Andrew, looking more and more like a "Before" picture in an ad for Ratty-Beard-B-Gone, huddles with the boys by the sand lump and endorses the strategy of lump buildup, calling the lump "the last wall of defense." He's quite brilliant, that Andrew, except that I think he's confusing the sand lump with the police department. In Andrew's little interview, he refers to the tribe as "absolutely devastated." He does not add, "by the unrelenting series of failures it has suffered under my inept leadership," as he should. He follows with the non-newsworthy tidbit that "morale is low." It particularly amuses me to remember that last week he said it was at an "all-time low," which I guess means that what he really meant to say this time was, "Okay, now morale is at an all-time low." He adds with faux-sadness that the members of Morgan "definitely feel the impact" of Lill's departure, presumably in the area of work, considering that all of a sudden, other people actually have to do some. As is often the case, from the shot we now see of Tijuana taking charge of water-boiling, it appears that the slack is being taken up by people who did at least some work already. Darrah, apparently, is busy making a mint julep or something. "I think it's us against everything else out here," Andrew says, going for "fearless" and landing on "incompetent dumb-ass." As often happens.
As Andrew rattles off the enemies of Morgan, one of the things he mentions is the local population of fire ants. Indeed, it appears that the place is crawling with them. Tijuana explains to Andrew that the ants are apparently living in a particular log, and whenever the fire sends smoke in their direction, they emerge. Andrew adds, apropos of nothing, that the tribe "desperately need[s] fish." He says that eating coconuts and rice and beans has been sufficient to keep them alive, but that he's hankering for the nutritional and psychological boost that only animal protein can bring. Coincidentally, that's what I always say right before I order a steak. "Morale is low," I intone into my menu, and then I ask for extra sour cream on my baked potato.
We adjourn to Drake, Camp of the Not-So-Damned. The music is a bit more tense than usual, suggesting that perhaps all is not going to remain entirely merry this week. If the merriment were going to be perpetual, you would expect to hear more tootling flutes and less ominous whistling. Jon is shown pouring water into a canteen, and then for some reason, he and Burton get into some kind of a ridiculous spat about who does what around camp. Or something. Wisely, the rest of the tribe members remain silent while they bicker, except for Shawn, who jumps in halfheartedly near the end. Trish interviews that the mood around camp is "funky." Wow, "funky"? I only saw fighting. Maybe Rupert performed "She's A Brick House" after Burton stopped yammering about who didn't do enough chores. Trish goes on to say that the personalities are beginning to grate on each other. Despite the clear deterioration in mood, it's still pretty admirable that they went ten days before even this much happened in the way of discord. Trish describes morale as "off and on," saving "all-time low" for another occasion, apparently.