Previously on The Expression "Unlikely Comeback" Is Not Reserved For Duran Duran's "Hungry Like The AARP" Tour: The Outcasts sent burly Burton and loopy Lill once more into the beach, having resigned themselves to the sad conclusion that Nicole's tube dress had taken all it could take, was rapidly losing elasticity, and just wasn't cut out for two more weeks of grime and intrigue. Drake acted nice to Burton. Burton acted nice to Drake. Drake resented Burton. Burton hated Drake. Lill's return to Morgan was marked by an extended dance mix of Andrew's #1 hit, "Darling, You-oo-oo Condescend [To] Me." A plucky Lill seethed away under her misshapen hat and imagined the bitchin' revenge she could come up with if she just had some tent stakes, a compass, and a hobo stove. The immunity challenge brought a merge, and the tribe was reconstituted as one big, intra-hating group at Camp Drake, where there were plenty of ribs, fruit, and self-pity. Burton -- having eked out victory over Rupert in the keel-haul immunity challenge -- meaninglessly handed the Supreme Cutlass to Rupert at tribal council, making Rupert purr like a contented kitten. Unable to vote for any of the returned Outcasts under the "one free pass" rule, Drake was able to pick up the support of Lill, who was eager to stick a fork in Andrew's eye for his participation in Ye Olde Originalle Boote-Scoute. Andrew's pleas to her were in vain, and she joined Drake in voting him back to his life of fancy suits and being a really big prick to everyone who wears a less expensive tie than he does. (Oh, you can just tell.) Andrew reluctantly left, taking with him his beard, his jacket, and his bluster. Goodbye, Andrew. Future leadership conferences will show a photo of you as part of their PowerPoint presentations on how to work with people. Just after your picture appears, there will be a humorous car-crash sound, and a large red circle with a line through it will be superimposed over the picture, obscuring your face, but you will still have made an important contribution to the field. Frankly, your snuffing made my week. Thanks bunches, babycakes!
Credits. It's hard to believe how much I already don't miss Osten and Andrew. It's like watching 90210: The Jamie Walters Years and being so relieved that he went nutty and vanished into his pumpkin patch.
Commercials. First of all, there should never be a commercial where clowns are running and it's all scary. I don't need the nightmares. Second, why would you advertise a compact car with the promise that it can fit three clowns? Wouldn't that make it the smallest compact car ever? Frankly, I'm shocked that Beppo, Ziggy, and Wiggles would debase themselves by endorsing such a product.