The game is about to begin. "Survivors ready?" Jeff yells. "Get muddy!" They all run, Rich first, his belly jiggling majestically around a turn. They dive into a mud pile, writhing, rolling, and getting their hair dirty. Richard is the first to get up and run back. His shorts nearly slide down, and I almost pass out. In fact, when he gets to the bucket, big globules of mud run down from the crotch of his shorts. Erotic? I'm thinking Nauseatic. They run back again. Rich falls into a big hole, Rudy slips and falls on a hip (insert old-age joke here), and Kelly rolls around provocatively just as some soft-porn music starts playing. Mud, mud, mud, sloughed off of bodies. Kelly gets a great idea. She plops mud on her head Marge Simpson-style and runs back, looking like a chromatic member of the B-52s. Ten seconds left, and they all unload into their buckets. As time is up, they all agree that it was a blast. Kelly gets 15.9 pounds. Rudy: 10.0. Sue: 15.0. "I didn't get the heavy mud," she explains. I would agree, except...what? What heavy mud? The mud that just happens to be more dense than the rest of the mud in the same mud pile that everybody else was rolling in? You mean the extra-heavy Bolivian mud that Jeff doesn't want you to know about that was hidden three feet into the mud pile? That mud, right. Of course. How stupid of us not to notice it. Sean: 15.4. Rich: 12.8. Not even close, even with the belly. Jazzy Jeff asks for a hug and receives it, mud and all, from Kelly. "I'll see you later," he whispers seductively. "Bring a condom," she whispers, "and some chili fries." This, history will remember, is not the first, nor the last, time that Jeff Probst has been embraced by a woman covered in mud looking to get paid at the end of the allotted time.