Kelly wishes Sean would get a backbone. Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you, "don't pawn it off on me" girl. Colleen and Richard are so interested in Kelly's ongoing analysis of the situation that their eyes glaze over with fascination; Rudy wanders off to the woods in search of a branch sturdy enough to support his weight as he hangs himself. As the flames of the campfire ebb, Kelly drones on and on. Who knew sour grapes were indigenous to Pulau Tiga?
Day Thirty-Three dawns. It's a multiple of three. Axe day. As the yacht teeters on the horizon, Rudy wanders away from the camera, spies a cadre of ninja welfare moms clinging to the trees in the woods, and abruptly turns back. Colleen gingerly scratches her feet and wipes the sleep out of her eyes. Kelly splashes in the surf, trying to collect enough saltwater to gargle and ease her throat, which is sore from having spent the entire previous night complaining about Sean's betrayal. Susan strolls, looking determined, for no reason I can discern. Like a fat, bald, bearded, frequently nude kid on Christmas morning, Richard is up at the crack of dawn, staring at the yacht and waiting for his parents to tell him to start opening his gifts -- if by "parents" you mean "Jeff," and if by "tell him to start opening his gifts," you mean, "pick him up and take him to the Visa yacht." It seems that the Visa yacht is everywhere Richard wants to be.
And there's Skipper Jeff, yelling at Richard to "get [his] skinny ass down" there. Richard squeals, "My skinny ass! I love it!" and waddles down the beach to the boat. Kelly screams, "Tell Sean he's in big trouble!" When Richard and Jeff ignore her, Kelly repeats, "Tell Sean he's gotta deal with Wiglesworth when he gets back!" Uh, unless there's a very strict no shirt, no shorts, no scramble policy on the yacht, Sean might be dealing with old Wiglesworth in just a few minutes, if you know what I'm saying. Jeff tells Kelly, "That'll spoil his whole morning!" Zing! John Jacob Zingleheimer Schmidt, Jeff is!
Around the campfire, Rudy has been left alone with the wimmins, and you can tell he'd far rather be doing underwater pushups with Viggo Mortensen sitting on his back than listening to the latest verse of "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen," remixed by Puff Kelly. But he's stranded on an island, and he doesn't want the broads to eat all the rice while he scouts locations to commit hara-kiri with his bowie knife, so he's present as Kelly re-explains her position: "You know, it's not even the food...it's the point that he's been going on and on and on about how he screwed me and he owes me, and blah bling blah this is the greatest injustice in the history of mankind, repercussions and ramifications, meal, screw, owe, Wiglesworth, blah blah blah bitchcakes." Then Kelly turns around and sees that the other members of her tribe have used pieces of Kelly's pile of wet driftwood to spell "WE GET IT" across the beach. Because they get it. And we also get it, Kelly -- we do. We get it.