vs. Goliath to watch with me because a) Mike White is a FCKNG hilarious Survivor contestant, and b) I’m lucky enough to have birthed a couple of awesome young adult humans who can sense it when inspo drains out of my body and I need a feel-good redemption arc where the criminally underestimated rise above their circumstances to make the cocky privileged eat their own shit.

The ever-accomplished Mike White (being the awesome TV he is and knows how to make) is on the Goliath team and, thusly, does the Goliath thing, which is to ditch all of his teammates consumed with making shelter and slither off into the woods to look for the idol by thrusting his arm elbow deep into the crevice of every tree (yes, I know how that sounds). And, as any good Goliath might, one by one, they catch wind of Mike’s plan and ditch their own shelter endeavors to follow suit.

Then, the mind games kick in. While his teammates dig frantically and fruitlessly into mounds of dirt, a young, brown-haired muscular studboy found said idol and wrapped it around his dick for safekeeping. It gives him a sense of immunity that permeates his entire being because he soon feels compelled to profess his undying love and lust for the perky young blonde he met a half hour prior. “It’s easy to get people to trust you on Survivor,” smirks another toe-headed, blue-eyed, smarmy Goliath contestant to the camera, as he lies to the faces of all his newfound friends. “Too easy.” Maybe. But it all sounds so exhausting.

The thing is, as a crusty ol’ c*nt raised in capitalism, I know my limitations, and they surround me like a ring of caution tape. I’d eat shit on Survivor. Part of me wishes I were heartier, and genetically I should be, but I’m not. I hate bugs. I’m allergic to random things. I scream at the sky when my skin is subjected to a scratchy sheet. When I see these contestants actually choose to test their powers of endurance and physicality, all I see are medical bills. Having had my share of physical issues and challenges, I’m capable of doing plenty of harm to myself on an elliptical, let alone by sprinting through an obstacle course designed to destroy me in the pelting rain. At this point, that kind of novelty could take years off my life and, quite frankly, who’s got the time?

Besides, how anyone could voluntarily cosplay as an unhoused, make-believe desert island pirate for 34 (or whatever) full days and nights while plenty of people are forced to live that way against their wishes IRL is beyond me. And shit, if this real-life horror show we’re living in keeps up, we’ll all only be able to fantasize about Jeff Probst in a half-buttoned shirt peeking out from behind a palm frond to ask if we’re well enough to keep playing.

Here’s my game play: If I were on Survivor, I’d be the biggest asshole on purpose so I could ride out the rest of the 33 days in resplendent, Fijian luxury. That, my friends, is the real grand prize.

Of course, if you’re Mike White, who so happens to be on his way to filming Survivor 50 as we speak, the levity of the bit is worth any risk. “By the time you see this, I will either be out of the game or I’ll be starving on an island somewhere — either way, I hope you send me good wishes,” he told folks at a recent FYC event. “This is what I have to do to get a vacation these days. Duty calls.”

I mean…if I were he, I’d just find a nearby grotto to drink wine and swim in on the grounds of a five-star hotel with air conditioning. He’s more than earned it. But his ability to stick his neck out for the well-timed caché of his return is precisely why I’m out here sweltering without water on a deck in the woods, and he makes the big bucks.

Good Reads of the Week

Beware the Cancer Ghosts, The Cut

If you’ve ever had or loved someone with cancer (I’m talking to you, Gen X), this essay about how often your people go poof in the aftermath will make so much sense. And if you haven’t had much cancer in your periphery as of yet (hate to say it, but just you wait!), it will move and awaken you to the interpersonal realities they face.

Where Have All My Deep Friendships Gone, NY Times

This honest essay about why straight cis men struggle to forge close, emotionally honest friendships answers so many questions about why so many of them can fumble with empathy. Well worth the read.

Call Her Alex, Hulu

I’ve written here about my deep fondness for Alex Cooper’s Call Her Daddy podcast in the past, and, being the brilliant marketer that she is, she’s turned the mic and the camera toward herself and did a bang-up job. After all, who better than to drive and codify her own cultural relevance?

Everything Millennial Is Cool Again, NY Times

Called it! I’ve also written here about how I’ve found shelter and nourishment in 90s content and, apparently, the kids have gotten wind. Who could blame them? Those were the days!

That’s it for now! Be on the lookout for some brand new Burning Qs interviews (paid subscribers, you get the whole damn juicy thing!) and much more of the same ol’ nonsense you’ve come to count on from yours truly. Bon weekend!

ILY

xx

MF